Point, Line, and Circle

Different strokes for different folks.

When you start a new martial art, it is purely physical—Personally, I don’t want my beginners to even talk about philosophy, much less think about it; they have enough on their plate simply learning the basic mechanics of their art, and they shouldn’t waste time worrying about advanced philosophical topics. However, juniors don’t stay junior forever, and there comes a time when they must move beyond the merely physical.

This presents a particular problem for me because I teach two arts (the Itto Tenshin-ryu and the Yamate-ryu) and, more often than not, a student who achieves seniority in one of these decides to start training in the other. The result is that I see juniors in the Yamate-ryu doing their waza with an Itto Tenshin-ryu spirit, juniors in the Itto Tenshin-ryu practicing with a Yamate-ryu spirit, and teaching them to break away from their old art is my most difficult task.

It is very easy to think of different martial arts as being different only in technique—“In karatedo they hit and kick, but in aikido they throw and pin”— and assume that this is the end of it. There are, however, some profound fundamental differences between the major martial arts groups and until you come to understand these differences and their philosophical implications, even if you study for a hundred years, you will never master the art.

Karatedo

Karate deals with points. The core philosophy is one of kime, “focused energy”, and the theory is that when sufficient force is concentrated on a single point it is capable of being extraordinarily destructive.

Another characteristic is that the moment of kime is instantly followed by relaxation: The fist is hurled into the target and, for an instant, every muscle in the body goes rigid, the body relaxes as the fist snaps back to the ready position. Note that this gives a strong feeling of inyo or, as the saying goes, “In karate there is hardness and softness.”

So, although the karateka’s techniques may move in straight lines or circles, his concentration is on a point (either just short of the surface for practice, or several inches into the body for actual combat). And, although he may be striking with his right fist, he coordinates his action so as to bring the total power of every other portion of his body to bear on the target.

A karateka, therefore, will usually take great joy in breaking things. Boards, bricks, whatever is set before him, reducing it to shards is the central philosophy of his chosen art. A karateka’s idea of heaven is to push the plunger and watch explosives drop a skyscraper into its own basement.

And, before you say, “But I prefer kata to tameshiwari,” pause to think for a moment. Consider how you feel during each technique of that kata: Isn’t the shock of kime and your focus on a specific imaginary target physically satisfying?

Again, and this is critical, in karate the thought is not of killing. True, there is the saying of “one strike, one death”, but the goal at the actual time of this strike is to break something. The death is a byproduct, not the original intent.

This satisfaction undoubtedly has a large foundation in the male urge to compete for a mate. Quite simply, karate is a very masculine art and, as the urge to break things is an intrinsic part of the male psyche, men usually find the development of a true karate spirit fairly easy.

(Don’t believe me about this urge to break things? Well, let’s try a test. Visualize yourself on the roof of a very tall building with a grand piano. You push the piano over the edge and watch it fall…and fall…and fall, until it smashes to a million pieces on the street.

Most men, reading this, will think, “Neat!” Most women will think, “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.” And, if you try this with a mixed group, you will see a major difference in the expression on the faces of the men and women.)

In nature the females don’t fight for mates, but they do fight to protect their young. A woman studying karate, therefore, must learn to channel this “fighting mother” instinct into her techniques. This is why the creation of the karate spirit tends to be a gradual thing for a man—it is natural and he only has develop and control what is already there. For a woman, on the other hand, the transformation is usually a sudden one—she goes along for months or years with little or no spirit and then, in but an instant, she discovers how to generate the proper spirit and the killer look suddenly appears in her eyes.

In summary, the karate spirit is characterized by a sudden explosion of tightly focused energy, followed by the relaxed satisfaction of a job well done—It is remarkably similar to a successful session of weight-lifting.

To borrow a phrase, in karate “you can never be too quick or too strong”. So, the karate spirit is a search for ever more speed and strength. The karateka turns his mind inward much more than do students of other arts, and his goal is to discover just how far his body can go.

Kendo

The Way of the Sword deals with straight lines. Although the tip of the sword moves in a circle, the actual cut is straight: The kenshi thinks in terms of “down from jodan” and “across from yoko;” he does not think of curves through space.

Then there is the nature of the tool. This is something you won’t appreciate until you see a truly great blade but, upon doing so, you will immediately realize that you are looking at an extremely lethal weapon. It takes a karateka considerable effort, backed up by years of training, to be able to actually damage an opponent, but even someone untrained in its use can easily kill with a good sword.

It is also very interesting to note that, whereas the destructive portion of the karate waza occurs at the end of the technique, that of the kenjutsu waza occurs during the middle of the technique. This has a subtle but significant implication: In karate, there is a sense of finality to a technique but, due to the follow-through, there is a subtle feeling of killing en passe to kenjutsu.

So, if you consider the two preceding paragraphs, you should get a glimpse into the true spirit of the swordsman. Neither fighting nor destruction are goals; Instead, there is only the stroke of the sword, which effortlessly destroys a human life, casually and in passing. All of this, from the initial kamae to the final zanshin, is seen as equally important and the actual moment of impact of the sword does not stand out from the other actions, nor is it considered to be more important.

To a kenshi the thoughts of taking a prisoner, blocking an attack, or injuring an opponent are alien concepts. There is only the single cosmic event, which starts with drawing the sword and ends with sheathing it, and always results in death.

Although young men have, for thousands of years, marched off to war while dreaming of glory, the actual experience quickly destroys such illusions. And, should they remain in the military, their attitude toward war becomes much more realistic: cold, hard, and with a feeling of doing what is necessary. It is much the same in the dojo: The first time you hear a blade whistle past your ear, you know that this is not a Mifune Toshiro movie.

When holding a great sword, it is almost impossible to visualize the result of almost any technique being less that death. In contrast to the karateka thinking, “That technique would have broken three ribs,” the kenshi is forced to think, “That stroke would have separated a human body into two parts, from shoulder to opposite hip.”

Sun Tsu said, “A battlefield is the land of the standing dead.” And, even though modern students practice under carefully controlled conditions, there is still the realization that the danger goes both ways. Just as it is easy to kill, it is easy to be killed. And again in contrast with karate, whereas the karateka may think that, with sufficient training, he can learn to withstand a punch, the kenshi is fully aware that no amount of training can resist a cut.

This awareness of the ease of killing and the ease of being killed creates a curious duality of spirit. On the one hand, the ease of killing generates a feeling of invincibility: the kenshi becomes so full of death that he starts to assume the role of “...for I am created Siva! and am the destroyer of worlds.”

In contrast to this feeling of tremendous power, there is the feeling generated by the awareness of the ease of being killed. This is best illustrated by the comment of a senior after a session of jiyu-kumitachi: “I didn’t know what he was going to do, I didn’t know what I was going to do, and I just didn’t care.”

Note that, while we often describe jujutsu as a “soft-style” art and karate as a “hard-style”, these terms don’t apply to kenjutsu: It is both and neither hard and soft. So, think of it as the line between and around the segments of the inyo symbol. It is a part of neither, but encompasses both.

To summarize the kenjutsu spirit, it is one of the Great Void. There is no thought, just a cold hardness of will for doing what is necessary and living with the results.

And the after-glow is a great darkness. After a great karate class, you want to relax and enjoy and ice-cold beer; after a great kenjutsu class, you feel an urge to stomp small animals to death.

One final comment: Although males fight for mates in nature, the result of these engagements is rarely death; in most species the struggle ends as soon as one animal gives up. One should not, therefore, think of kenjutsu as a particularly masculine art. But, although it is not male-oriented, it is definitely not a female art: Women are the creators of life and a constant focus on death is contrary to their basic instincts.

Now, the remaining question is, “Why, if this is alien to the female psyche and not a natural part of the male’s, would a person want to achieve this type of spirit?” Simply put, it is addictive. The experience is so intense that, even though it can not be described as good, you always want more.

Whereas strength is very important in karate, it is not needed so much in kenjutsu: A good sword can cut deeply with little help. Also, as most duels ended after a single waza, speed and endurance are not normally stressed. Instead of these things, the kenjutsu spirit is an effort to transform a human being into an unstoppable force of nature.

Aikido

The Way of Aiki deals in curves, specifically controlling curves. Note the big difference here: In karate you think of breaking your opponent’s body, in ken you think of killing him, but in aiki you are thinking of controlling him.

True, this control may result in broken bones or death, but the initial intent is always to establish control. And, once control is established, the technique progresses by a process of leading the opponent along a curved line toward completion.

Now, leading an opponent to a place he doesn’t want to visit is a very complex affair, demanding intense concentration. As a result, aikido is the most intellectual of all arts. The techniques are tremendously sophisticated, and the theory is deep.

Note the use of the word “leading”. This is important: you never push your opponent where you want him to go, you guide him there. And, as in any other form of leadership, you don’t want to get too far in front, nor do you ever want to get behind, the person you are leading.

This gives us a major philosophical difference between both karate and kenjutsu. In those arts you do a technique to your opponent but, in aikido, the feeling is more of doing a technique with your opponent—In an aikido class it is very common to hear an instructor telling a student that he is going too fast or too slow, and instructing him to set his pace based on that of his partner.

Now, doesn’t all this talk of “concentrated leading and guiding to completion” remind you of something? How about the role of a parent? Just as a child may require an occasional swat on the bottom to keep him on the correct path, an opponent may require some atemi, but the goal is still one of guiding him to the proper conclusion.

As you parents know, although pregnancy and childbirth may not be easy, it is after the child is born that you really have to go to work. Leadership is, therefore, a natural part of life itself—People talk about “born leaders”, but I think it is more a case of average leaders and great leaders. So, while karate should have a feeling of destruction and kenjutsu should have a feeling of death, aikido should have a feeling of life. What you are after when throwing an opponent is the same feeling you get when successfully teaching a child to ride a bicycle. And, when the technique is completed, you should feel happy about it.

Let’s back up a little...Remember when I discussed the sophistication of the techniques and the concentration required to execute them properly? Well, people have been practicing aikido for a long time, and that adds up to a lot of man-years of concentration. The result is what I refer to as a “tradition of research”. In both karate and kenjutsu, technique tends to be static: You do a waza just the way your instructor did it, and he did it just the way his instructor did. In aikido, however, research has steadily increased the sophistication of waza and this technical sophistication has, in turn, steadily reduced the required effort. The final result is that, when you take your opponent down with a touch, you experience a rush of amazed joy...“Wow! This is really magical!”

There are yet another couple of links in the chain. In much the same way as “happiness begets happiness”, when you feel the joy it tends to elevate your total spirit: You feel exuberant and full of life. This we refer to as kiai, literally “a lot of spirit”. This, in turn, tends to intimidate your opponent: your spirit reduces his confidence in the probable success of his attack. And that, in its turn, makes your execution of the technique (especially the initial effort to establish control) even easier.

When you put all of this together, you wind up with a tremendous joy of being alive. You are so full of life that you are bubbling over with it. And, because this joy is caused by the proper execution of a technique, you will instinctively slow down in order to prolong it.

Note also that aikido is the most female of all arts. As the process of leading and guiding an opponent is so similar to that of dealing with a child, the majority of women find that developing a proper aikido spirit is both natural and easy. Men, on the other hand, find it extremely difficult to curb their natural instincts to do something to their opponent instead of with him—they instinctively use the karate spirit, which is totally wrong for this art. (No, guys, practicing aikido won’t give you an overpowering urge to hug one of the throw-pillows when sitting on a sofa. Trust me on this.)

This leads us to the final stage of this article: testing for the correct spirit.

The Tests

It is easy enough to determine if a student is doing a technique properly: You simply watch him and compare the action to seitei. Or, in a hands-on art such as aikido, you serve as uke so that you can actually feel the technique. But, if the technique is physically correct, just how do you determine if it was done with the correct spirit? That is not so easy, but here are a few things to look for.

Karate

The expression should be one of focused concentration; there must definitely not be a look of anger. Also, as speed and strength are of the essence, this should be the normal mode of operation. In other words, the karateka should instinctively do everything with full strength and speed; he should have to concentrate in order to go slow and soft. The kiai will match the technique: It is like the bark of a pistol shot.

After class, the karateka should feel wrung out, both mentally and physically, but with the enjoyable tingle of a well-used body. It should be as if his body is saying, “Yes! This is precisely how I should feel.” It should also be almost impossible for him to feel the slightest bit aggressive about anything.

Ken

The previously noted characteristic of “advancing like a force of nature, neither fast nor slow” should be evident. The expression, particularly of the eyes, is almost demonic and appears focused on everything (not just the opponent). Also, and this is critical, the kenshi must exhibit an equal spirit in all parts of the engagement: the kamae before and after a strike must be just as spirited as the technique itself. The kiai tends to be unearthly, and at no particular time.

 After class you want to be alone and, if in the company of others, don’t feel any urge to talk. Most importantly, there is a cold fire burning in your eyes and non-kenshi don’t enjoy being around you.

Aiki

This one is the easiest of the lot. First, there should be smiles and laughter, or at least some giggling, during class. And, as noted, there should be an obvious urge to slow down during the middle of a technique. The kiai may be at the initial move or after the final action, but it is never in the middle of the technique.

After class, you need to talk and be with other people and, again, there should be laughter. You should also feel so full of energy that you want to party until the small hours of the morning.

Students should give deep thought to this article and use it as a guideline for future training. As a beginner you won’t have much but, no matter how little spirit you presently have, you must insure that you are developing the correct one. In other words, if you find yourself enjoying slow-motion karate, doing blindingly fast aikido techniques, or smiling during sword class, it is time to back up and regroup.

Looking back over this article, I realize that is has a somewhat disjointed feel. So do I. This is probably the most difficult thing I have ever written, and bouncing back and forth among these spiritual mind-sets makes me feel like my brain has been tied in a knot.

So, if you feel that the style is not very polished and not up to my normal standards, don’t complain. This was the best I could do, simply reading it makes my brain hurt, and I have no desire to work on it any more.

The End