It is conventional to think of Japanese martial traditions through the lens of the bugei, systems maintained by the warrior class. This is incorrect on a number of grounds. First of all, some venerable systems were founded and maintained by goshi (yeoman), a class of armed farmers who were (with few exceptions) at the very bottom of the warrior class. Rather than serve as retainers to a feudal lord, they were directly situated in the countryside, to some degree independent of domain politics, but more directly influencing (and influenced by) the lives of the peasants. Yes, they were nominally within the warrior class – but they were really apart from the mainstream of bushi culture. Beyond that, by the mid-Edo period, ever increasing numbers of non-bushi entered the majority of ryūha. In fact, in many ryūha, the majority of members were non-bushi, and others were led, even founded by those of the peasant or merchant class. (That they later might receive a bump up in rank by their feudal lord to become bushi does not change the fact that they were originally peasants or merchants).
Author: Ellis Amdur Page 6 of 11
There is enormous hype in American media right now concerning vespa mandarina, known in Japan as susume-bachi, AKA ‘sparrow wasps.’ American media has made up a new name for them ‘Murder Hornets.’ I frequently saw them in parks and mountains in Japan–saw one once take down an enormous swallow-tail butterfly on the wing – and I was one-degree of separation from a couple of marvelous events concerning them.
Some time ago, I was sent the following question:
I have been researching the kuji/juji method, and one thing I could never understand is, how can koryu (classical Japanese martial training) training enable someone to switch to a state of muga almost instantly? With Shugendo, to which I already have been initiated, it’s more simple to understand, but not so with martial arts In the book The Deity and the Sword, Otake Risuke Sensei only mentions the difference between zen meditation and kuji very briefly, and doesn’t go into any real explanation how to achieve that, other than to mentioning the sanmitsu method itself. I have read anything I could on the subject, and even went to the Diet Library in Tokyo, but this question is difficult. Even though I have received transmission from another koryu, which includes such teaching, it’s still very hard to understand it could be done just by waking up every morning, and doing it towards the sun.
Probably only a minority of readers here will even recognise an electric typewriter, let alone have used one. In my high school and college years, however, the devices were something, technologically speaking, right up there between soft contact lenses and artificial hearts and not that far, in our imagination, below airborne automobiles. I covered reams of paper with electrically powered ink on my Smith-Corona for my schoolwork; its humming and the authoritative celerity of its clicking keys made me feel as if I was living in the 21st century.
My typewriter sat on a sewing table, one made in the early 19th century, of maple, with the yardstick markings imprinted along one edge, a table having been used, no doubt by tailors in early America, to turn out shirts worn by men who’d fought in the American Revolution. That table was in my bedroom not because I come from a wealthy family who furnished our home with classical, expensive antiques. Rather, my parents were collectors and dealers in Colonial era American furniture and decorative arts. So while some of the antiques in our home stayed for a very long time, others came and went. Most importantly, however, my point is that “antiques” in my parent’s house did not connote objects that rested behind glass or that were never touched, never used at all. The silverware we ate with, the rugs on the floor, the clock on the mantel; all were a part of daily life for me.
Any modern sports science expert would cringe at the instructional methodology of classical traditions. The traditional method is often referred to as waza o nusumu (‘steal the technique’). It could also be termed, ‘learning by osmosis.’ An extreme example of this can be found in my recollection of account of a traditional Ainu midwife. She said that she attended births from the time she was a little girl. Her mother had her sit directly behind her throughout the entire birth. All she could see was her mother’s back. One day, when she was a teenager, without warning, her mother said, “You birth this one.” To repeat, she had never seen the birthing process itself, merely observed the movements of her mother’s back, shoulder and arms many hundreds of times. She stated that she simply reenacted those movements, which she had been doing in sympathy for most of her life as she observed her mother – the birth went smoothly and it was the beginning of the rest of her life.
I recently noticed a question on a traditional Japanese martial arts discussion forum on Facebook: “Is there a proper way to bow?” And this was followed by a lot of sincere answers, most of which were wrong, or not-really-right, at least from the perspective of a traditional martial arts practitioner, where specific acts have specific meanings. In modern martial arts practice, on the other hand, there is often have a laissez-faire attitude, where a lot of things can be ‘good enough,’ based on the instructor’s arbitrary, often not culturally grounded practice. (This goes equally for Japanese and non-Japanese modern martial arts practitioners).
Rather frequently, I get asked how I’ve published my books. I also get asked how I write my books. I’ll answer the latter first. Depending on the book:
- I think of things and I write them down
- I think about things, research them, think about them some more, and write them down
- I imagine things and write them down
- I sit with my fingers on the keyboard and think – I wonder what will happen today – and then something other than me writes them down.
- What I never do is write an outline
OK, that’s taken care of. How did the manuscripts get from there to HERE?
Some time ago, I was sent a set of related questions on licensure and succession within koryū:
- What are your thoughts on koryū that predominantly only give out one menkyō kaiden, essentially declaring that person to be sōke. Would that mean the rest of the senior practitioners are not allowed to teach or open their own school, since they didn’t achieve the highest possible teaching license?
- What’s your thoughts on those who stay for decades, even though they would never receive a full teaching license, or how about other schools that might take a person thirty, forty or fifty years to get a license. Is it fair to a practitioner in one of these schools who, even though they have already learned and mastered everything there is to know, they are blocked from teaching? At the same time, they are unable to break away because they would lose legitimacy or recognition to be a certified instructor?
- How about those that face discrimination against them as foreigners, whether it is openly shown or not? In other cases, there’s clear favoritism, either to a family member, or to someone who plays the school’s political games–only Japanese people–or people the sōke or shihan likes–ever get promoted. What’s your thoughts on that?
In what follows, I address these questions as if talking to someone specific: “You.” I do not mean the person who asked the initial questions whom honestly, I don’t remember (it’s been three years since I received the questions). It’s a rhetorical device only.