The Gift of a Weapon: Thanks, Trust, Lesson, Hope, and Responsibility

     In my years as a martial artist, I have come to understand that the giving and receiving of gifts is an important tradition.  There are many reasons why gifts are given between martial artists, and that idea could be an entire post unto itself, but there is one type of gift between two martial artists that stands out among the others. This is the gift of a weapon.  As I was training tonight, I began going through the various weapons I had on hand, using each one, and I realized that many of them had been gifts. Of the weapons pictured below, I only "paid" for one of them, and that was such a paltry sum in comparison to its actual value that I still consider it to be a gift.

     In addition to them being gifts, it should also be noted that each was a gift from one of my seniors. This is important.  A gift from a junior is important as well, and should be equally cherished, but a gift you receive from your senior can often hold more meaning than you may initially realize. If I went through additional weapons I do not currently have at the dojang, I could include several more not pictured above, and I appreciate and value each and every one. Why? Because each has meaning, and honestly, I can only touch upon the very surface of that meaning here.

     The first meaning of this gift is often thanks. Thank yous come in as many varieties as weapons, but generally a junior is the one giving thanks to his or her senior for the lessons provided. Often juniors may even feel that they never receive thanks from their seniors for what they do, but they are almost universally incorrect in this belief. Seniors genuinely do appreciate what their juniors do, and often even appreciate their appreciation. In other words, seniors appreciate it when their juniors ask them to come to an event in order to teach or share their knowledge. Often this is a situation in which the junior gives a gift to the senior, but at times, the reverse can be true as well.  The gift from the senior or mentor could be simply a thank you for the junior's (student's) dedication and willingness to learn as well.  It could also be a thank you for being a friend.  There are, as I have said, many reasons why a senior may want to thank his or her junior, and giving a gift is one way of doing so.  The gift of a weapon, though, conveys more than just simple thanks.

    The gift of a weapon signifies trust as well.  On one level, it is acknowledgement that the junior has actually made progress and has learned something.  In this respect, the gift of the weapon is saying, "Here, I acknowledge your ability. I trust you not to hurt yourself with this."  This is a mere acknowledgement of physical ability, though. The senior is also trusting the junior to use the weapon wisely, and to hurt no one else as well. This is recognition of the junior's mental, philosophical, and spiritual development, in addition to the development of physical skills.  Finally, it is symbolic of the senior trusting his or her junior to remain loyal to the relationship existing between the two. The gift of a weapon is a direct physical representation of saying "I trust that you will never stab me in the back." In the case of an edged weapon, this is both symbolic and quite literal. Beyond even thanks and trust, the giving of a weapon means still more.

     Almost any significant interaction between a junior and a senior in the martial arts, including the giving of a gift, should be viewed by the junior as a lesson.  The lesson may even be directly apparent in the type of weapon that is given.  The senior recognizes that the junior has enough knowledge to not get hurt, and to not hurt others, but this certainly is not necessarily an acknowledgement of any level of mastery with the weapon in question.  After all, Ben Kenobi may have trusted that Luke Skywalker wouldn't cut off his own hand with his father's lightsaber...

...but that doesn't mean he was ready to confront Darth Vader with it, now does it?

Okay, geek references aside, there is a point to be made here.  By giving a junior a weapon, the senior is often saying, "I've shown you how to use this without hurting yourself, but you still have a lot to learn.  I think you can learn something from using this particular weapon. Now, go and learn, but don't get cocky, or you might get hurt." Some of you caught the Star Wars reference there, too.  I know, I couldn't resist. Beyond even the lesson, though, there is more meaning to be found in the gift of a weapon.

     More than the thanks, trust, or even the inherent lesson in this gift, there is hope.  The senior giving the weapon truly hopes that the junior receiving it will take it and learn, in order to develop something new to share with others. It could be called A New Hope, I guess, but that might be pushing it.  Okay, I promise, that's the last one... I think.  All joking aside, this hope genuinely exists in many seniors' minds when handing a weapon to a junior, and that hope often blossoms into new knowledge, new instructional methods, and a new curriculum being developed. Granted, these "new" discoveries are often just re-discoveries of something old, but as long as it is new and valuable to the students who are learning from it, the gift has more than served its purpose, and the cycle can start anew.

     The gift of a weapon may signify any one of the ideas above, or it may include all of them at once. There may be deep personal connections as well, depending upon the weapon itself, who has owned and trained with it, and the exact circumstances under which it is given.  As I said, I can only scratch the surface of its true meaning here.  However, I can share one more meaning to this gift. Although it may be in back of our minds, we often do not wish to acknowledge it.  

     To share this final meaning, I will discuss the gift of the weapon that often holds more symbolic meaning than any other, that of the sword:

     

In this case, it is the master's sword, given to each master in the World Tang Soo Do Association as a gift from the Grandmaster.  This gift contains all of the meanings listed above.  It says, "Thank you for your service, loyalty, dedication, and sacrifice."  It says, "I trust you, not to hurt yourself, your students, the general public, your peers, your seniors, the Grandmaster, or the Association."  It says, "Teach with this, yes, but never stop learning.  You may be a master, but you will always be a student as well. Be careful with this, and with all the knowledge you have received, or you will get hurt."  It says," I have great hope for you, that you will go forth and develop new ideas to enhance our art and our Association."  All of these meanings and more are contained in the seemingly simple act of giving and receiving this blade.  I did say there was more, though.

     Some of you may notice that this gift says something else as well.  Quite literally, on the sheathe, it says, "Death Before Dishonor to World Tang Soo Do Association."  The gift at this stage is expected to go both ways.  By accepting the sword, the master accepts his or her responsibility to give something back, and to remain honorable throughout life.  Symbolically, the master swears an oath upon the sword while the blade is bared, and it is returned to the sheathe before being accepted. The oath always remains, though, as does the blade, even when it cannot be seen. This then is the final meaning.  This gift says, "I thank you, I trust you, I promise to teach you, and I have great hope that you will learn and teach as well, but if you turn your back on all of this, I have given you the instrument with which to take responsibility for your dishonor."  

     In a literal sense, soldiers and warriors of ancient times were expected to take their lives with their own swords when they committed an act of dishonor. Many people believe this to be derived from the practice of hara-kiri, or seppuku, by the samurai of feudal Japan, but the practice can be found in Ancient Rome, various European cultures, is referenced in the Bible, Torah, and Qu'ran, and the concept is probably as old as swords themselves.  Today, thankfully, we may not be literally expected to fall on our swords in times of dishonor, but we ARE expected to take personal responsibility for our actions, and to do what is right.  The gift of the sword is a reminder that this must ALWAYS be foremost in our minds, and that sometimes, there are no second chances.

     So, if a senior ever gives you a weapon, remember to think beyond the simple surface meaning of this action. I thank Masters Vaughn, Kaye, Homschek, and DiMarco, as well as Grandmasters Shin and Beaudoin for the gifts they have given, and I promise to do my best to accept their thanks, to be worthy of their trust, to heed their lessons, to fulfill their hopes for me, and to accept the responsibilty these gifts place upon me.

Kick. Punch. Easy Stuff. 

  

The Black Belt Equation

     Over my years as a martial arts instructor the question "what is a black belt?" is one that is asked as often as any other in my experience.  Of course, we have stock answers: "A black belt is someone who is good at the basics", "a black belt is someone who has shown readiness to truly start training", "a black belt is the real beginning", etc.  In truth though, many of these answers are just as ambiguous as the question posed in the first place.  This is, of course, by design, since a black belt is someone who must derive his or her own meaning from the journey, but none of that really helps in this particular post, and it is decidedly unhelpful when trying to establish a curriculum or a set of criteria for advancement to this coveted rank.  I have pondered this question for quite some time, but it was my recent opportunity to sit on testing panels for 2nd, 3rd, and 4th degree black belt candidates that drove me to put it down in a more permanent fashion.  As I had to make a determination for each of these candidates regarding whether I thought they were ready for advancement, I had to ask myself: "What is it that I really think a black belt is?", ""Are these candidates displaying the qualities of a black belt at the appropriate rank or level?", and "What are those qualities to begin with?"

     In order to answer any of these questions, we do have to return somewhat to the ambiguous, and remember that our training is a journey, and not one with any fixed destination.  In order to evaluate a black belt candidate, then, I must view the journey as a whole, but also as a synthesis of its component pieces.  I must ask both where the candidates have been, and also where they are going.  If we view the journey as a whole, we should be able to look back and see the journey (in the World Tang Soo Do Association) from white belt on through the ranks of orange, green, brown, red, blue, and finally to black, but we must also be able to see the desire for this person to forge ahead to the higher ranks of black belt as well, or what is the point?  If we break down the journey to its component pieces, though, we must of course begin at the beginning: white belt.

     When I ask myself what, in one word, I want a white belt to gain from his or her training, it is, quite simply, coordination. I hardly expect that a white belt  will understand the intricacies of how the body mechanics of the technique make it work, or  to be able to apply each technique in a "realistic" scenario.  I do expect white belts to learn and duplicate the basic movements of required techniques, and expect that they will work towards making these movements more natural to them.  I expect them to begin to learn how to move the various parts of their bodies together in a way that makes sense within the context of a given technique.  In essence, I expect them to be trying to move their bodies correctly, and that is all.  Anything else at this point is extra.  Please let me be clear:  it is not that I do not expect certain white belts to pick up more than this, and it is not that I expect every white belt who walks through the door to suddenly be coordinated in all of their movements.  I do expect that the main focus to the white belt is to work on and develop basic coordination, both in terms of physical technique and in terms of coordinating their personal schedules in order to get to classes.

     In the standard WTSDA curriculum, orange belt is the first step forward in terms of a belt color change for our students.   Once again, if I distill an orange belt's development down to one word, it would be balance. In a very real sense, this is what I want my orange belts to be developing.  I would like to have orange belts who can kick above their waists without falling over, certainly, but this balance extends to other areas as well.  Students at this stage will begin to work more on multi-technique combinations, and in so doing, will begin to balance both left and right sides of their bodies in one step. Stances will gain additional importance and emphasis, and in so doing, the instructor will begin to stress specific footwork and posture in a more in-depth manner.  Techniques will begin to become more fluid and less staccato in nature. In addition, the student must begin to balance their personal lives with their martial arts lives as the required curriculum begins to require additional time and effort.  It is not only balance that is being developed, though.  Balance is being developed by putting previously developed coordination into practice, which in turn develops coordination further as well.  We begin to see that the journey is cumulative, and that we cannot simply discard the lessons learned at one step in order to move forward to another, as this would be akin to trying to climb a ladder while someone removes the bottom rung.

     If we look forward towards green belt, then, the defining area in need of development, to me, is focus.  In a practical sense, green belts must learn that no matter how good a technique looks (ie, how coordinated and balanced a technique is), it matters very little if one cannot hit his or her target.  In this sense, focus is defined through aim and accuracy.  The importance of vital points begins to become more emphasized by the instructor, and the students' development is measured by how well they can land their techniques on a given point.  The importance of Shi Sun, or focus of eyes, is stressed further at this point as well. The student is tested on how well he or she can ignore distractions, and is expected to learn the value of stillness in addition to the value of motion. Additionally, it is at this stage at which many students are truly challenged for the first time.  They must make a critical decision whether to let increasing difficulty overwhelm them or to focus on their goals and press forward.  By developing this focus and stillness, students will find that control (coordination) and proficiency of technique (balance) improve as well.

     At brown belt I expect that the synthesis of previously developed coordination, balance, and focus is power. In general terms, power is the ability to do something, the degree of control over something one possesses,  or the amount of strength one has.  Each of these is being developed at brown belt.  Brown belts begin to find that their techniques are landing with additional force or strength due to the proper coordination and balance of their muscle groups combined with the ability to focus the technique on a given point. They begin to understand that they are in control of how much strength or force is being generated by a specific technique.  They begin to understand that they can, and in this realization comes confidence and personal power as well. While greatly simplifying matters, science (physics) generally views power as the rate at which work is performed upon an object.  In order to really understand this, we must know what "work" is in a scientific sense, but in a more general sense can comprehend that in order to develop power, one must be willing to perform work. In a very basic sense, work is determined by multiplying the amount of force generated on an object by the overall displacement of said object, or how much an object is moved from its original position. Thus, power is a measurement of force, speed, and movement. Force and movement we now have developed, so it is relatively obvious what must come next.

       To me the WTSDA red belt is all about learning how to perform the required techniques and movements correctly, but with greatly increased speed. Scientifically, speed is usually expressed as distance traveled divided by time: 55 miles per hour, for example.  In order to increase our speed, then, we either need to decrease distance traveled in a given amount of time, decrease the amount of time it takes to travel a given distance, or decrease both the distance traveled and the amount of time it takes to travel that distance. Given that acceleration is a function of the change in speed (or velocity) over time, and that acceleration is also a component of force, we know that in order to accelerate a given technique to a certain speed, we can apply additional force as well (Acceleration= Force / Mass).  This is the mistake many new red belts make.  They try to apply more force to a technique  in order to make it go faster; to take less time to perform. What they should actually be doing is attempting to decrease the total distance traveled by the mass of their bodies. This is done by making one's techniques more efficient, and by cutting out all unneeded and extraneous motion. Thus speed is again a product of coordination, balance, and focus, and by increasing speed, we automatically increase power as well.  Red belt is the synthesis of correct movement, but something is still missing. 

     Up to this point, students have been primarily working on the how, and, more specifically, how to move.  It may seem shocking to some, contrived to others, and cliche to the rest, but it nonetheless remains true that until this point, we have merely been learning to crawl, then walk, and have just begun to comfortably run. The journey has barely even begun.  In the World Tang Soo Do Association, blue belt is a stage between the Gup and Dan ranks, known as Cho Dan Bo, or black belt candidate.  If we accept that white through red belt represent childhood, the blue belt is adolescence.  We have learned how to move, and now must begin to learn why.  It is here that application becomes paramount.  When we learn how to move correctly and combine this knowledge with knowing why, we can actually begin putting our techniques to good use, and can begin to develop an arsenal of useful tools for both self-defense and self-improvement.  This is not to say that students are not taught applications for specific techniques up to this point, nor that students are not capable of putting their knowledge into action prior to this stage.  I do however believe that application of techniques up to this point has been, for most students, more through rote memorization of movement than by intuitive action, even when our goal as instructors is to teach and develop the latter. It is this intuitive action, or unconscious competence for those familiar with the term, that we strive to develop at this stage. Being able to apply a technique means being able to effectively use it without conscious thought, and while I do not believe that most blue belts can do this every time with every technique, I absolutely do believe that it should be happening sometimes. If it is, the challenge becomes finding a way to reproduce this, and the blue belt is on the right track. Doing something instinctively and without thought is a great achievement for the blue belt, but it is not, and should not be, the end.

     Wait, there's more?  Those familiar with the Four Stages of Competence know that "unconscious competence" is the final stage, right?  Perhaps not.  I would argue that if one is truly completely competent with something, one must be able to teach and develop that competence in another.  In order to do that, we must be able to do more than simply perform a certain technique or skill without thinking about it.  We must actually know how we perform the skill without thinking about it. This leads to what some claim (and I agree) is a fifth stage: conscious competence of unconscious competence.  For the sake of simplicity, we will call this understanding.  It is at black belt that we should begin to see how all the pieces we have been given fit together, and it is here that we begin to see the "bigger picture".  No, I am not saying that I expect a black belt to show a complete understanding of his or her chosen art.  That would imply and end where there is no ending. Instead I am saying that I expect to see at least a spark of understanding in candidates who are testing for black belt.  I expect that they are just beginning to see how it all fits together, that it is in fact " all the same", and that the destination is not remotely important to the journey itself.  I expect to see the potential for further understanding to be developed, and to see the desire to pass on what they have learned to others.  I expect to see a synthesis and synergy of coordination, balance, focus, power, speed, and application.  I expect to see this understanding grow and change as the student moves through the higher degrees of black belt.  Finally, at some point, I expect to see black belts realize that they have in fact been unconsciously incompetent, and don't actually know what they think they know.  It is then that they can begin their training and learn to become coordinated in a whole new way.

Kick.  Punch. Easy Stuff.  

First!

First! may very well be the most annoying internet meme of all time, but let's be perfectly honest: we all want to be first at SOMETHING.  Unfortunately for us as a society, so many of us underachieve and fail to reach our potential so often that being the first to post a comment on the web has actually become a goal and an accomplishment to some people. By the way, to those of you thinking that typing "First" into the comments section of this blog post would be funny or inventive: no, it's just sad. For those of you who are blessed enough to have no idea what I'm talking about, you can learn more by clicking here.  Warning: there may be some strong language in linked videos.  Overall, though, I think the Venn Diagram below illustrates it best:

Okay, now that I got that out of my system, I actually do want do discuss how this relates to martial arts. The simple truth is that most of our efforts and goals to be first at something in the martial arts world are both fleeting and futile. Did you come in first at a tournament?  Are you the World Champion?  These are great accomplishments for you, yes, and I don't want to try to take that from anyone, but in 20 years, will anyone really care?  Will you?  Did you make to black belt faster than anyone in the history of your school?  Can you jump the highest, kick the hardest, or yell the loudest?  Someone will always be better, and physical skills will always diminish in some way over time.  As martial artists, it is important for us to be proud of our accomplishments and inspect our achievements, but it is also important for us to set ego aside and realize that First!  does not always equate to best. Striving to be our best should always take priority over striving to be first.  

There is, however, always an exception to the general rule, and I do believe that there is a special case in which being first in the martial arts world truly does matter.  It is a situation over which we appear to have little control, but is one that nonetheless can create an exceptional martial arts experience.  I speak of the experience created when one becomes an instructor's first student.  There is no doubt in my mind that being a first student allows for a journey in the martial arts unlike any other, and I do not say this simply because I am one (more on that later) but instead because I have had a first student of my own.  Truthfully I have had more than one first student, but I'll explain how that is possible later.

In my own martial arts career, I have been often asked who my first student was, or who was the first student of another instructor or master.  I think that people do not fully understand why they ask this question, and I believe that many instructors do not comprehend why certain names pop into their heads when the question is asked.  I believe that the question is asked often to determine whether this fact is actually important, and that it is answered readily because the answer is, unequivocally, important to the instructor.  

Before I move on further in this direction, though, I think it is important for my readers to understand what I think a first student is.  A first student is not merely the first person who walks through the door to take a class, you see, although I am surprised how often that scenario proves to be true.  A student isn't someone who merely shows up.  A student is someone who studies.  If we look at the definition and origin of the word, we find the following:

If we look merely at the definitions, we find that a student is "a person who is studying", but what does that really mean? By looking further at the origin of the word, we find that a student actually is a person who "applies oneself to" something with "painstaking application". If we look at traditional Chinese characters, from which most Asian languages developed, we see a similar concept. The Chinese word for "student" is xuésheng, which is depicted as follows:

學生

The first character, xué, meaning study, can be broken up into its components in order to better understand its meaning. The 'x' shapes denote mathematics, or knowledge. The strokes surrounding and under the 'x' shapes depict hands grasping or acquiring knowledge that is taught or passed on. Finally, the strokes below depict a child or person. The second character, sheng, is often translated as life, but also depicts growth, development, bringing forth, and other similar ideas. Thus, we can see that a "student" in Asian culture is someone who has dedicated his or her life to grasping or acquiring knowledge, or one who creates growth through the acquiring and development of knowledge.

Why is all of that important? Simply put, it illustrates the point that one can not truly be an instructor's first student unless one is fully committed to the idea of being a student. An instructor's first student is the first one who "gets it."  A first student is the first one who commits to learning the martial arts with his or her whole being.  First students are the first to throw themselves into their training with "painstaking application". The first student is the student who is first to realize and accept that martial arts have truly impacted his or her life for the better. Finally, first students are those who cannot stay away from martial arts, even if they try. First students may not be the first student to set foot on the training floor, but I have seen that they often are. The first person to enroll in a given martial arts school often develops a strong instructor-student bond, and often receives in-depth training at a personal level that is not as often possible as classes grow and increase in size. As those classes do grow, though, it is the first student who shows the way for those who follow.  The first student lets others know what behaviors are expected, acceptable, and unacceptable.  The first student picks up on the instructors nonverbal communication, and often sees that things are done before the instructor needs to ask.  The first student helps to create the school's identity, and is the first to truly become a part of and contribute to the greater whole that is the dojang.   

  I have said already that I personally am a first student. As I cannot say with any certainty that my instructor would agree, I should more accurately say that I believe myself to be my instructor's first student, or that I consider myself to be my instructor's first student. I am not the first person to whom my instructor ever taught martial arts.  I am not even my instructor's first student to reach black belt or master rank, depending on how you look at it. I am, however, the first person to register for classes at my instructor's studio, on the first day he offered classes as a studio owner in the WTSDA, and I am still here, running a studio of my own, so I hope that in some way I "get it" and that this qualifies my belief. 

It could actually be argued that I am a first student of a first student.  My instructor's instructor was Master Michael White, who in the history of his own studio wrote: "Classes were taught throughout the year, in all weather conditions. At this point, the studio had some off/on students. The lone survivor throughout the long succession of students was a student named Charles Vaughn. Charles became Appalachia’s first Black Belt and later on, a Master Instructor himself." As "lone survivor" it could be argued that Master Vaughn was Master White's first student, though again, I do not presume to put words in Master White's mouth.  I merely hope to demonstrate that it could be argued that I am a first student of a first student, as well as illustrate that the concept of the "first student" may in fact mean different things to different people.  If we have learned anything from the Star Wars saga, it is that "many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view."  
  So, while I do not mean to create any controversy by writing this, it can also be argued, from a certain point of view, that Master Michael White was a "first student" of Grandmaster Shin after he came to the United States.  Though I am not saying Master White was Grandmaster Shin's first student ever, from a certain point of view it nonetheless could make me a first student of a first student of a first student.  I say this not to be boastful or to brag of my strong lineage, but instead because it helps me understand the strong responsibility I have to pass on what I have learned. I am proud to say, then, that my own first student is now running a dojang of his own, and again, from a certain point of view, is a first student of a first student of a first student of a first student.  I can only hope that he has found a first student of his own.

  I was, at first, very hesitant to write on this topic because I was afraid that the audience to whom it would be relatable was confined to only instructors and first students.  I have come to realize though, that it is possible to have more than one first student.  How is this possible?  While I will only ever have one first "first student", my wife and I now teach multiple classes in multiple locations.  I therefore have a first student at my new location.  There is the first youth student, and the first little dragon to really become a student in the sense defined above. There is the first student to reach black belt and hopefully one day the first to reach master.  There is the first tournament champion and the first youth student to become an instructor.  There is the first student to arrive for class each day, and the first student to realize that sometimes the best lessons are learned by being the last one to leave. Let me clarify:  I absolutely do not care who is the first person from my dojang to do any of the preceding things.  I absolutely do care who is the first student to do so. In some way, we can all find a way to be first students, and we should all strive to do so. In achieving this, I believe it is okay to proclaim that you were "First!"

Kick. Punch. Easy Stuff.