To me, it is a crime that, until recently, Doctor Who has been a relatively unknown property in the United States. I remember watching random serials from the fourth and fifth doctors showing up on PBS when I was a kid, mostly leaving only vague memories of Tom Baker's scarf, the oddity of what appeared to be a cave girl (Leela) crawling around in a spaceship, the brilliant absurdity that is a Dalek, or the wonders of a tin dog (K-9). Truthfully, I had even less memories of Peter Davison, and merely recalled his clothing and the fact that he was the same guy as Tom Baker in a new body, or something like that. It is only with the relaunch of the series with the Ninth Doctor, the availability of BBC America, and the development of internet connections that make streaming video truly viable that The Doctor has finally made a lasting impact on this side of the pond, and that is good thing for scifi fans in the States. I have made it a personal quest to watch every serial, and while I have seen the entire run from Eighth through Eleventh, I have only thus far made it from the First Doctor to mid-way through the Fourth Doctor in the original series, and am looking forward to more.
One of the staples of Doctor Who has always been its imaginative, strange, visually striking, and sometimes downright creepy villains and monsters. The greatest Doctor Who villain will always be the Dalek, despite what any polls might say, but I'll admit that due to being a more modern fan, David Tennant, the Tenth Doctor, will probably always be my favorite doctor (although I do put Baker and Troughton and numbers 2 and 3 on my list) and as such, his run has left me with some of my favorite villains as well. At the top of the list of "modern" Doctor Who villains has to be the Weeping Angels.
For those not in the know, the Weeping Angels are out to get you, and can be any statue that you see. Their only weakness is that they can't move if anyone is watching them. All you have to do to be safe is simple: don't blink. Any child who ever engaged in a staring contest can tell you exactly how easy that isn't. This concept has made for some really great episodes in the tenures of both the Tenth and Eleventh Doctors, but "Blink" is still definitely among the best.
Okay, those of you who aren't Whovians (shame on you) bear with me, I am going somewhere with this. I have been struggling to convey to my students the best way to develop "snap", "pop", and precision in their technique for quite some time now. I have also struggled with students who can't seem to sit or stand still, and consistently fidget, and have stressed the importance of stillness over the last several months. It seems as if "be still" is an alien concept to some of them, but it is slowly sinking in. We have even worked through some of the less complex equations of elementary physics and learned that accelerating our mass more quickly while decreasing the total distance traveled between our technique and our target has the result of generating more force, more work, and more power. Somehow the concept of getting from one place to another efficiently was still being lost, though. I stumbled upon a teaching technique just today that I will be using more often in the future. I have dubbed it "The Hyung of the Weeping Angel."
The concept is actually a rather simple one, much as the concept of the Weeping Angel itself is simple. I expect the students to perform each move with blinding speed, as accurately and as efficiently as possible, but then to stop all movement to the point of becoming a statue. While this only works after a student has been taught the correct transitions between movements as well as the starting and ending positions, it does work. Students' focus, timing, snap, and even attitude all got better. As I continued, I began to tell the students that they had to complete the movement in the space of time it took me to blink. At first I would kihap to initiate the movement, and blink slowly, expecting them to have transitioned from one movement to another while my eyes were closed, and expecting all movement to stop when my eyes opened. Later on, the blinks became faster. Anyone caught moving while my eyes were open was told, and eventually the blinks were too fast for the students to keep up, but it still became a valuable and fun exercise. When working with smaller groups, I would even forgo the kihaps altogether, and would instead have students focus on me. They would have to move as soon as they saw my eyes close, and be completely still when they opened. While this did shift their focus away from themselves, it still conveyed the message of quick movements with snap and power being necessary, and increased the energy and dynamism of their hyung.
It occurs to me now that I have seen this type of movement expressed before. I clearly remember a speech being given by Grandmaster Shin during one of the many Regional Black Belt Camps I attended over the years. Actually, that isn't true. I'm not sure I can remember the content at all, but I can remember what happened during that speech. Grandmaster Shin went from a casual speaking posture to executing a textbook Tang Soo Do side kick and back to his casual position again with what I could only describe as the speed of thought. I don't even think I did blink, and to this day I can tell you that my eyes were unable to register the motion between his foot being on the ground and being fully extended, as well as not seeing any motion as the kicking leg returned to the ground. Having seen that one side kick still inspires me today, and remains one of the most memorable experiences in my martial arts career.
Some of you may not believe that this type of motion is possible without seeing it with your own eyes. Or perhaps I should say not seeing it. To those people I present one Rika Usami. She has her critics, as all sport oriented martial artists do, but I maintain that she must be a hybrid of human and Weeping Angel. Go ahead and watch her, but don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink, and you're dead. She is fast, faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back. Don't look away, and don't blink.
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.
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 studentis. 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!"
This particular post may not be popular with my normal audience of traditional martial artists, but I have come to believe it is needed. Traditional martial arts businesses are under assault today by other martial arts businesses, instructors, and schools in what started out as a genuine movement to educate the public, but has instead become a popularity contest of sorts in which one group can puff up their chests and feel superior to the other based on subjective criteria that often have more to do with generalized opinions than actual observed or measurable fact. This movement centers around one of the most common and pervasive pejorative terms in the martial arts world today: "McDojo".
Although I have used this term in the past myself, I have grown to hate it. It seems that in today's world, martial artists believe that anything they do at their own schools is wonderful and awesome, and that anything done at other schools that they don't do themselves automatically makes those other schools McDojos, when this simply isn't the case at all, based on my own personal observation. Please don't misunderstand me. "McDojos" certainly do exist. They may even outnumber quality schools that teach "real" martial arts, though personally I haven't found this to be true. My attempt with this post is to clarify what I believe a McDojo is, and also what I believe a McDojo isn't. Undoubtedly, there will be readers who disagree with my conclusions. That is fine. These are only my opinions based on my own experiences over the last twenty or so years of teaching martial arts. There may even be some who will believe I can't see the qualities of the McDojo because I am running one myself. If that's what you believe, I'll be happy to allow you to do so, because my arguments won't change your mind anyway. All I ask is that you read with an open mind, and if you disagree, feel free to state your case with comments on this page or on our facebook page. If there's anything I support, it is rational, open discussion, while argument for the sake of argument alone will not be accepted. To the point, then:
A McDojo is: A Belt Factory
"Belt Factory" is another widely used pejorative term, but one that I believe holds up under scrutiny, although "Belt Dispensary" may be more accurate. At a McDojo, belts are given rather than earned. If belts are awarded solely because a student shows up to class and pays the testing fee, this is a good sign that you have entered a McDojo. If no student is ever held back from testing "on time", and no student ever fails a test, or if no real test for advancement is given at all, there is a good chance that this location is a McDojo. (Please note that a "test" can come in a number of ways, and while I prefer a formal test day, the lack of one does not automatically mean that students have not been tested.) If there is no established curriculum outlining what each rank should know and should be able to do, you may have a McDojo on your hands. If older curriculum material is dismissed entirely and never practiced again simply to introduce new material for another rank, you may be in a McDojo. If belt ranks seem to exist solely so that the instructor can charge fees without actually increasing knowledge or skill, there is a good possibility that you are visiting a McDojo.
A McDojo is not: A studio with child black belts, or unconventional colored belts.
This one may make me unpopular with the "traditional, "old-school", or "hard core" martial arts crowd, but in this case, I can honestly say I don't care, and often find the accusation itself to be loaded with hypocrisy. Let's start with youth black belts. While it remains unusual, I have allowed students to test for black belt as young as 9 years old. For me, these students have usually trained for 5 - 6 years, 3 times a week, and have demonstrated a high degree of proficiency in all of our association's basic curriculum for colored belts. They have each written an acceptable 1,000 word essay on a topic relating to martial arts and their own lives. They have each passed a minimum of two physical pretests, and have each passed a 100 question written test encompassing the subjects of history, terminology, philosophy, etiquette, application, and theory, and have done so at 80% or higher. They have demonstrated leadership skills in class and the ability to teach basic skills to others. They have, in short, earned the right to wear a black belt at my school, and in my association. This means nothing anywhere else, and shouldn't. (See No, you can't wear your black belt here...probably.)
What insults me is the automatic assumption that a child wearing a black belt is automatically an incompetent martial artist. The exact same people who tell us that "black belt is only the beginning" and that "black belt only means you are good at the basics" will jump on the bandwagon that youth black belts should never be awarded and that the kids who wear them are not "real" martial artists. This is hypocrisy. Your standard may be greater than mine, and that is fine. It may be less, and that may be alright, too. Judge black belts on how they act and what they do, not on how old they are and what they look like. The videos below are just a couple of admittedly unusual examples, but honestly, I'd have a hard time telling these kids that they don't know the basics and aren't ready to "start" their training. Granted, these kids are not American, but they are even younger than the age at which I will begin to award black belts, and do illustrate that one shouldn't make snap judgments regarding ability based on age alone:
Okay then, what about the "unconventional" belt colors? There are studios out there that have adopted striped belts, belts that are half one color and half another, and even camouflage belts. CAMOUFLAGE?? That definitely means it's a McDojo, right? Not necessarily. Again, it comes down to what the belt means, not what it looks like. I personally don't like the "unconventional" belts because of how I think they look, but that's an aesthetic choice, and should have no basis in judging the value of a belt to another martial artist. As long as the belt has meaning and was earned through the demonstration of skills needed to convey that meaning, why should we feel a need to disparage it? In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't really that long ago that yellow, orange, or green belts would have been considered "unconventional", and now they are so normal that we don't even think of calling a studio a McDojo simply because it awards them. Hypocrisy again.
A McDojo is: A place in which money is more important than martial arts.
To some degree, we have already talked about this, but it bears further discussion, as this is a very fine line, which is at times difficult to see, making it hard to determine when it has been crossed. Some practices are very questionable, though. The general rule I give to my students is: If it costs me money, it costs you money. The question we need to ask is whether we are getting what we pay for. Does a studio charge you a high rate just to enroll, without ever taking a class? This may be a warning sign. Are you encouraged, and even pushed, to join "upgrade programs" like the "Black Belt Club" or "Master's Club"? If so, be sure that you are actually getting something in return for what you pay. Are you forced to purchase equipment that you don't actually use? This one is a dead giveaway. Do you always test as long as you pay the fee, even if you are not ready, haven't improved your existing techniques, or haven't learned anything new? This is a problem as well. Is it expressly forbidden that you buy or use equipment from anywhere outside of the studio? If so, don't you need to ask why? Any time you feel that a charge is unjustified, you should be able to question it, and the instructor should be able to give you a reasonable explanation why the charge in question exists. If they can't do so, you need to watch out.
A McDojo is not: A place that charges reasonable fees for the goods and services it offers.
There are still some people (though happily a diminishing number of them) that believe martial arts instructors shouldn't make money from teaching martial arts, and that making a living by teaching martial arts means that the instructor has "sold out." How ridiculous! We don't tell doctors, lawyers, accountants, or teachers that they shouldn't be paid for what they do, so why should it be the case for martial arts instructors? Martial arts studios should charge what the market will bear, and have every right to do so. Let's be fair for a minute. Let's assume that you have the option of attending 3 classes per week at 1 hour per class, and that you pay $100.00 per month to do so. This means you are paying your martial arts instructor an average of $8.33 an hour for what they do. I know babysitters who make more than that! If you are paying less than that, or attend more times per week, you should be happy with the deal you're getting. "Upgrade Programs" are also not automatically the mark of the devil. I have no problem with studios charging more for something if they are actually offering something more. If the upgrade program allows you access to additional training time, curriculum outside of what you would learn in the regular class, or other specific specialized training and benefits, then you can and should pay for it. If all you get is a flashy new patch and a spiffy colored uniform, though, where's your return on investment? Finally, you should expect to pay for equipment that you will use in class. Requiring specific equipment is okay, and should be expected, if you are actually using it. Optional equipment may be offered as well, and this is okay, as long as you understand that it is optional and you choose to buy it anyway.
A McDojo is: A place in which undisciplined children are allowed to run amok. Make no mistake. In the United States, most children who are allowed to run amok will certainly do so. What happens at the martial arts school when they do? Are students disciplined, asked to sit down, or even asked to sit out? Are they told that this kind of behavior is not acceptable? Every studio will have occasional discipline issues and running children. It is how this behavior is handled that lets you know whether or not you have entered a McDojo. At first glance, a studio may seem chaotic, but is this because children are training, or because they are running free, without guidelines or structure? Is discipline enforced, or is it only mentioned and forgotten? Do students have clear expectations of what they are to do before a class starts, or is it "free time" in which they have too many choices unrelated to training?
A McDojo is not: A place that uses fun and games to teach martial arts concepts and skills.
I have adopted a new saying in my youth classes that I have recently started to have students repeat: "We have time for fun. We have no time for nonsense." Teachers that use fun drills and innovative games to teach martial arts concepts should be praised rather than berated. Some martial artists believe that there is no place for games in their class, though. What a shame. Games that teach essential skills such as targeting, reaction time, complex memory recall, awareness, danger avoidance, basic combative strategies, teamwork, etc., can and should be developed for younger students, and should, at times, be required for adults as well. Often the adult students will find out just how hard these "games" really are, and will come to understand the concepts that they teach. These games should have specific rules, goals, and measurable outcomes related to martial arts. They should never completely take the place of traditional techniques and methods, but they do not automatically make a class worthless, either.
A McDojo is: A place that never spars, or never allows students to get hit.
I have, on occasion, had parents tell me that they want their children to enroll in martial arts, but want me to ensure that their child will never get hit or encounter contact. I'm sorry, but I can't do that. Certainly we have graduated levels of contact, and safety remains a priority, but never getting hit in your martial arts journey means you either have absolutely miraculous defensive skills, or you are in a McDojo. I also believe traditional drills are important stepping stones toward learning how to fight, as well as learning how to control oneself in a fight. At the darkest and grittiest level, though, what we are doing is learning how to hurt people while trying not to get hurt ourselves. If we are never exposed to that possibility, our skills are not being developed, and we are doing ourselves a great disservice.
A McDojo is not: A place that uses protective equipment, practices point sparring, or uses traditional methods to teach martial techniques.
Most people would not suggest that NFL players stop wearing protective gear, or that college and grade school levels aren't playing "real" football because they wear helmets. A better analogy might be that no one would expect a SWAT Team or military personnel to infiltrate a hostile area without protective gear. However, there is still a vocal minority that insists one can never learn "real" martial arts without engaging in sparring with no protective equipment. This is, like so many other statements, a ridiculous one. While I don't deny that there is value in occasionally sparring without gear, I don't recommend it to the beginner or intermediate level student. Quality protective sparring gear measurably reduces injury, helps boost the confidence of students sparring, and allows greater impacts to be taken without suffering too greatly. Its benefits far outweigh any perceived liabilities.
Point sparring is not, in and of itself, a bad thing. It teaches us how to control techniques to near pinpoint accuracy, develops speed, focus, and coordination, and creates a positive outlet without automatically generating fear of injury. What it does not do, is reveal who the best "fighter" is, although to me the best fighter is the one who never has to fight. Philosophy aside, ANY method of sparring, from point sparring, to boxing, to judo, to MMA, that establishes a set of rules, is automatically artificial. Certainly some of these are closer to "real" than others. I never said we should only practice point sparring; merely that its presence is not an automatic indicator of a McDojo. Within the confines of the studio, though, we can only ever approach reality. We cannot actually duplicate it.
Finally, traditional methods like forms practice, one-steps , and board breaking have come under assault in recent years. I will simple say this: I believe that those who find these practices "worthless" never understood the reason why we do them to begin with, and probably never will. Nothing I can say will change that, so I won't even try right now. I do feel the need to say this, though: anyone who believes "boards don't hit back" has never really trained at breaking boards. They hit back- believe it.
A McDojo is: A place in which the instructor claims very high rank, or multiple ranks, without being able to back up those claims.
This one is pretty straightforward. If someone claims to be a 9th Dan black belt in multiple styles and has done this in 5 years (yes, a ridiculous over exaggeration, but it helps make the point) and can't tell you where he got those ranks or how he acquired such great skill, you have a problem. If someone has "created" the style he or she teaches, at least ask why and how it was created. Maybe it has real value and maybe it doesn't. The student should be the judge of that. Questions that should be readily answered by instructors in order to avoid McDojos include:
"How long have you trained in the martial arts?"
"Where did you start your own training?"
"Who awarded you your rank/ how did you earn your rank?"
"What does your rank mean? What was required of you to earn it?"
"What are the main characteristics of the style you teach?"
"Where did your style come from? What other style is it similar to?"
There are more, and some of these will only have meaning in the right context, but this is at least a start for the uninitiated.
A McDojo is not: A place in which the instructor has very high rank, or multiple ranks, and can back it up.
Again, people often make judgments too soon without knowing the whole truth. I know a number of high-ranking martial artists who hold rank in multiple arts and have legitimately earned those ranks, while still teaching classes every day. These people can satisfactorily answer all of the questions above and then some, and will gladly share their knowledge and skills with you if you become a student. As we have said before, it is an understanding of what the rank in question means, and what the instructor can teach and do that is important, not the number of stripes on his or her belt or the number written on his or her business card.
A McDojo is: A place of lowered standards.
If you can't identify this one for yourself, do yourself a favor and conduct some research. Compare what you see at different martial arts studios. Hop on Youtube and compare videos of different styles, organizations, and schools. Get on the web and google terms like McDojo, martial arts standards, martial arts curriculum, etc, and decide what standards you accept and the level to which you refuse to lower yourself. Only you can decide.
A McDojo is not: A place that has standards you don't happen to agree with.
If a studio has defined standards for advancement, you may find them to be below your own personal bar or above it. This does not make that location a McDojo. You must be honest with yourself when you choose to use this label, and identify everything that you find "wrong" or "unacceptable." You must then decide whether these things are truly present or merely perceived. Only then will you know if you are in a "McDojo."
There are any number of categories that could be added to this list, and there are no doubt readers who do not agree with what I have written. My true aim here is to be honest with myself and realize that I have, at times, felt superior to other martial arts schools, and have, at other times, felt inferior as well. As long as I strive to better myself and my students, hold strong to my own ideals, and teach what I believe to be right, effective, and "real", then I am not running a McDojo, whether anyone else thinks so or not. While no one ever has told me I am running a McDojo, I can feel comfortable defending myself if anyone ever does.
Many years ago (even slightly before my time) someone was tasked with the creation of a new advertising campaign for the confectionery wonder than is Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. As a child, I actually didn't much appreciate these delicacies, but in my maturity I have come to recognize their genius. The marketing idea that came to pass for this marvelous blend of sweet and salty goodness was both simple and brilliant. It created a perfectly simple scenario in which two people who loved an individual tasty treat would, through an accident of fate, come to realize that both things together can be even better. The rest, as they say, is history. There were many commercials over the course of several years that followed the same pattern, but you can view what is possibly the earliest below.
In this clip, we see the principal participants move through several stages of development. The initial response is one of surprise, shock, and disappointment. The disappointment turns quickly to revulsion. However, once each of them tries their newly created combination, there is an additional surprise that comes with acceptance and delight as they come to understand that this new and innovative combination is something good. Much the same thing is actually happening in the martial arts world as well. Unfortunately, it seems that many of us have been unable to get past the stage of shock, disappointment, and revulsion.
No matter what we do or how we present ourselves and our chosen path, there will always be a group that values the artistic side of what we do above the perceived violent nature of the martial side. There will always be a group that moves away from real-world application and self defense and toward emphasis of movement, stance, positioning, athleticism, performance, and beauty. In short, this group seeks to preserve everything that is "art" without worrying about, exploring, or in some cases even acknowledging, the "martial." This idea is exemplified through much of today's "traditional" martial arts competitions, and has been carefully and meticulously nurtured in some (though not all) forms of contemporary wushu, in which performances are judged much like gymnastics, figure skating, or diving. This movement has likely reached its apex in the United States with the development and proliferation of XMA, or Extreme Martial Arts, in which acrobatics, dance, and feats of gymnastic skill have been added in order to play up the aspect of showmanship in order to draw more attention from an audience. The skills of the practitioners of these styles are undoubtedly impressive, and much of what they demonstrate could be applied to fighting or self defense, but those aspects are ignored in order to create a better show. Truthfully, in may ways, these systems have become more of a performance art than a martial art. While these forms of individual expression have removed much of the real-world fighting and martial application from what they do, there has been an equally strong (or even stronger) movement against this way of thinking, in which many decry the development of "flash over substance."
There has been a steady increase, particularly within the last ten to twenty years with the rise of technology and online media, toward the "bringing back" or "rediscovery" of the myriad of martial applications present in traditional or classical martial arts styles. Internet websites and Youtube videos abound that are dedicated to sharing effective applications of traditional techniques. Proponents of this movement believe that traditional martial arts are not lacking in effectiveness, but have been "watered down" over years of ineffective and unimaginative teaching. Personally, while I believe that this resurgence of martial value in what we do as traditional martial artists is mostly a very good thing, I also believe that it can be taken too far. I guess I blame Bruce Lee.
Well, not really, but we'll get to that. I do realize that I'm walking on dangerous ground by challenging the "legend" that is Bruce Lee...but that's exactly what I intend to do: challenge the legend, not the man, nor the martial artist.
Bruce Lee was one of the first prominent figures in the martial arts world to encourage doing away with strict adherence to traditional styles. He believed that martial artists should expose themselves to as many styles as possible, absorbing what is useful from each, while discarding anything that was not effective, and thus deemed not useful. Lee believed that developing oneself as a martial artist was akin to creating the perfect sculpture, starting with a lump of clay, and through the removal of the unneeded parts, one would eventually arrive at a finished piece, including only that which was readily effective in a combative situation. He referred to this process as Jeet Kune Do. In essence, Bruce Lee was one of the first proponents of removing "flash" or "flowery techniques" in order to develop effectiveness or "substance." This concept is wonderful in theory, and in that it forces us to question how and why we do what we do in our own martial journeys, it is good. However, I do believe that there have been some who have misinterpreted Lee's efforts to the point at which they have so zealously pursued the "useful" and "effective" that they have actively worked to remove the "art" from martial arts.
It is this idea that fuels and drives the modern juggernaut that is the MMA, or Mixed Martial Arts, industry. Many (though not all) proponents and practitioners of MMA seem to advocate either the stripping away or the combining of martial arts styles in order to arrive at something that is effective in a fight above all else. Traditional practice in forms, as well as the practice of tradition itself, is often abandoned altogether. The "art" is removed, and the "A" in MMA goes missing. With the popularity of MMA on the rise, and the popularity of Bruce Lee never truly having waned, many who practice the traditional arts have felt the need to become apologetic or defensive about what they do. In some cases, it has even been suggested that the term "martial art" (wushu, moo sul, bugei) should be replaced with the term "martial way" (wudao, moo do, budo), and some styles, particularly those of Japanese or Okinawan origins, will swear to the fact that they practice "budo" and not "bugei."
If we do trace this movement back to Bruce Lee, though, we must acknowledge a fact that is all too often overlooked, in my opinion. The fact is this: Bruce Lee was only 32 years old when he died, and at that time had been actively training in the martial arts for less than 20 years. There is no doubt that he was a phenomenal martial artist, and perhaps was even a martial arts prodigy, but we will never know how his philosophies may have changed as he grew older. I myself have been training for nearly 30 years, and as I approach 40 years of age, my understanding of martial arts is much different than it was when I was 32. I do not even remotely believe that I have discovered everything that is "useful" in even one style, let alone many, and I therefore do not feel that I can safely discard anything. This is not to say that I think I am in any way a better martial artist than Bruce Lee, but I do believe that we often do not realize exactly how "useful" something can be until after we have discarded it, only later realizing that we need it (or at least that we can, in fact, use it). Just because we do not understand how something is used now, that does not automatically make that thing useless. I actually think that at some level, Bruce Lee would have agreed with this, in that while he may have chosen to limit the techniques he used to what he found to be effective, he never believed in limiting the self. It is unfortunate that many who choose to quote him and believe they follow his example have chosen to do so.
Real-world self defense, the development of fighting skills, and the deeper understanding of martial application are all reasonable and desirable outcomes of training in the martial arts. Aesthetic beauty, athleticism, and grace of movement are reasonable and desirable outcomes as well. Much like the chocolate and peanut butter in the Reese's commercial, each is a tasty treat all by itself. It is the combination, balance, and blending of the two that brings out our true potential, though. It is the study and development of both sides that makes us martialartists. The desire to eliminate the art fom the martial or the martial from the art only limits us from experiencing the benefits which come only from the synergy of both.
After all, if we examine the qualities that make a technique "artistic" what do we find? We find art in the blending of correct body mechanics, athleticism, the proper alignment of our musculoskeletal structure, the appropriate execution of balance, speed, and power, and the elusive quality that is "attitude" or "spirit." If we in turn analyze what it is that makes a technique "effective", we find the exact same things that make the technique "artistic." It is only the added understanding and comprehension of how to properly apply the given technique to an attack or series of attacks in a way that works which makes the technique "martial" as well. In only one of two ways, then, is the "art" or the "martial" removed:
1. Through intention
2. Through ignorance
Traditional martial artists must strive to combat both of the above, as each is equally detrimental to the development of a balanced martial artist. By intentionally removing the art, we remove personal expression and "spirit" as well, and we begin to remove the desire to polish the self through our training while we instead work only toward polishing the "effectiveness" and "usefulness" of or techniques. We begin to forget that all knowledge is useful. By intentionally removing the martial, we may create something that is entertaining, impressive, and even beautiful, but in so doing we lose the ability to do more than performordemonstrate, and the skills we develop are of no real value in resolvingconflict, which is the true meaning of the word "martial" in Asian culture. This intent is by far more difficult to combat than mere ignorance. At least when someone genuinely doesn't know what is missing from their training, we can attempt to show, to tell, to teach, and to guide them towards discovery of his or her own ignorance. When people stubbornly cling to their intention to keep the art out of the martial, or the martial out of the art, it seems that all we can do is stand back and wonder why they simply won't take a taste of both together. In so doing, they may discover that true Moo Sul (wushu, bugei) is Moo Do (wudao, budo). Try it. You just might like it.
I am consistently amazed at the number of proficient martial artists we have in this country, and even more amazed at the number that exist in the relatively small towns in which my wife and I operate our studios. At least that's what I would be forced to conclude if I were to take the word of everyone who walked through our doors. It seems that at least 50% (and believe me, this is a somewhat conservative estimate) of all prospective students (and, indeed, those I meet in the general public population as well) have someone in their family that trained in the martial arts at some point in their lives. Let me be clear: I don't find anything wrong with that. While it definitely has its bad side, I think that in most ways the proliferation of the martial arts in the United States and throughout the world is a good thing. What does bewilder me is that people consistently feel the need to bring up their prior martial arts training to me, and what bewilders me even more are the ways in which they do it.
Perhaps they feel that in bringing up their own training, they are in someway relating to me, which I really do understand at some level. In all honesty, though, the longer I train, the less I feel the need to bring it up in casual conversation. It really only comes up when someone asks about it, or meets me through the martial arts world to begin with. (Yes, I consider this blog to a part of that world.) All too often, however, I feel that people bring up their past training as a way to feel more like an equal in a somewhat unbalanced relationship. Invariably, when the conversation turns to martial arts, the person who is no longer actively training says something along the lines of "Oh, I used to do that." While the details may change from person to person in regards to martial arts style, belt attained, or reasons for leaving, the words "I used to" ring through my brain like an annoying klaxon, but what irks me even more is the need to equate their training experience with my own. I'm sorry, but in the realm of the martial arts, 99.9% of the time, this person and I are NOT equals. What I don't understand is the need for them to feel like we are.
I don't think most parents would feel it is appropriate to walk into their child's classroom and tell the teacher about their own qualifications in education, or feel the need to start giving them advice on how to run their classrooms. (Although, in this day and age, not being a parent, I'm sad to say might be wrong about that). Personally, I don't take my car to the mechanic and tell him how much experience I have fixing cars. I don't go to the doctor's office and tell the doctor about my medical expertise. I don't feel the need to tell my accountant the degree to which I could handle doing my taxes myself. I could go on with examples, and perhaps I am wrong in my own perceptions of the examples above as they relate to the larger population. I really don't feel that this practice is all that common in other fields, though, so why is it so pervasive the world of the martial arts?
Now when various people tell me how they "used to do that", I respond cordially, and let them talk about their experiences, because there is usually little harm in letting them get it out of their systems. I don't ask questions about it, and I don't press the issue, because it almost always ends up being something along the lines of :
"I used to do that when I was a kid"
"I used to do that for a few months (or even years)"
"I used to do that until I got my (insert color here) belt"
Every time I hear one of these "I used to do that" lines, I want to respond how I really feel: NO- you didn't. How do I know this? It's quite simple really, though I feel that the English language lacks the appropriate words to convey my meaning, so I 'll use quotation marks around the words that come closest to expressing my feelings on the matter:
If you truly "did" what I "do", then you would still be "doing" it.
"Do" isn't really the right word, though, (at least not the right English word) because being a martial artist isn't something I "do". Furthermore, it will NEVER be something I "did." A martial artist is something I AM. Even if I cannot continue to train physically due to injury or illness, I will not stop being a martial artist. Even if (in the most unlikely scenario imaginable to me) I decided to give up my art and close the doors to my school, I personally won't stop being a martial artist. I just can't. It's not in me. I will continue to study, to read, to write, and to train to whatever degree I remain physically and mentally able to do so. I will strive to better my mind, my body, my spirit, my technique, and my understanding of the Martial Way of Life. Martial arts just will never in any way become something I "used to do", and if you "used to" be a martial artist, then I'm sorry, but you never really were one to begin with, and you are simply not my equal in that realm.
I'm sorry if that offends you, but it doesn't make it any less true. I'm most likely not your equal when it comes to your profession, either, but I won't try to be, nor I will I try to share my experience in your field when I really don't have any. I went to college to be a high school English teacher, but I never actually held a job it that capacity. Therefore, I am NOT your equal in that field if you are a high school English teacher, or if you are a public or private school teacher of any kind at at all. My experiences in college can in no way relate to the experiences of a teacher in a real classroom, and are therefore irrelevant in conversation. In fact, my college degree almost never comes up, unless someone asks me about it, or when it is in some way relevant to my actual life as a martial artist and martial arts instructor. While I may try to relate to a school teacher through my own experiences as a martial arts instructor, I most certainly do NOT try to relate to them as another school teacher would. Therefore, I would find it much more interesting if someone tried to relate another occupation to martial arts then just telling me "I used to do that"...because, no, you didn't.
By now perhaps you are beginning to feel that I am rather full of myself as a martial artist, but I assure you, this is not the message I am trying to convey. It is simply a quantitative analysis. Unless you have spent the last 30 years or so studying a specific martial art in depth, and the martial arts in general, you aren't my equal in this field. If you have done so (as I know some of my readers have) then you are an equal, and you already know exactly what I'm talking about in this post. Finally, if you have done more training and studying than I have, I readily accept the fact that I am not your equal, and am happy to learn from your experience, without thinking I have to elevate my own status in any way. I know that I still have a long way to go. In fact, Grandmaster Jae Chul Shin told us in his final volume of Traditional Tang Soo Do that:
If we consider a total course ranging from 0 to 100,
Ko Dan Ja have an achievement rating of ~40% for
4th Dan, 50% for 5th Dan, and so on.
So, if we accept this premise, then at 5th Dan I have achieved at a 50% level. Frankly, I think that's probably a bit on the generous side, but it still isn't even a passing grade. Why then would I stop? In the World Tang Soo Do Association, a minimum passing score is 70%, so I'll have to continue to at least 7th Dan. Even then, I think I'll keep going, because who wants to just barely pass? I'd like to reach 9th Dan one day. Why not? Our Association has set it as an attainable goal, so I see no reason why I should not attempt to attain that level of achievement. I may not make it, but it certainly won't be a goal I "used to" have.
All people are not equal in all ways. The only thing that's new is the attempt to convince others we are their equals when we know in our hearts that we are not. So, if you are a martial artist, I'll be happy to converse with you about the martial arts, even if you no longer actively train. (And believe me, I actually know martial artists who have never set foot on a training floor, but that's a different topic altogether.) If you aren't a martial artist, please don't tell me about how you "used to be" one, unless you have the intention of becoming one again, because:
If you truly are what I am, then you always will be,
and there is no need to qualify or quantify it to me.
Lego may very well be one of the greatest toy lines ever created. Actually, Xevoz, which was the perfect synergy of construction toys and action figures, was, in may ways, much cooler. However, since that line was short-lived, mishandled, and prematurely canceled (Curse you, Hasbro!), most of you have never heard of it. So, we'll stick with Lego, because if you don't know what Legos are, I'm really not sure I want to know you, and you very possibly couldn't relate to me anyway,
When I was a kid, I very much remember a time in which I started to become disenfranchised by toy lines like the Transformers (which were releasing things like Pretenders and Action Masters) and instead became obsessed with obtaining as many Lego sets as humanly possible. My family was very giving, and over the course of my birthday, Christmas, and many other holidays, I recall that during one particular year I had acquired quite a few Legoland Space Sets. Of the sets I owned, my absolute favorites had to be the FX Star Patroller and the Cosmic Fleet Voyager:
What young sci-fi loving geek wouldn't want these sets? Both were very cool spaceships, and both had some very cool hidden features that can't be seen in the pictures above, including moving hatches and modular construction. They were, to put it simply, awesome.
As soon as I could, I broke into those sets, and I went about following the instructions within, to the best of my ability, in order to construct the wondrous vessels depicted on the front of each box. To the uninitiated, Lego instructions look something like this:
While they are theoretically easy to follow from step to step, one would often find that if careful attention was not given to exactly which pieces were required and to the exact location in which piece was to be placed, it often became necessary to tear everything apart from several steps in order to find a simple mistake and rebuild the set correctly. If nothing else, this process at least imbued within me the skills I would need later in life to build IKEA furniture.
The sets did get built, with time and perseverance, and the resulting ships really were awesome. They stayed built as designed for quite awhile to come, too. Eventually, though... these ships would have to see battle... and battle between Lego spaceships can only lead to one thing:
Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad, but I did have my own imaginary Lego explosions, quickly followed by Lego crashes. I quite fondly remember the various multicolored bricks flying to and fro, and the rather convincing Lego wreckage left behind. Lego spaceships were toys you could break without actually breaking them. What could be better?
Interestingly enough, that actually was the next question my young mind sought to answer. What could be better? I went back to the boxes, and noticed that the back of each depicted a number of different ships and vehicles... none of which were included in the instruction booklet, but all of which could be constructed from the pieces contained within that set:
While I did spend some time trying to replicate the vehicles contained in these images, an even better thought occurred to me. If I had two Lego sets that resulted in one awesome ship each, what might I build if I combined ALL of the pieces from both sets? It would no doubt be glorious. Believe me, it was, at least to me. I proceeded to rip into my ships, pulling them apart into their smallest component pieces.
I began anew, creating new and incredible things. Radar dishes and antennae became lasers and weapon emplacements. Pieces intended to be cylindrical lights or loudspeakers instead became the heads for new alien species, as Lego did not make alien minifigures at the time. Ships became giant robots. I was soon building everything from hovercars to Escape Pods to entire cities. Indeed, it was glorious.
So.. this is a martial arts blog, right? Yes, stay with me, I'm getting there. Actually, I believe that many of you will have already seen at least some part of the implied simile. Working trough the color belt system on the way to black belt is very much like receiving that first Lego set, the picture on the box showing a completed black belt.
At these color belt levels we are gradually given all of the pieces required to build ourselves into that black belt, and are given the instruction manual to follow, showing each piece and where it must go. Sometimes we are overly ambitious, though, and may try to build too quickly. Only later do we discover that a piece is missing or improperly placed, and in order to build our black belt correctly, we must tear ourselves down and begin anew. Eventually, with perseverance, we are able to finish the set. We have built our black belt. What could be better?
There are some black belts who simply can't see that there is anything better. They will proudly place their "finished" product on the shelf to be displayed and admired, and will never really touch it again. To this I merely say: "What fun is that?" Sure, they may have built one awesome thing with the pieces they are given, but this is the exact time to answer the question: "What could be better?" What else can you build with the pieces you were given? It is time now to look at or techniques, our forms, our self-defense applications, our sparring, and everything else we think we "know", and it is time to take them apart to begin again. It's time for a martial arts explosion! Yes, the explosion is sometimes followed quickly by a martial arts crash, but as long as we are willing to pick up the pieces that are strewn to and fro, we can learn something valuable from our crashes as well. We may find that as we pick up the pieces and begin to build that the results do not always match what our mind's eye has envisioned, but through dedication and persistence we will one day rebuild the pieces into something new and different, and it can be glorious indeed to make discoveries about something "old" that we thought we "knew."
It is often said that black belt is only the beginning. If so, we must of course ask and answer: the beginning of what? It is truthfully only the beginning of many things, but in this context, I submit that it is the beginning of creation. As humans and mortals we cannot create something from nothing, and therefore must have obtained something from which to begin. As black belts, we are not often given new pieces with which to build, but this is because we already have been given the pieces we need. We must simply be willing to take our awesome constructions apart in order to rebuild them into something better. Eventually, we will see that if we break apart each of our separate "sets": our forms, one-steps, basics, etc., that they do not need to be separate at all, and instead we can begin to combine them. In doing so we come closer to the realization that we have made our martial arts skills (and hopefully ourselves) better.
As is the way with many things, my interest in Legos waned somewhat over time. In fact, over the years, and to my chagrin, many of my Lego sets were lost, sold, or merely misplaced. The longer I live, though, the more I begin to see how all things relate, and that many of my interests intersect, overlap, and share the same underlying themes.
One interest I have always had (outside of the martial arts) is watching Anime, or Japanese Animation. I have enjoyed anime since before I really knew what it was, and can still recall being a very young child in the late 1970s, sitting on our couch and pretending to fire the Wave Motion Gun while belting out "OUR STAR BLAZERS!" Later years would bring me wonders such as Battle of the Planets, Robotech, and Voltron. Only much later would I learn of the Japanese source material: Space Battleship Yamato, Gatchaman, Macross, and King of Beasts Golion.
Um, wait... weren't we just talking about martial arts? or Lego? Trust me, this really does make sense.
In the modern age, producers of media have realized that American adults actually appreciate anime as much as children, and we have finally had exposure to the original stories as they were intended to be told. In some rare occasions, an anime may be completely torn apart and remade in order to tell the story the author always meant to share, and in doing so, it becomes better. Such was the case with the production of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, which may well be one of the best anime to reach the mass market.
Fullmetal Alchemist accepts as its main premise the idea that alchemy is real; alchemy in this case being the conversion of one form of energy or matter to a different form of energy or matter, along with the ability to control said matter or energy. This may manifest itself through such things as the creation of a tool or weapon from mere pieces of earth, or may involve the repair of broken iems, or even the healing of injuries. Despite all this power, alchemists in this world must follow The Law of Equivalent Exchange, which states:
In order to obtain, something of equal value must be lost.
This law can be circumvented only through the use of The Philosopher's Stone, which can only be obtained through great and terrible sacrifice. How wonderful it is then, that as martial artists, we need not lose in order to obtain something new. While it is true that we cannot create something from nothing, we need not lose our previous knowledge or techniques in order to create something new from them. We can, in essence, have our spaceships, hovercars, aliens, robots, lasers, cities, and anything else we can imagine all at once. We have our Philosopher's Stone, without too much great and terrible sacrifice, and it is glorious.
Learning to make use of this is a process, as is all of our learning, and is eloquently described in the world of Fullmetal Alchemist through the terms Deconstruction and Reconstruction. (If you can't see the video below, please clear your browser history/cache, or click here.)
As black belts and instructors, this then is what we do. We examine our existing skills and knowledge, we deconstruct them with the intent of reconstructing them into something new, something more useful, and something better, and, hopefully, we begin to see the connections in all we do. One is all, all is one.
