Emulating The Masters
By Eddy Schumacher
One of the basic tenets of success in anything is
to find someone who is successful at that thing and
to emulate them. When I was young and playing basketball,
I would try to be Dr. "J", or Pete Maravich.
Today's generation might imitate Michael Jordan. In
the martial arts, we generally look to those who have
established themselves as masters of our art.
In emulating masters, "follow" is the key
word I believe. I hope someday to be where they are,
but it won't happen in a day, so rather than trying
to "be there" I should instead focus on
how to "get there." I will never "be"
like Michael Jordan unless my daily workout routine
is like his. It's the same in our martial arts journey.
We often see Ueshiba, the founder of Aikido, as that
little white haired man who moved like magic. We rarely
are reminded of the younger Daito Ryu Akijujutsu-ka,
at age 30, or even 50, who looked more like a pit
bull than a humanitarian. There are many today who
try to move like Bruce Lee, but few, if any, ever
work out as hard or achieve his level of physical
development. How them can they hope to move as he
did, or be capable of the same feats? The same is
true of any martial arts master and our desire to
emulate them. Higaonna's, Oyama's or Nakamura's raw
power. Shinyu Gushi's physique. Uehara Seikichi's
health and longevity. We cannot simply copy the end
product and have any realistic hope for success. We
must, at least to some extent, follow in their footsteps
from the beginning and do what they did to get where
they were.
Does this mean that we re-invent the wheel, so to
speak, as it pertains to our martial arts training?
No, of course not. But in terms of physical attainment,
physical effort is still required. There are no shortcuts
to kicking faster. Practice is required. Powerful
punching, speed, balance, coordination, and all other
physical attributes applicable to our martial art
come only from serious, continuous, arduous, assiduous
practice.
Many of the masters we look to emulate are in the
twilight of their journey, having already been through
much before arriving where they now are. To attempt
to be in the same place without traveling a similar
journey is not possible. To further elaborate the
example, the pioneers of old walked across the country.
Today, we may ride a bus cross country, or drive,
or even fly, which is by far the easiest method. I
have driven cross country myself, which while harder
than flying, is still easier than walking or even
a bus ride. In each case, the same destination is
arrived at, but with vastly different lessons learned
from the journey. The more difficult journeys teach
the most profound lessons. The patience learned, the
knowledge of the countryside, the sense of achievement
are different for each journey. I am certain from
my own experience and reading of the pioneers that
they were far more patient, long-suffering, tough,
etc. as a result of their experiences than my cushy
life will ever lead me to be.
Now we don't have to relive every lesson, of course.
If I'd had to walk across the country to college,
I'd have never gotten there. Similarly, we should
learn to build on the lessons of the past without
having to repeat them. That is why we read about them
and hopefully learn to appreciate the lessons without
personally reliving the experience. Still, this is
not entirely possible without some degree of personal
experience to relate to those written lessons. Doing
a 20-mile hike and 2-week canoe trips in Boy Scouts
went a long way toward my understanding of the pioneers
that reading alone would never have provided. No steel
can be hardened without the refiner's fire.
Nor are the lessons purely physical. Choki Motobu,
rough as he was in his youth, learned to mellow as
he grew in experience. Musashi Miyamoto went through
similar epiphany with the help of a priest friend.
They learned through their own hard experiences the
concepts of courtesy and development of character
their teacher's were attempting to teach them, and
which many point to as the key lessons of karate training.
I think this is where we transition to the next concept.
Exactly how do we appreciate the experiences of the
past and learn these lessons without really duplicating
the experiences ourselves? That is, how do we learn
the hard life lessons without living the hard life
experiences? I submit that these lessons of courtesy
and character, often pointed out as the real goal
of our martial training, can only be gained if our
training is based in the reality of violence, as passed
down to us by those who on occasion had to live it
- thus the word "martial." If from time
to time karate's effectiveness must be used to quell
the violent nature of others, does that diminish or
enhance the lessons we espouse?
As I mentioned previously, the 20 mile hike, though
small compared to a pioneer's cross country trek,
helped me appreciate the pioneer experience? So what
then do we substitute for the hard, fighting life
of the past masters so that we don't have to be 80
years old by the time we mellow in character, if we
even survive that long?
The answer, I believe, lies simply in the training.
"Michi wa shugyo desu" - The path is hard
training. We must engage in austere training, preferably
daily, but at least regularly with the occasional
gasshuku (Spirited training session, usually outdoors)
thrown in to test our mettle. There is no substitute
for facing one's self through hard won sweat and seriously
focused training. The focus of our training is based
in the realization of the hard path followed by the
past masters.
I would submit, in conclusion, that while we do not
wish to willfully subject ourselves to the hardships
of the pioneers of our art, that without them, the
lessons of character we purport to teach would not
have been present in the art at all. Possessing power
and not using it is true greatness. Not possessing
the power in the first place is merely weakness. While
we should not seek violence in any form, it is the
capacity of returning violence to those who would
inflict it on us that defines our magnanimity and
courtesy as karateka. When someone avoids a fight
because he cannot fight, he is acting selfishly to
preserve himself, and cannot really be considered
magnanimous. When someone capable of inflicting serious
harm refuses to fight, he is displaying the height
of magnanimity, humanity, and consideration for those
around him. This is how we emulate the masters of
old.
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