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An Introduction

In a corner of my home sits a baby’s high chair that was already an antique when the first shots of the American Revolution were fired. (Yes, it is an odd way to begin writing about the Japanese martial arts and Ways. We will get to that presently; trust me.) When our child was a toddler he sat in the chair a few times, for special occasions. But this piece of furniture is a treasured possession for reasons far beyond its utility. It was made in New England, in the middle years of the 17th century. It is a singularly good example of the kind of simple, strong furniture the Puritans built during their first decades in this country, and though the chair is almost three centuries old, it is still sturdy and, to my way of thinking, quite beautiful.

I was fortunate to grow up in a home furnished and decorated with many reminders of early America like that baby chair. So in retrospect, it is natural, I suppose, I’d have an affinity to antiques. But more important than liking or enjoying them, my parents imbued me with a respect for old things. I learned to appreciate fine craftsmanship and quality of design because I was surrounded by it. I was taught that even though antiques were a functional part of our house-hold, that I had a responsibility to take special care of them, to school myself in their attributes, and to be as certain as possible that they would be correctly preserved for future generations.

While I was still young, I was equally fortunate to become exposed to the budo, the martial arts and Ways of Japan. These arts set the guideposts for a path that I have been following for over one quarter of a century now, a path that continues to be rewarding and profound to me. I cannot claim that the various sensei and seniors under whom I learned were the most skilled exponents in the budo. Nor even especially well-known. But they were outstanding teachers and mentors and I am still learning from some of them. The training and teaching they offered were as enjoyable as anything I have ever done. It continues to be so today. It was also strict at times, and tedious, and for the most part, it was conducted along lines that were traditional and not much affected by current trends and ideas. I learned the lessons of the budo the same way my teachers had learned them; the same way their teachers learned before them.

Just as are most people drawn to these arts, particularly young people, my original intentions were to learn the budo in the hope of becoming adept at protecting myself from the dangers, real and imagined (and a teenage boy had at that time just as he does now, a quantity of both), that life holds. Over time, I began to discover that “self-defense” is almost an incidental by-product of these arts. It was impressed upon me that their ultimate goals were to be found instead, in different realms, in arenas that were by no means obvious at first glance, or even observable at all from the perspective of the outsider. I discovered, in short, what all serious practitioners find eventually, that the goals of the budo lie in the refinement of the body and the spirit.

Yet, possibly because of my childhood among antiques, and probably because of the encouragement of my sensei, I came to see something else in my budo training. The martial arts and Ways of Japan, I have come to think, are an intimate and powerful connection with the past. Within their techniques and methods and rituals are the essence of the well-lived life as their practitioners of old saw it, and as such they can be considered artifacts every bit as valuable as the antiques in any museum. In his etiquette, his traditions, and philosophies, we can know what was important to the martial artist of the feudal era. Combining the lessons of the physical training in the budo he has left us, along with a perspective on his intellectual and spiritual outlook then, affords today’s exponent a link with another age that is significant, remarkably so.

Sixteen years ago, when I was preparing for a trip to Japan to further my study of the budo and of Japanese culture, I got a call from the editor of Black Belt Magazine. Would I be interested in writing a monthly column on the traditional aspects of karate and the budo in general? I was surprised at the offer. At that time, the “martial arts” in the United States were dominated by violent films and by gaudy public exhibitions and contests. A number of innovators were creating new forms of self-defense and personal combat that had been freed from the “classical mess” of the past. The martial disciplines were becoming “Westernized,” which was allegedly an improvement for them and which was going to make them more meaningful or at least more palatable to the non-Japanese enthusiast. Concepts like budo philosophy or traditional training methods were either being ignored or dismissed as archaic or categorized as that most egregious of failings in this end of the present century: irrelevant. I could not imagine much of a readership for such a column. But I took the offer anyway. And as it has been more than once in my writing career, my editor was correct. I began to hear from readers in response to my columns.

I learned, in writing about the traditions of the budo on a regular basis, that there was a wide readership of intrigued individuals who were taking a deeper look at the budo, understanding that there may be something of value in these Ways, not immediately evident. Not incidentally, the same has come to be true on the antiques scene. Newly involved collectors are discovering that what they previously regarded as old trash, may be a connecting element to earlier times and the ownership of these objects can bring satisfaction and even a certain stability to daily life.

The sincere martial artist shares at least one other similarity with the antiques enthusiast. Both must traipse through a lot of junk and a lot of imitations before they find the real thing. Age alone does not elevate a thing to the status of antique, nor does its immediate appearance guarantee quality. Likewise, there are plenty of martial arts (and what have been ambitiously or fraudulently labeled as martial arts) that have been practiced for years, despite the fact that they’re largely nonsense. There are many imitations that can look most convincing, even if they are not authentic.

It is discouraging. But those who have a real interest in the budo as they were originally practiced have a responsibility to understand them as well, so that these wonderful Ways may be accurately preserved, like my Puritan chair, for future generations. That has been the audience for my writing over the past ten years. I hear from them frequently, when I have made a mistake or when they disagree with something I have written. I am happy to say, however, that far more often, readers write to tell me they have enjoyed the columns and have learned from them.

“I always knew there was a lot more to the martial arts than what I was learning,” one reader told me, “and your column has encouraged me to investigate.” These sentiments, expressed in one way or another over the years, have left me with the feeling experienced by the antique collector who, through his own enthusiasm, inspires others to begin appreciating the things of the past. That is what my writing in these columns has been about, in a real sense. Poking about in the attic of the budo, bringing down the interesting and intriguing odds and ends to be found there, to show them to others who share my preoccupations. I have been encouraged by readers to collect some of these columns and to publish them in the more manageable and presentable form of a book. I have, and that is what you are reading now.

Some of these essays deal in broad terms with the traditions of the budo; others are concerned specifically with the Way of karate. I hope that those martial artists whose Way is not that of karate and who instead practice aikido, kendo, judo, or some other budo, will read these anyway for two reasons. One, I believe that karate, more so than the other budo, has suffered badly at the hands of Hollywood and others intent upon presenting it as a brutal form of violence, a machismo-flavored soupcon of egotism and boorishness. Karate is much, much more than most Westerners (and regrettably I include most Western karateka in that group) understand it to be. It is partially my intention here to present some of its philosophy and ethos.

Secondly, I think it is important for martial artists to realize that all the budo are, at their core, alike. They are, to think of it in a different way, various climbing routes up the same mountain. Several excellent (and some perfectly lousy) books have been written detailing the climbing routes of aikido or the Way of the sword or some of the other Japanese budo. But the Western reader interested in karate’s particular path to the summit has had little to go on. Perhaps these essays will provide some insights for him and for other martial artists. In any case, it is my intention that this modest collection will reveal at least a few glimpses of the traditions that make up all of the Japanese budo.

They are unique, the budo, modern forms of self-discipline and aesthetic sensibility and moral reckoning with deep and powerful roots in an ancient age. They offer a lifetime of study and effort and contemplation. Neither my writing, nor any other, is going to build a foundation for you that will allow you to benefit from these Ways. That is a process that can only be accomplished through your own severe and dedicated efforts in concert with the guidance of a competent teacher or guide. Instead of a foundation, I present here for you a little corner of the attic, one filled with antiquities and curiosities. I offer this little space under the eaves for you to explore, in the sincere wish that you will find something of interest and worth. Something like the baby chair of the Puritan Age that I have, some things which are worth taking down and studying and appreciating and making into a part of your daily life.