Why Can't You Just Teach What You Know?
By Dave Lowry, Author and exponent of Yagyu Shin Kage-ryu
(this article first appeared in Inside Karate magazine, July 1993)
Those
martial artists fortunate enough to have been exposed to some of the traditional
martial disciplines-the classical bujutsu-still taught in a very limited way
in Japan, are often asked to teach it here. With extremely few exceptions, they
will reply to these requests with the explanation that teaching the art is impossible
for them because they have not been granted menkyo or "licenses" permitting
them to teach. The response to this explanation is invariably: "Can't you
just teach what you know?" Similarly, novices in arts like Karate, Aikido,
and Judo are often tempted to instruct on their own, at the request of non-practicing
friends and family who enjoin them to "just show us some of what you've
been taught."
Practitioners of classical, koryu do not teach without specific oral and written permission, in part because of ancient traditions. Martial ryu in the age of battlefield combat valued secrecy and a limit on instruction because it kept their techniques viable and effective. The methods of the ryu worked because no one outside the ryu knew them. Yet an equally important reason then and now concerned the integrity of the ryu. There is no way a ryu can be captured and maintained in written form or any other way. It exists solely by the absolutely correct transmission of its curriculum from one generation to the next. If one exponent of the ryu fails to learn correctly, the fabric holding it all together is weakened. If he teaches, or more accurately, if he mis-teaches what he's learned incorrectly, he passes on his flaws to those following him. Should this happen only once or twice, think of the exponential damage that will be done in only a few generations' time. In short order, the cloth making up the ryu is irreparably damaged.
The health of a ryu depended on how well it was (and is) transmitted. You can see, then, that a headmaster's going to be damned careful who he allows to teach. The ryu is a precious treasure. It codifies not just lethal fighting techniques (for the feudal battlefield, anyway), but a whole way of looking at life. How many exponents will learn it so thoroughly they can pass on the whole thing, spirit, technique, and all?
The exponent of a classical ryu cannot-does not-"teach what he knows" because he respects the fragile weave. He will not be the one to weaken it by passing along incomplete knowledge or by teaching from an incomplete perspective. What about the modern budoka, though? The weight of tradition is not nearly so heavy on him, true. It is still important for the budoka to refrain from teaching unless he is deemed qualified though, for much the same reason; not because the tradition of a centuries-old ryu will be corrupted, but because through incomplete knowledge or a limited perspective on the real nature of the art, the goals of the modern budo can be perverted or lost.
To the novice, the techniques of any budo appear relatively clear cut. Learning them is perceived as a matter of following instruction and practicing. Sow me a front kick, explain its mechanics, and let me practice. To the average beginner the "learning" of a front kick is nothing more then this process. He is unaware, until much later, of such technical subtleties as distancing and the compensation that must be made for practitioners of different sizes and builds. And only after years of practice under a high level of guidance will the karateka learn of the interplay of forces hard and soft that make the front kick what it really is. When a qualified sensei begins to teach a front kick, he does so with the broad overview in mind. He sets the beginner on a correct course, one that will permit future healthy development.
The novice may mistakenly assume he is learning a front kick. In truth he is being taught merely the foundation for the front kick. In truth, there are realms of the front kick-and every other budo technique-he hasn't even dreamed of. To try to teach when one is at the beginner's level is like constructing a house before setting the foundation. The beginner's "student" is cheated. The result can be a technique so badly mis-learned it never does straighten out, even if the student eventually finds high-caliber instruction.
What's worse, he and the beginner who taught him may never realize the depth of the error. Superficially the technique looks all right. It may, in certain situations, even work all right. But there is something vital missing.
The temptation to just show what
you know is strong. But you learned from a qualified teacher. Doesn't the next
guy deserve the same?