
Oct 19 Thu ~ A Parable
Here is a true story borrowed, and slightly edited for brevity, from the Foreword of OLD SCHOOL, Essays on Japanese Martial Traditions by Ellis Amdur.
“…given the sterile debates about… combative arts versus those for self improvement, this account concerns an aikido instructor. During my years in Japan I knew a man, then about 50 years old, whom I will call Aoyagi. He was a 6th degree black belt, but his Aikido was not very good. He was stiff and ungraceful, his rank more a product of ‘being there’, year after year, than any degree of skill. He was the head instructor of a ‘ward’ dojo…
… there was a small dojo in the back yard of a man named Matsumura. This space was so small that… one could not fall normally… a lot of time, therefore, was spent converting aikido into punches and kicks. This suited Matsumura just fine… aikido, not providing the requisite toughness, he also took up some form of karate. He was now very strong. He’d drive his fingers into an urn filled with dried beans and ball-bearings, and he had calluses on his knuckles an inch across.
Matsumura found himself in a difficult situation. All the 'funded' positions for aikido instructors were taken – each ward had its own gymnasium dojo staffed by its own teacher. The only way he could get a bigger following was to build a larger place and publicize himself – in short, he would have to spend a lot of money and become a full-time teacher. He had a day job however, and he was good at it – he did traditional gardening – and in spite of his rather violent style of martial arts practice, he had a real sense of beauty.
So Matsumara came up with an idea. He and his students started attending Aoyagi’s classes. On several occasions, one of Matsumara’s students would call Aoyagi over and say something like, ‘Sensei, I don’t quite get this throw. Would you show me?’ Aoyagi would make a simulated attack to provide him with an opportunity to try the technique, and the student would ‘accidentally’ punch him in the face or the chest. At first the student would say, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I mis-timed it.’ Then it became, smiling, ‘I got it now, Sensei.'
After several weeks and several incidents of this kind, Matsumura paid a visit to Aoyagi’s home. Invited in, he laid his massive calloused fists on the table and after the tea arrived, said, ‘Sensei, I’ve been thinking about Darwin recently. And how the old in the herd must make way for the young. It seems to be a law of nature that the herd best survives when the elder knows when to step aside.’
Aoyagi smiled in his usual, head-bobbing way and said, ‘I understand perfectly. Just a moment.’ He left the room, returned with two swords, and placed them on the coffee table. Then he said: ‘When I was 16, I was drafted into the military, right near the end of the war. Within a few weeks they taught me how to take off in a plane, how to fly and steer it. They did not teach me how to land, because it wasn’t necessary. As a kamikaze I would only be making a single flight. They told me the date of my departure, and in the few days remaining, I said good-bye, in my heart, to my family, to all I loved and held dear. The war ended two days before I was scheduled to fly. But I had already died. Since then I have been lucky. I, a dead man, got married, had children, a job – but I never felt I possessed any of it. You are a very healthy young man – and you have those wonderfully scary hands. So I will tell you what we can do. Come into the garden with me and see if you can take the dojo from this dead man.’ And he picked up one sword and offered it to Matsumura.
Matsumura lurched back, spat out, ‘You’re crazy!’ and hurriedly left.
What makes this story so quintessentially Japanese is that a week later, Aoyogi retired from his teaching position, giving it to another older man – another stiff, middle-aged guy.
Some years later I saw Aoyagi at a funeral… and we passed time in conversation. After a lull I said, ‘Aoyagi-san. Awhile ago, I heard a certain story.” He glanced at me sidelong, and said, ‘What’re you talking about.’ I looked innocently at him and said, ‘Oh a story about a visit that a young man with big knuckles made to your house one day.’ He looked a little discomfited… Then looking him dead in the eyes, I continued, ‘And Aoyagi-san, ever since I heard that story, you have always been Sensei to me.’
He looked in utter placid calm, and then almost infinitesimally, he inclined his head in a quick, yet perfect bow. Then letting the smirk drop back on his face like a mask, goosed me in the ribs and snickering, said, ‘What’re you talking about Ellis-san’.”