An Aikido Journey: Part 10 by Peter Goldsbury
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Aspects of Living in Japan:
The last installment became too long to explore in one piece all the
aspects of living in Japan, so in this concluding part, I offer some
reflections on how 25 years in Japan have shaped my thinking about
aikido and my training.
Japan: Some Initial Impressions
I came to Japan in 1980, when planes from Europe had to stop over and
refuel in Anchorage, Alaska. So the flight took 17 hours and when I
arrived I was fairly exhausted. I was met at Narita by two of my old
students. They were Japanese and had studied English under my care
when I was a student at Sussex University. I had one day in Tokyo and
then had to travel down to Hiroshima by shinkansen. I had about 60kg
of luggage with me, in four enormous suitcases. (Even now, I fail to
understand why JAL let me board the plane without charging me for the
40kg extra baggage. Perhaps it was because I had a full-fare economy
ticket--there was no business class in those days.). My immediate
impression on arrival in Narita Airport was that I had been reduced to
complete illiteracy: I could not understand any of the signs at the
airport, so I just followed the crowd. I entered the country safely,
無事に入国した, as the Japanese might say.
My students had decided to give me the most quintessentially Japanese
experience they could think of during my overnight stay, so they took
me to a sento (public bath) and a very local sushi bar. First we
changed into casual clothes, including Japanese wooden sandals. I was
given a large towel, a small towel, a small bowl, soap and shampoo,
and told by my friends to do exactly what they did. Walking along the
streets in Nakano-ku was interesting. As I was wearing geta, I
discovered that I had to walk differently, more from the hips. Well,
we arrived at the sento and I took off my clothes and entered the
public bath. Of course, like my Japanese students, I was appropriately
covered with a small towel, but I will never forget what happened
next. I entered the room and all conversation gradually stopped, as
all became aware of the strange being that had entered their midst. It
was clearly a very local sento and they were not used to alien species
there.
I had been briefed about what to do and so I obeyed all the rules. I
chose a stool and sat down and prepared to go through the
misogi bathing ritual (those who do not understand this should
read the parts of the Kojiki dealing with Izanagi-no-mikoto's
purification, after he escaped from the Land of Yomi. Izanagi
and his wife held a strange ritual, (a giving of oaths, but rather
more like a divorce: like Mr & Mrs Smith, but done in reverse)
during which the deity most beloved of O Sensei was created
(正勝吾勝). In this sento there were a
whole load of misogi purification rituals going on. I watched
and the majority of the customers conducted a major misogi
ritual at least twice, extending to every microscopic part of their
bodies--and probably souls also. Of course, as a member of an alien
species, there was either no hope for me at all, misogi or no
misogi, since the pollution ran so deep, or there was hope, but
I had to out-misogi the Japanese, in order to be considered as
a surrogate member of any uchi group. Of course this was a
lowly sento,, but as I became accustomed to living in Japan, I
experienced the onsen, or hot spring resort. An onsen is
a kind of misogi hotel, where you put on special clothes, eat a
large meal and stay overnight, with the misogi bathing ritual
repeated several times over--as many times as you need, in order to
feel really pure.
The sense of being an alien species was reinforced in the sushi
bar. The owner expressed considerable astonishment that my stomach
could actually accept raw fish. The astonishment increased as he
realized that one of his most cherished beliefs about gaijin was shown
to have no foundation--or more likely to admit of one exception: a
special case, no doubt. Over the years other situations have arisen
that have reinforced this sense, for example, taking a test for a
motorbike license. The test used to be very difficult and Hiroshima
was thought to be a 'difficult' prefecture. I am certain that I failed
the first few times because the examiners were not sure whether I
could handle a bike like normal people (i.e., Japanese). At some point
I was asked whether I understood their explanations and I answered (in
Japanese) that I 'largely' understood. This was clearly a 'good'
answer, for the next time I took the test, I passed.
I think that gaijin is a key word here. I have often wondered
whether it has the same resonance in Japanese as 'foreigner' does in
English. It probably does, but there is also more of a sense of a vast
general category, all the members of which think alike, because they
do not think like Japanese.
Japan: The Aikikai Hombu
Not long after my arrival in Japan, I went to Tokyo and visited the
Hombu Dojo. My coming to Japan had been handled in the 'correct' way,
for one of my teachers had informed the Aikikai that I was coming. So
I was expected and there was no evidence of the cold reception that
some visitors have reportedly experienced. Luckily, a Japanese
colleague from Hiroshima University who happened to be in Tokyo kindly
agreed to accompany me to the Hombu and interpret for me. I was met at
the entrance by Hombu Secretary Masatake Fujita and shown round the
building. I visited Doshu Kisshomaru Ueshiba in his house, next door
to the dojo, and was served green tea by his wife. I think Doshu
talked largely about his university days at Waseda, where he admitted
that he did not study at all. (Having read Aikido Ichiroh: his
autobiography written in Japanese, I can understand why.)
I was very impressed by this first visit to the Aikikai Hombu Dojo. I
was warmly welcomed and I certainly had the sense that I had come to
the heart of aikido. My meeting with Kisshomaru Doshu was followed by
many more and after I had learned to speak Japanese our conversations
became much more interesting. This was the closest I would ever get to
the Founder himself. I suspect, nevertheless, that my relationship
with Kisshomaru Doshu was different from the relationship that I might
have had with O Sensei, had I gone to Japan when he was alive. For a
start, Kisshomaru Ueshiba was not the Founder of aikido. Of course, he
grew into his role as the head of the art, but it was clear to all
that he was following in footsteps, not creating them. So he was more
approachable and freely answered my questions. I have often been in
the Hombu when Doshu would wander in wearing his carpet slippers and
sit in the main office, to the right of the entrance. By comparison
the present Doshu is somewhat more formal (but then again, this might
also be a mark of his respect for me as I.A.F. Chairman).
However, I was struck by the reaction of my Japanese colleague to this
first visit. My colleague was a specialist in Japanese religion, knew
very little about aikido and cared even less for the martial arts. He
was singularly unimpressed and compared the Hombu to a yakuza
(gangster) organization. His reaction showed something of the general
ambivalence towards Japanese martial arts in Japan. On the one hand,
the martial arts represent the inheritance of a glorious era, a Golden
Age, when the samurai ruled Japan, displaying all the virtues that O
Sensei supposedly rediscovered and when everything was 'pure'. On the
other hand, the yakuza also claim to embody this very same
inheritance--and the same virtues--and they are as generally accepted
as a part of contemporary Japan as the martial arts. In other words,
the claim is accepted in some sense. The general acceptance is
demonstrated by the New Year aisatsu (greetings) offered by the
local yakuza boss to the local police chief.
Not long after this first visit, I visited Tokyo again and spent one
week training at the Hombu. Each class lasted for 55 minutes and
training was very intensive, with was no change of partners. All in
all, it was an exhausting week, where the main activity outside
practice--apart from eating and sleeping, was washing and drying the
keikogi. Eating was invariably accompanied by drinking, often
in large quantities, and I quickly learned that with traditional forms
of Japanese society such as the martial arts, the wheels were largely
lubricated by green tea during the day and by alcohol in the
evening. With the younger instructors there was definitely a Hombu
'house style' of training, but this was less evident with the senior
teachers like Seigo Yamaguchi, Sadateru Arikawa and Hiroshi Tada.
Training: Explanations and Talking
As I stated above, when I arrived in Japan, I could not understand any
Japanese at all and so explanations in the dojo were largely futile
anyway. However, I was struck by how few explanations there were. In
Ryushinkan, Kanetsuka Sensei used to persuade us, cajole us, browbeat
us, to practise the waza to the standards he expected of us,
especially the yudansha. There was plenty of talking, but I recollect
no lengthy and detailed 'structural' explanations of the
techniques. There were none in Hiroshima, either. The Dojo-cho,
Kitahira Masakazu Shihan, would demonstrate a technique four times
(left, right, omote, ura) and then leave us to get on with it. The
Hiroshima City Dojo was a large general dojo, with many yudansha
training, so beginners were well looked after. Thus it was possible
for the yudansha to get together and have a good workout if they
wished, and also for beginners to train with yudansha and receive
individual attention. Kitahira Sensei would circulate and occasionally
would suddenly appear before me and show--not explain--that, no, that
was not the best way to do it. This way was better.
Training: Waza
In the Hiroshima dojo I encountered techniques I had never seen
before, even after nine years of training. Here, again, there was also
a certain 'way' of executing some of the basic techniques. For
example, in shiho-nage I had been used to a distant projection,
for which uke took a breakfall-style mae ukemi. This was
distinctly frowned upon and I soon learned the 'house style', namely,
a projection straight down, with uke receiving with an
ushiro ukemi. I learned that Hiroshima was a 'technical' dojo,
with a relatively large number of visiting teachers from the Aikikai
Hombu. The effect of this was the presence of certain richness in the
practice of aikido waza and a readiness to consider non-canonical
forms, in addition to the 'house style' (which was actually the chief
instructor's preferred way of executing certain waza).
Training: General Dojo Relationships
I tended to prefer Hiroshima to the Hombu Dojo in Tokyo. However, I
suspect that is simply a bias and that if I had gone to Tokyo, rather
than Hiroshima, I would just as soon have become used to training
there, or wherever I trained. The Hombu is often criticized for being
impersonal, rather like an aikido factory, and the fact that there are
so many members, so many teachers and so many hours of practice is
what gives rise to this impression. However, I have many Japanese
aikido friends who have trained there continuously for many years. Of
course, these friends do not see the Hombu as a factory at all.
The Hiroshima City Dojo was rather more 'local', but it was still a
large central dojo, with many members. The one major difference
between this dojo and the dojos where I regularly practised in the
U.S.A. and the U.K. was that there was hardly any 'after-practice'
activity. People came, changed, trained, hard or softly as they liked,
and then returned home. Of course, there were dojo friendships and
regular social gatherings throughout the year, but there was virtually
no evidence of a hard core gathering for drinks or food at a local bar
or restaurant. Of course, the dojo was part of a large sports complex
run by Hiroshima Prefecture and so there were no such places in the
immediate vicinity. It is actually quite normal to find a municipal
dojo, with tatami permanently laid, in every large town or city
and occasionally one finds a dojo as part of a temple or shrine
complex. We trained upstairs in the judo dojo, while downstairs the
dojo lacked tatami and there was regular kendo and
shorinji-kempo training. So the dojo was a place for training, not a
place around which one's life revolved.
Training: Relations with the 'Sensei' or Dojo-cho
As a result of training in the U.K. and the U.S.A. with teachers like
Chiba Sensei and Kanai Sensei, I had been brought up to believe that
the quality of the relationship with the teacher, who was invariably
referred to as Sensei, was of paramount importance and that it
was probably better not to train at all, than to train under a Sensei
who did not make the grade. What this grade was and how one perceived
it was thought to be discernible even by the beginner.
I think there was more than a whiff of elitist romanticism here, of
nostalgia for a time when would-be martial artists had the leisure and
the means to wander round the country searching for the ideal Master
and then beg for acceptance in the dojo. Sakamoto Ryoma, for example,
was a lowly samurai who became a ronin and trained at the best
kenjutsu dojo in Edo. Samurai could afford to do this--indeed
they were expected to: farmers and townspeople could not afford the
time and were not expected to, even allowed to.
However, the traditional master-student relationship had begun to
change even as far back as the Genroku era, as more and more
non-samurai took up traditional arts, including the martial arts. As a
result and in response to general interest in traditional arts, the
municipal dojo, like the kouminkan (the community hall, where
traditional arts were practiced), gradually evolved to meet a general
need. A network of local aikido organizations was established soon
after the war and Hiroshima was one of these. Thus my teacher was
usually addressed as 'Shibu-Cho' (Head of the Branch) or 'Dojo-cho'
(Head of the Dojo). Of course he was also known as 'Kitahira Sensei',
but only in the same sense that I am Goldsbury Sensei to my own
students. The title is due to the position I hold, rather than from
any recognition that I am a 'master' of any kind.
Of course, Mr Kitahira is a very good aikidouka, but he does not
regard himself as a 'special' student of anybody and has no 'special'
students of his own. There is no uchi-deshi, senshusei
or kenshusei system here. He practices, and teaches what he
practices to those who want to learn from him. Actually, knowing him
and training under him for nearly 30 years has led me to call into
question the traditional master-student paradigm referred to above and
Mr Kitahira himself had some pretty caustic remarks to make of those
who claim to be 'uchi-deshi of the Founder' (with a special
master-student relationship), when they were really 'special' students
in the dojo and occasionally accompanied O Sensei on his trips to
Iwama or elsewhere. So my relationship with Mr Kitahira is not the
traditional master-student relationship, as I was led to conceive of
this before I came to Japan. The relationship has endured over the
years and I am now regarded as one of his senior yudansha. But
I do not think it is quite the same relationship as the
quasi-'mystical' relationship enjoyed by someone like Chiba Sensei
with his own students. The reason is that Kitahira Sensei simply does
not conceive of the relationship in the same terms--and I am not
convinced that the quality of his aikido training and teaching suffers
as a result.
Training: The General 'Ethos'
I think I need to make two general observations here.
One is that is there was no obvious preoccupation in the dojo with the
'spiritual' aspects of aikido. Occasionally there are threads on
Aikiweb about the 'spiritual' aspects of training and some posters
tell of going out of their way to find dojos where the 'spiritual'
aspects of aikido, or the 'philosophy' of aikido, are openly
treated. I think that such dojos are rare in Japan and one reason is
that the 'spiritual' and the 'non-spiritual' are rarely separated in
this way. Thus, any activity that requires training of the body/mind
will be conceived of in 'spiritual' terms, except that the 'spiritual'
content is already there in the very concept of training.
Secondly, training is not considered in overly conceptual terms. For
example, there is no constant search for the 'one point', or for the
'focus' of one's 'ki'. Ki is, of course, used widely in
everyday Japanese and there are no intractable problems about its
meaning. One of the books I have in Japanese is entitled,
「気とは何か」 What is
ki? The subtitle is
「人体が発するエネルギー」
Energy Produced by the Body and the focus of the book is the
energy and how to produce it, not what the energy actually is. I think
part of the problem here is that there has never been a canonical
translation of Japanese terms and thus every Japanese teacher resident
abroad has had to rely on his own English skills. Some of the English
equivalents have been invested with a 'deeper' meaning than they
already have, simply because they were not explained clearly in the
first place. Thus, one occasionally hears explanations such as that
the 'one point' is where one's 'ki' is stored, as if it were a kind of
mystical blood bank. Of course, this is not to deny that abstruse
explanations are given in aikido. Morihei Ueshiba used to give them
all the time and this leads on to a more general problem about
language.
The Role of Language: O Sensei and the 'Secrets' of Aikido
One of the most revolutionary aspects of learning aikido 'culture'
(for want of a better term) in Japan was learning the Japanese
language and being able to understand aikido terms as they relate to
ordinary Japanese and as they might be used in daily life. (I say
"might be used" here because aikido terms are invariably technical and
are generally not understood by most Japanese.) This was a major
revelation to me and had the effect of demythologizing much of the
'mystique' about aikido that is prevalent outside Japan, especially in
the countries where I had previously trained.
I think there are two sides to this demythologizing process. One is
that many if the terms used in aikido terminology, like omote,
ura, are used in everyday Japanese and have a wide range of
meanings. So these everyday terms were put together to describe
techniques, in accordance with the usage or preference of the person
(usually one of O Sensei's deshi) who thought up the
description. So there is no agonizing about the 'correct' term for a
technique like kokyuu-nage, such as occurs in Internet
discussion forums.
The other side to this is the general 'mystique' about the Japanese
language believed by many of the Japanese themselves. I think that
this is beyond the comprehension of anyone who cannot speak a second
language fluently and it was another major revelation for me. (For
those who wish to study this in more detail, essential works in
English are the writings of Roy Andrew Miller, Peter Nosco and Harry
Harootunian.)
I have studied classical Greek and Latin for many years and the Greeks
and the Romans also believed that their language was unique, so this
belief is not unique to the Japanese. (English has borrowed from Greek
the word barbarian, from barbaroi: those who babble.)
The Greeks believed that words had a special power and that this power
was best displayed in verse, probably from being chanted by
professional 'singers of tales', who traveled from place to place and
told the stories handed down, such as are recorded in Homer's
epics. The Man'yoshu is the counterpart of Homer and Pindar in
Japanese, but there is another dimension to this Japanese poetry that
Greek lacks: it is actually written in Chinese and relies on
Chinese-based 'logographs' to convey meaning, as does the
Kojiki, which was freely used by Morihei Ueshiba to explain his
vision of aikido.
The fact that Japanese made use of another language to express its own
forms is of great importance for understanding how the Japanese regard
their language. As well as the characters used to write the Japanese
imported the pronunciation and also the meanings. This importation
process occurred well before the 5th century, but it reached its
apogee during the reign of Shotoku Taishi. Of course, the Japanese
language also evolved, as any language does, and so it is very
difficult to understand the ancient texts. Along with this process of
evolution, though it began later in time, another movement took place,
namely, the attempt to isolate the Chinese influences and recover the
'original' and 'pure' Japanese. I have put these words in quotation
marks because there is considerable doubt whether such an attempt is
actually possible. One can, of course, attempt to isolate the
ingredients that have been blended together in a mixture, but I think
it is much more difficult to isolate the ingredients after they have
been mixed together and transformed into something else.
The process of discovering this 'pure' Japanese was part of another
larger endeavor: the writing of the history of Japan, and the
separation of Neo-Confucianism and what later came to be called
Shinto. The scholars who undertook this search for 'pure' Japanese
went back to the ancient texts, such as the Man'yoshu and the
Kojiki, and also isolated 'pure' Japanese sounds, or, in other
words, the kotodama, the spirit of the language. Now the
Founder discoursed often about aikido being kotodama and also
freely interpreted the Kojiki for his own purposes, but the
fact that he was using an existing nativist tradition came as a major
revelation. I believe that anyone attempting to penetrate what Morihei
Ueshiba has written, both in his discourses and in his douka,
needs also to understand the tradition that he was part of.
Concluding Comments
As I stated at the beginning of these columns, I decided to offer an
aikido autobiography because I do not live in the United States and
the time I spent training in the New England Aikikai was probably too
early for most Aikiweb members to remember. So these ten installments
were meant as a kind of hajimemashite / douzo
yoroshiku-onegai-itashimasu routine. In following columns I will
follow the example of George Ledyard, who is my real mentor for how an
Internet aikidouka should behave, and discuss specific topics,
including some that have been touched upon already. The first topic
will be devoted to 'Sincere Attacks'.
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