Shugyo Blog Highlights

Shugyo Iaido and Jodo Training Blog was started in 2010 prior to Andy Watson trying for his Iaido 6th dan grading. Here are some of the most popular articles or links to them...

Some part of me is hesitant to write about this particular subject as my thoughts on it sit more comfortably with Jodo than with Iaido. Why is this? Iaido, by it's nature where the effectiveness of technique is sometimes difficult to test, generally tends to be far more detailed and technically strict in it's teachings. Jodo, on the other hand, while not lenient in the area of technical correctness, is more forgiving in it's allowances for personal physical interpretation providing the effectiveness of technique is convincing. It is not the absence of flexibility in Iaido which makes me reluctant to write this in an iai context but rather the tendency towards uniformity. Perhaps if I didn't do Jodo I wouldn't feel the same way. Anyway, getting on...

I want to reflect on some thoughts I had while flying to Poland recently and getting towards the end of the book "Last Chance to See" by Douglas Adams and Mark Carwardine. Those of you who have read it or are familiar with Douglas's works will know that the book is an account of their project to see and record species which are approaching extinction. In one part of the book Douglas recounts an earlier visit to Japan where he had the occasion to see Kinkajuji, the temple of the golden pavillion in Kyoto. His tour guide informs him that the building dates back to the 14th century. Douglas mentioned that it was incredible that a building so old should continue to look so spectacular. The tour guide responded that the building itself had been rebuilt numerous times, sometimes because of fire, sometimes because of general degradation. Douglas challenged the tour guide on this saying that surely then this isn't the original building. "Oh yes, it's the same building. Exactly the same as from the 14th century and it's been rebuilt many times." Douglas concludes, quite nicely in the book, that this is a contrast in the way of thinking between the East and the West. In the West we tend to attribute the permanence and age of a building by it's physical materials in the walls, the pillars, the bricks, the roof, the floors etc. In Japan at least, the building is a manifestation of a design, an intended use, an image that an architect may have dreamed up. No permanance or nature is given to the materials of the building itself. The building lives and exists through it's form through design and it's use.

This is connected to the tradition and process of "Kiyome" or purification. Whole shrines and temples are dismantled and their materials renewed. Much work goes into ensuring that the "new" building matches the previous design as closely as possible. Often the work is carried out with the assistance of the monks and priests of the site. We might interpret this as refurbishment when it comes to buildings but this is a skeletal image of what actually happens. Through this process the building is regenerated, given a fresh life and most of all, purified but loses none of the original dream of the designer.

The underlying principal in all this is that the nature of the temple or the shrine is in "the intention of the architect" and this is a phrase I would like to use when thinking about how kata must inevitably vary as they are passed from generation to generation, from varying physical body to varying physical body, from personal mind to personal mind. Where experiences and the environment change the visible material of the kata. So what is the Ryu if the "software" goes through such inevitable change? Surely only the intention of the architect.

To explore this further perhaps it is important to make distinction between the two "tendencies" of kata with regards to Iaido. In one extreme, a kata may have been the result of an actual combatitive experience and the survivor of this experience may have thought that what action actually saved the day was worthy of preserving and teaching to others. In this sense, the technique is a wholly practical one and is the response to a certain situation. This might be referred to as a "Jokyo Kata" (situational kata). In the other extreme, an experienced swordsman might have recognised that certain "exercises" in technique, timing and movement within a mental context would facilitate the creation of a well-rounded martial artist where nearly any situation might call upon the range of well developed techniques to save the exponent. These are referred to as "Toho Kata" (sword methodology kata). Some people actually divide kata up into these two category; some consider all kata in a style to be either one or the other; some consider that all kata are Toho but have to be learned through the context of Jokyo, the latter of which should be essentially cast aside as soon as it's use subsides. I fall into that category of people who believe that the last interpretation is the most accurate.

In any case, even with the most attentive of soke of a style, change is inevitable in a ryuha. While we may spend sleepness nights worrying about this (or not) I believe the grace of it all is in believing that each stage of a kata being passed from one person to another is another phase of Kiyome, of ritual purification where the architect's intent is transmitted and the materials renewed. In this case it is not realistic for a teacher to assume that even the best student should produce a carbon copy of his taught form. By passing a kata from an elderly teacher to a younger student, the kata may become invigorated with youthful energy. It may lack some of the smoothness of well trod wooden floor boards but provided the architect's intentions are preserved, Kiyome has taken place without detriment to the design.

A good example of this is the contrast between Ishido Sensei and his main student Morishima Sensei. The two of them are separated by about twenty years in age, Morishima is a bit taller than Ishido Sensei. Their koryu are slightly different, the former being quick and light, the latter being large and vigorous. You can see slight variations in their delivery of form and often one will favour a different kaewaza to another but the similarities are very deep. You can see how Morishima Sensei has embedded critical factors taught to him by his own sensei but which have been smoothed and moderated by the elder. Even greater contrasts are obviously visible between Ishido Sensei and his European Monjin where body build, transmission variances and lifestyle differences have created sets of interesting variations, each containing some aspect of Ishido Sensei and all with a larger or lesser emphasis.

Maybe this is what we judge when we observer others' performance. Some will be able to display the architect's intentions very clearly, some will have more subtle and smoother features to be viewed. Some, who have misinterpreted or never understood the intentions, might be viewed with critical eyes regardless of how vigorous, strong or fast they are. Lucy Earley explained to me recently that Ishido Sensei performs the draw in Batto/Nukiuchi quite slowly and smoothly these days. He used to show off a bit with how quickly he could do this draw. Both ways of making this sudden draw are surely valid, one fast to the point of being invisible, one so smooth and subtle that it is unnoticeable and thereby it's a fine, fine thing that Iaido is available to everyone regardless of their strengths or limitations.

I do not imagine for a minute that I will ever be able to do Iaido as well as or better than Ishido Sensei but maybe in trying to replicate his splendid halls of stone, my brick-built toilet block will suffice...

I was recently (and by that I mean in the last year) contacted by a friend (who will remain anonymous unless they tell me that they want to be known for this question) and was faced with the following question-based-email (as I will refer to it), English isn't their first language so I have modified it slightly:

Hello Andy,

Perhaps I have an untypical question to you but I know that your knowledge is vast in the scope of BUDO.

What appropriate assessment is the relationship between teacher (sensei) and student? What spiritual and mystical aspect is of this agreement? How actually to receive the word sensei from a pupil ?

Whether you know where I can find it or if the time lets you write please tell me briefly about it as you think.

I wish you calm days and Happy New Year ,

I promised to respond to this person on the blog as I thought it would be an interesting post to make and hopefully a good discussion to have.

Firstly let's look at the literal meaning...

先 = sen; saki, ma~zu: ahead, before, future, precedence, previous

生 = sei, shou; iki~ru, ika~su (and about a dozen other readings): birth, genuine, life

I'm sure many who study martial arts are aware that the compound meaning is something like "one who has gone before" or "one that is travelling ahead". In Japan, the word sensei is used as an honorific and reference to any teacher, whether that teacher is in a school, a workshop or even a head chef teaching trainees.

It should be noted that like other honorifics in Japanese, one never uses it as an attachment to their own name, so for example I might refer to someone as Tanaka-san or Ishido-sensei, they themselves wouldn't call themselves Tanaka-san or Ishido-sensei, they would just say "I am Tanaka" or "I am Ishido". The various references and honorifics in Japanese, whether they are used to elevate a person (san, sama, sensei, dono) or as an equaliser or demoter (kun, chan) are not used by the person to refer to themselves unless they are doing it in an ironic way. If someone writes to you and finishes it with the signature "Johnson Sensei" then they truly are a Johnson in the more vulgar sense. One also shouldn't have the word "sensei" inscribed on jackets, belts or business cards even if you are buying it for someone else.

It is, however, not incorrect to say that you are, for example, an English teacher by saying "Igirisu no sensei desu"; here you are merely saying that you are a teacher of English rather than honoring yourself. These are matter-of-fact statements.

In my opinion though, most martial artists (or at least the ones that I respect, dead or alive) prefer to follow a most humble path and would say that they are still students of the martial art they follow rather than saying "I am a budo sensei". They might say that they have students but I rarely hear any Japanese sensei making significant references to this fact.

All of these aspects are worth thinking about...what does this simple word really mean?

I should perhaps make a small diversion and briefly explain some other terms used to describe teacher and how they differ from the word sensei.

師匠 = shishou, has a more literal meaning of teacher and is closer to the concept of one's master (the first character shi or sui means commander or governor). If a student has fully signed their life away to a master in the traditional martial arts sense then shishou is a more commonly used reference than just sensei although the latter is perfectly acceptable as an honorific to such a person.

指導員 = shidouin, also means teacher, guide or counselor. This word is more technically describtive of someone who carries out the act of teaching (shidou suru = to teach).

館長 = kanchou, meaning the head of a place, a director (literally "hall chief"). This word is often used in reference to the person that owns and runs the school as well as the person who might well be the head teacher out of a group of teachers that teach there.

Anyway, that's that, back to sensei...

I want to stray away from what the technical term means and now talk about it's use in the martial arts.

For those that don't know me that well, I started my training in iaido and jodo in Japan while living there for two years. I had already spent about ten years learning martial arts in the UK such as karate, aikido and jujutsu so I wasn't new to the concept of having a martial arts teacher to respect and look up to.

When I started in a Japanese dojo it was of course quite an enthralling moment. Being quite technically challenging to the untrained eye, everyone else who was doing iaido looked like experts at it. At first everyone who I came into contact was by default teaching me something. This was the nature of the dojo. While there was a head teacher there (my first iaido teacher, Noguchi Sensei) the dojo had a very informal and relaxed atmosphere and everyone focused on their own individual practice; seniors would help juniors, peers would offer assistance to others. I was of course at an utter loss and so for the first 6 months or so I would be assigned a senior who would help me. To every single person who helped me I addressed them as "sensei" and it was the most appropriate thing to do. To put it into context these were people who were sometimes older than me, sometimes younger, and ranged from shodan up to nanadan. The term "sensei" wasn't meant to denote "grand master" or anything like that, it was a sincere mark of respect and kind of gratitude for their help. And so this is how my understanding of the general term "sensei" consists: when you line up to bow, everyone up the line is sensei and everyone down the line is pond scum (only kidding). We never used the word "sempai" or "kohai" and my understanding is that this term actually comes from a less-than-martial teaching tradition. In any case, the sempai would normally be the senior student and one that would shout "Sensei ni rei" in a Kendo dojo. I heard the term "sempai" used in a work context but never in the dojo. Maybe it was a regional thing....

And so it was back in the UK where I was surprised by negative comments made by people in the BKA that so-and-so was being referred to as "sensei" in their own dojo because they were only 3rd dan. It didn't occur to me that one had to be a certain grade to be referred to as "sensei". I was aware that at larger seminars the honorific was normally used to refer to the top tier of teachers there (maybe 8th and 7th dans) but if one kept referring to every single senior as "sensei" then conversations that started with the words "Sensei told me that....." would be quite confusing.

And here, in my opinion, is where we have become a bit mixed up. The notion that someone needs to be a certain grade to be a sensei has led to situations where:

  • Some dojo's have no sensei (by the dojo leader's own definition)

  • Some sensei's are derided by others when they insist that their students call them "sensei"

  • Some students in Europe think that teachers like Ishido/Oshita/Morita etc. are their sensei because they once went to a seminar where they learned from this teacher

  • Some students have no defined sensei which leaves the students feeling a bit lost and wandering

I would like to make reference to something Ishido Shizufumi Sensei explained about five years ago at a seminar as a basis for how we might start thinking about the "sensei" concept. He explained that in Japan the person that you first started learning from (i.e. the dojo leader of the dojo you started at) was your sensei...for life. Only through logistical needs i.e. moving to another region so far from your sensei that travelling back to the dojo on a regular basis was implausible, would one be able to change sensei and then only through an agreement suitable to both incumbent and future teacher. He then went on to explain that just because someone had been to one or all of his European seminars and even been to train at his dojo, it didn't make him that person's sensei (by this he meant personal and singular sensei rather than just the honorific reference). He clarified that he actually only had six European students, his six monjin (literally, students, in order of dan grade for no other reason than it's a defined order): Jock Hopson, Victor Cook, Chris Mansfield (my teacher), Len Bean, Loi Ah Lee and Louis Vitalis (I might have misplaced Louis in the order there but I can't remember when he took 7th dan, sorry Louis!). He also defined a number of people to whom he had an advisory capacity in their training, his daihyo (or representatives). Everyone else was either a student of these people or were people who could come to his seminars of their own free will, there was no other category...

I found this very interesting, the label "sensei" was a sliding one and could be used in a certain context but one could, if not careful, use it inappropriately. To say to someone "You are my sensei" and to be then told "No you're bloody not, sunshine!" would be an interesting bite of reality. It is from this understanding that I take the next part of the discussion.

Some people WANT to be a sensei. They want students, they want followers, they want the respect. These may well be people to steer well clear of in my opinion. Why is this - not because I don't like arrogant respeck'-hungry people (although I don't) but merely a concern that these people probably don't understand the immense responsibility they are undertaking. A responsibility which I think is understood by more experienced teachers and thus one which shouldn't be greedily and ignorantly propagated.

And so we get to the crux of the answer to the original question.

I personally am not a shisho or kancho i.e. I am not a dojo leader and thereby the head of a dojo and not anyone's formal sensei per se. However, since our dojo members have propagated and while this happened while our sensei was in Japan, I feel a certain sense of responsibility for all our dojo members. If I was their formal sensei (which I am not I hasten to add) then these are some of the considerations I would have:

  • I would be responsible for imparting information to them at a time and in a way conducive to their own learning path and style.

  • I would be responsible for ensuring that while I cannot be an infallible exponent of the martial arts, I can ensure that my own training and learning is progressive i.e. I train, and hard.

  • I would need to keep track of my students' progress and making sure that they are adequately prepared for gradings.

  • I should ensure that their experiences within the dojo were of net positive value, that is not every session can be ultimately enjoyable and sometimes there are bad times but on the whole the student wants to be there and feels that they can learn and develop.

  • I should ensure that interactions between students was also positive, i.e. no one was being bullied or intimidated.

  • I should strive that our dojo's name was kept respectable such that my students would be treated well when at broader events such as seminars, gradings or taikai.

  • I would be responsible that the training that my students took part in would be healthy, physically, emotionally and mentally.

  • That if any of my students behaved badly either within or outside the dojo, while I cannot take responsiblity for the actual occurance, that I would be responsible for how that student was dealt with.

  • I would be responsible for ensuring the longevity of the dojo through correct administration or delegating these tasks to those who are willing and able to do it themselves.

  • That by inference, any behaviour that I partake in is by definition allowable by any of the students - that is, that I should be careful how I behave so that my students incorporate good behaviours rather than ones that I accept in myself but find abhorrent in others.

These are, I think, the minimal considerations (and not an exhaustive list, to boot). If someone wants to take students and make them European champions and demigods unto others then that's a whole lot of other responsibilities. A lot of these responsibilities I am sure develop with time and experience. Many, if not most, of the dojos in the BKA were started by people at shodan level who wanted somewhere to train and gradually attracted people who also wanted to train. These dojo-openers were left with the perplexing task of being, by default, their members' teachers. I should hasten to add, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. Like politicians, the reluctant teacher is, I believe, the good teacher. If they were faced with a list of responsibilities such as the one I listed above and told that these were the things that they had to fulfill to merely open a club, many might not have done so and a shame that would have been.

In Europe nowadays we have many people in our own countries or countries only next door which have senior and experienced teachers who by the marvels of modern transport are not so difficult to access. They might not however be accessible to every person who seeks to start training and that is where we have, mainly studious, people who open a dojo so that others can come and train if they want to. And there, within those humble boundaries, a sensei is made...

This person doesn't necessarily want or consider themselves to be a teacher but they want to train and they don't mind encouraging others to do so - someone has to pay for the hall rental and it can be quite a lot. As time goes by, with people "under" them wanting to learn more from this dojo-opener, the person trains harder; harder than any of their students. They travel further to learn more, they come back and share this knowledge, they drive their students to their first seminar and make sure they are looked after, they introduce their students to other people from other dojos who this person already knows. They remind their students that an interesting seminar is coming up and as it is a full three months away, the student might want to consider taking their first kyu. They bring a first-aid kit to the dojo and stick plasters on their student's feet when they injure themself on the floor. They are first to the hall and sweep the floor so that their students don't get grossed out by the dust and muck that their previous hall users left behind. When two of the students start arguing about a point, they quietly intervene and set the record straight. Without even knowing it they have become a sensei, not just the door opener but a leader and a well respected one. They are ones who have gone before and they are ones whose trodden path others wish to follow.

And this describes the vast majority of dojo leaders that I have met in Europe. There are some exceptions of course but these are in the minority.

But now come the hard lines. Some of these dojo leaders, club-openers, sensei, whatever you want to call them, don't want to be known as "sensei". They respect their own inspirational teachers too much to want the term to be diluted and deferred to them. These dojo leaders are humbled by their highly experienced Japanese influencers. They are neither masters nor teachers, they are just people who have opened a club and let others come to train with them. This unfortunately does cause a problem. Tanaka Sensei, the person from whom this person learned iaido/jodo/kado/shodo through many European seminars and visits to Japan, doesn't even know this person's students. The dojo leader can hardly point at a photograph of Tanaka Sensei and tell his dojo members "THIS is your sensei". How can this person (Tanaka Sensei) be their sensei? He doesn't come to their dojo, he doesn't teach them anything directly, he doesn't check their keikogi before going onto their grading, he doesn't bring the first aid kit or the money tin to the dance studio where they train. No, that club's sensei is the person who greeted that shy and geeky student when they walked through the door.

The humility and respect for those further along the path does this dojo leader credit and much due respect in itself but for all their reluctance to be known as "sensei" they have become one. And probably a good one at that. Unknowingly they have probably already taken on board many of the responsibilities that I mention above and probably more. Their students might consider these people to be personal and personable friends even someone they might joke with or even ridicule in moments of good humour (and drunkeness). But, this person is their sensei and in the dojo they are such.

Other senior students in the dojo might (and I mean, might) be referred to as sensei as well, or sempai or Fred but the sensei is this one person.

For many of us in Europe who might have little understanding of the culture that most Japanese people were raised in (with what might be becoming a more pervading exception in modern times) this relationship is something that is gradually learned and developed rather than something that one starts in a dojo with. If one is lucky then all of these aspects might be explained to them on them starting if the dojo leader is an experienced sensei and has already established a good structure in the dojo with senior students who have taken on responsibilities themselves. In an ideal sense, the relationship between sensei and deshi (pupil) is almost a contractual one: you come and train here and trust what I teach you and I'll let you train here and try to teach you as to the best of my abilities.

I am talking in an idealistic sense here still and one that some might take getting used to. On the basis that "the sensei" is responsible for all their current students' wellbeing and personal growth, they may also have to vet people who come through the door, sometimes turning them away and sometimes letting them in. This is the sensei's perogative in their dojo (I emphasise this because I am aware that in some European countries, the martial arts club has to be part of a municipal body and thus have to accept everyone who wants to join within the limits of the dojo space): if they want a dojo full with young attractive women or strapping hunky lads then that is up to them (the smell of hairspray and/or testosterone might make it not the most nice place to be in though).

As Peter Parker said, with great power comes great responsibility. Maybe that should be modified for martial artists though: with experience and dan grade comes great responsibility and....not much else. In perhaps more older and traditional dojo in Japan, the master did have much power in fact. If they gave a bowl of disgusting food to their student and said "eat this" then the student would eat it; if they said black was white and white was black then the student would believe it too. Certainly in times when listening and taking on board the most trivial of a master's commands could determine life or death this might have been the best approach to take.

We don't live in those times and how much of that tradition we take up is really up to us. Some people see martial arts as a hobby, some see it as something else. Some see their dojo leader as not much more than their coach, others see them other ways. How a sensei creates this atmosphere may well be up to them but I don't foresee any students being sent off to kill another dojo leader or political figure....I hope.

So finally I want to break down the original question into chunks and make sure I have answered as best I can:

  • What appropriate assessment is the relationship between teacher (sensei) and student? I think I have answered this quite comprehensively. Ultimately the contractual one above I think is the most appropriate - I teach, you learn, I say, you do.

  • What spiritual and mystical aspect is of this agreement? I haven't really covered this mainly because I would only be speaking from my own opinion and aspect but I think you will understand my opinion on this if I explain that I would describe myself as an atheist, a sceptic, a secular humanist, a student of science and an environmentalist. I don't keep much stock in terms of spirituality or mysticism. I believe that the road opens differently for all of us and that the sensei is one who provides the context for "guided discovery". They shouldn't be or need to be the spiritual counsellor for something that is best discovered for oneself. They can certainly share their own experiences but the best teacher is the one that advises their students "to go and have this revelation yourselves, discover the world for what it is and not what someone tells you it is, be considerate, be careful and be adventurous."

  • How actually to receive the word sensei from a pupil ? As I have described it and as I think most people mean it. I respect you but you have responsibilities. If I call you sensei then it is because you have proved that my respect is well placed. I trust you and I hope that you trust me. I entrust the guidance for the development of my budo to your care even though it is me that has to walk this path. I will in turn help you to do your job as best as I can and I will do my best to support you and represent the dojo in a good light. If either of us step across a line then we will either have to withdraw carefully or walk away from each other. My respect is conditional as is your teaching.

For more on this subject I suggest you read the following link...

on General Omar Nelson Bradley, the "Soldier's General" and the model on which I try to be the best encouragment for others to train hard in the martial arts.

I hope my opinions are reasonably clear. I don't mean to be disrespectful to anyone, I believe that every dojo is a microcosm and an association is not a nationwide dojo but rather a collective of dojos, each with it's own sensei and structure.

That's me done, howabout you?

Before reading this I would like to direct your attention to two other websites that mention this subject:

These wonderful articles are published by Peter Boylan and Yuki Kanto/Michael Simonini (the latter being a translation from the book "Shinsa-In-No-Me" and is an article written by Ueno Satanori Sensei, Hanshi 8th Dan Iaido). I think it is important that they are read first as I want to build on them slightly...

Last week at the end of a Zoom Iaido class I was talking with our budo friends about the necessity of thinking about kaso teki in both a grading and in general training. It took me a few minutes to dredge up all the memories that I had about people talking and teaching things referring to kaso teki. They were very few and far between to be honest. Well, it gets talked about frequently but rarely to any degree of detail or depth.

In fact even doing a trawl of the internet only came up with the above two articles, almost all other links were just one-line definitions of it. The ZNKR Referees Manual also contains this clause:

I could find nothing the in the range of other budo books that I own; nothing by Donn Draeger, Dianne Skoss, Nicklaus Suino, Karl Friday etc.

Let's have a look at the detailed definition:

仮想 - Kasou Imagination, supposition, virtual, potential (enemy)

敵 - Teki Opponent, rival, adversary

So the question being discussed after the Iaido class was, how much attention and focus do we need to give to kaso teki? All of the people in this discussion were planning to take a range of examinations in the near future from 4th dan to 6th dan.

My response at the time was quite garbled but I will try here to express my opinion on this based purely on my own experience with training in Iaido.

Firstly, I believe that in my experience we pay a bit too much attention to the more "ethereal" aspects of budo in comparison with the physical and technical. I'm not suggesting that these aspects are not important, they surely are, but I think they get too much airtime. These aspects include Zanshin, Kigurai, Metsuke, Kaso Teki. The reason why I think they get more attention than they deserve is very simple - they are not difficult to do if you pay them just a small amount of attention. To be flippant about this I am pretty sure that I could train anyone, during a one-day training session, to represent convincingly all of these aspects. The first thing to note about them is that one can do them sincerely or one can fake them and I challenge anyone to be able to even identify the difference...

  • Zanshin - "Do the final part of the kata much slower like you're moving through mud except for any bits where you need to make the sword move quickly like in chiburi and noto."

  • Kigurai - "Keep your back and neck straight so that you look like a peacock and try to look down your nose. Closing your eyes slightly also helps."

  • Metsuke - "Look in the direction that I tell you and after cutting the final enemy then look down slightly."

  • Kaso Teki - "Make the cuts in the right direction and position."

In fact the last one, Kaso Teki, is perhaps the only one that requires some coordination and skill with the sword.

Now, what really is the difference between faking these aspects and doing them sincerely? Can you really look into another person's mind and see if they have true belief and sincerity about these aspects? Well, maybe a bit, but not reliably and how would you know?

My humble opinion is that these are products of dedicated physical, but mindful, training. Patching them on like some go-faster stripes on the side of a car doesn't necessarily improve the quality of the Iaido. Let's take Zanshin as an example. As I previously said, you could "fake" Zanshin by doing the end of the kata considerably slower (although how that would work with Okuden I'm not sure). But of course what you should be demonstrating is a degree of care and attention to your surroundings at the theoretical end of a kata. But again I ask, how would you tell the difference between faking it and a sincere expression? I think a good answer might be, train yourself to a degree where you might actually survive to the end of a theoretical fight, then put this into action in a kata and then you might, kind of, sort of,well, umm...feel Zanshin.

I'm laboring this point because I have heard in the past, more than a few people saying

"I must have done the kata well because I can visualize all the dead enemies around me."

...can you see the pointlessness of that statement? What if my response was

"Oh that's weird, because I see three people all standing smugly over your eviscerated corpse."

It doesn't really lead anywhere does it? We are having an unfalsifiable argument.

So, getting back to the Kaso Teki discussion. I now stand on the shoulders of the previous two articles and the one excerpt and state my opinion as:

An acceptable level of performance in showing Kaso Teki is doing the technical aspects of the form with the correct geometry and appropriate tempo along with looking in the right direction so that the technical form would be effective and represent what the exponent would almost certainly be doing in that combative situation dictated by the logic and situation of the kata.

I sincerely think that anything beyond this, any inner visualization of the enemy in order to intensify the feeling of the form is entirely personal to the exponent. If this goes to an excessive degree though then it is likely that the exponent will enter a zone of self-delusion concerning the effectiveness of their performance. As Kusama Sensei has said at a number of European seminars (where I had to stifle my embarrassment while translating)

"If you do form repetition without attention to technical detail then this is just masturbation."

So from my opinion in bold above, if one removes reference to technical correctness, timing and metsuke (which are considered as separate necessities) ...there isn't much left really is there? It's almost like "Kaso Teki" becomes a justification and metric for doing the form correctly.

When it comes down to it, isn't it just a useful tool for establishing if you're doing the form correctly? To borrow an understanding from Peter Boylan's post, isn't it just a temporary alternative to not having a real partner there against whom to establish if you're being accurate with your attacks?

Sure, you can visualize even a moving opponent in order to understand the timing and speed that you need in order to win a particular moment (the two kirioroshi in Morotezuki come to mind here; many people believe the opponents are static; Ishido Sensei has in the past demonstrated that they are not and what you really have to do in order to win each encounter).

Where I think the monsters live though is:

  • Justifying to yourself that your technique must be superior because your Kaso Teki reacted appropriately to your attack (e.g. they died - dramatically).

  • Pretending that you can see someone else's Kaso Teki based on something other than the physical performance (i.e. technical correctness, accuracy, metsuke and appropriate use of speed, power and timing) of their form.

During this rather long lockdown period, it has been something of a blessing for me as the restriction that Zoom sessions have on being able to coach effectively has meant that I have been doing far more training myself than I usually would. During some really nice sessions with the Loki-Ryu (!) crowd on Sunday mornings, I have been able to completely focus on my own training. For ZNKR training I have been mostly doing them slowly and methodically, analysing how techniques respond to small changes in effort and timing. On a few occasions I have taken my foot off the brake and allowed myself to try to do the form as if it were a real fight. Even at these times, I don't find dedicating lots of brain power into literally visualizing a person there does anything to improve the performance. For all the mental processes going on in ones brain, all the little plates that need to be kept spinning, there are far more useful and effective ones to dedicate resources to than trying to paint a picture of a ninja/ronin/samyoooorai in my head. Even sensing how ones centre of mass is moving and changing while stepping is far more rewarding and improving than doing this kind of deep visualization of an enemy. I can see if my cuts are straight and I can develop good cutting technology without having to think about an organic target.

I am passionate about this because I think that Iaido, being a generally solo training art, already has a susceptibility to lead to self-delusion and...well...a kind of "legal in public" masturbation. Too much theatre (which I have always been pretty talented at) is not a good thing for long term and consistent development of one's Iaido. At some point you have to be honest and ask yourself if your technique is as good as you imagine it is.


After posting this blog article I was reminded of an event that happened on one of Ishido Sensei's seminars in Germany a few years ago. One of the participants asked a question about the location of the enemies in Morotezuki prompting a brief explanation about the kaso teki. At one point, Sensei brought the participant out from the audience and made him stand up straight looking forwards. Sensei then stood a few meters in front of him with his hand outstretched in front of the participant. Sensei said to him,

"The enemy is here!"

"Hai, sensei." he responded.

"Can you see the enemy?" Sensei asked.

"Yes, sensei!"

"Can you really see him? See him clearly?"

"Yes, sensei!"

At this point, Ishido Sensei put his arm around the participant and asked the audience,

"Can someone call an ambulance, this person has something wrong with his head."

This of course prompted some laughter but it did then occur to many of us that perhaps creating visual illusions wasn't all that useful to our training.