Visiting Other Dojo Back in the Day

Over at Ellis Amdur's excellent Kogen Budo blog, there was a guest post about what it was like to visit other dojo back in the classical period and how should one conduct oneself when visiting today?. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

 

VISITING OTHER RYŪHA: A HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE

In the Edo period, unless one were a dignitary of a feudal domain, there were few reasons for a practitioner of a ryūha to visit another ryūha other than to make a challenge. Once safety equipment had been developed, this was not necessarily a hostile action, but it was, as I have described elsewhere, always potentially so. If one intended to ‘cross-train,’ this usually followed a match—the loser trained with the victor. Perhaps the most likely exception to this was if a young man became acquainted with a venerable warrior. An example of that is recorded in the internal records of Takenouchi-ryū.

. . . , the family lost its castle to an alliance of Oda Nobunaga and the Hashiba clan.[2] They fled to an adjacent valley in Owari in 1571, . . . . The Takenouchi were welcomed by the Shimizu lord, Shinmen Iga no Kami. Takenouchi Hisamori, the founder the ryū, then a seventy-eight-year-old man, became the guest of a thirty-one-year-old warrior, Shinmen Munisai Taketo. Takenouchi-ryū records state, “They did not see each other as competitors or enemies but instead paid each other respect as teacher and student.” Hisamori taught him kogusoku—in his school, close-combat, particularly incorporating the use of a dagger in grappling. Munisai was described as a diligent student. [Amdur, Old School, p. 174].

This, however, was not the norm. The idea of visiting another ryūha to observe their practice, with no intention of requesting an opportunity to enroll in the school, is a modern one. This is true even among dōjōs of the same ryūha. Were a student of a ryūha to travel: be it across town or to the next domain and request to train, it would very likely be viewed as an attempt to shame the ‘host school,’ to show that the visiting student, an exemplar of his teacher, was learning things better than what the host school had to offer.

That we are able to visit other schools in modern times, even being invited to practice for a day to experience the character of the school indicates a remarkable change in the nature of traditional schools. For the most part, we do not regard each other as enemies, even rivals. On the one hand, this is positive: knowledge shared can be for the benefit of all, and this is a phenomenon most likely in peaceful times. On the other hand, we run the danger of dulling the sharp edge of distinction, that which makes each school unique as a fighting art, an edge that is honed by adversity rather than amity.

VISITING FAMILY

Historically speaking,  ryūha exclusively headed by sōke, lineal headmasters who managed a single dōjō, was a rather unusual phenomenon. Instead, most koryū-bugei certified various individuals as licensed instructors. In this system, once one was certified, one left to set up one’s own school, no more beholden to one’s teacher than a PhD graduate is beholden to his or her graduate school advisor. They were independent, and they would establish schools in various locations under the same name, with no reference or communication back to a headquarters.  The idea of shibu-dōjō (支部道場, ‘branch schools’) under the aegis of a central authority was quite uncommon until modern times. This is true even in modern martial arts. The Aikikai, the mainstream organization of Ueshiba Morihei’s aikidō, allowed the opening of its first branch dōjō, the Kuwamori Dōjō, (where certified instructors of the headquarters were dispatched to teach) in 1951.

As I have discussed elsewhere, when one became the student of a teacher, one was bound by strict, universally understood rules, grounded in feudal culture. In such a culture, the idea of visiting other schools of the same ryūha, led by other teachers, either junior or senior to one’s own, would have been a fraught subject, even if done so bearing a letter of introduction from one’s own instructor. It might have been interpreted as an implicit message that the student found his own teacher lacking, and either the teacher was trying to get rid of him or wanted him humbled or, conceivably, that they were visiting as a kind of challenge, to throw down a gauntlet, so to speak, demonstrating that what they learned from their own instructor was superior. It should also be remembered that travel was not a simple matter in the Edo period; one needed official permission to leave one’s domain, so the idea of casually visiting another faction of one’s own school to augment one’s understanding of what one received from one’s own teacher was unlikely. In other words, a visit was always meaningful.

To be sure, in the late Edo and early Meiji period, when the bulk of training involved forms of freestyle competition, be it armored fencing with split bamboo sword replicas or jūjutsu matches, people frequently visited other schools, be they other ryūha or one’s own. Then, the challenge was explicit, but not always hostile. One might also stay and train, sometimes for long periods of time, because, for the most part, people were studying increasingly generic methods of martial arts practice. Competitive practice, which eventually became kendō and jūdō, began to create universal martial arts, quite different from sectarian, hermetic ryūha.

Withal, the old ryūha still survive, and they do so by maintaining an old, even archaic, perspective. With that in mind, how should one visit another dōjō within one’s own ryūha?