Breakthroughs in Martial Arts
Soulful Learning
Bryan Touchet, MD
Merriam-Webster defines learning as "to gain knowledge or understanding or skill by study, instruction, or experience." The definition tells us that learning is about acquiring something new. It also indicates the different paths by which one may learn, whether it's through studying books, receiving instruction from another person, or through one's own experiences. What it doesn't tell us is what is required for learning to take place. My thoughts have often turned to this question in my role as an educator in psychiatric medicine, but I have been especially focused upon it recently as I have undertaken Kempo training. My interests are partly philosophical, but they are also practical, because, although I am a learner, my training requires that I also teach others the skills I am acquiring. And I want to be the best teacher possible for those I instruct. What follows are my reflections in progress on what makes an optimal learning environment for martial arts training. I draw from my own experience as an educator, from what I am learning from my Sensei, and from the ideas of others who have influenced me. The ideas I put forward are not meant to be comprehensive, nor will they necessarily apply to everyone. I do hope my ideas stimulate thought and discussion among other students and teachers of the martial arts.
What makes effective learning likely to occur? In discovering an answer to this question, we must consider a number of factors. To me, obvious factors are the teacher, the learner, and the learning setting. I will focus on the first two. A logical place to start is with the learner. After all, without the learner, there will be no one to which knowledge or understanding or skill can be transmitted. Now, focusing upon the learner, I ask my question again but modify it: "What is it about optimal learners that make their acquisition of skill so effective?" There are no doubt a number of important answers to this question including ideas like persistence, hard work, and patience, but I would like to focus upon an aspect of the learner probably not considered often when it comes to discussions about learning martial arts. I would like to suggest that a crucial element necessarily present in optimal learner is "soul." What do I mean by this term, which may seem out of place here? By "soul," I am referring to the core in each individual which is the seat of spontaneity, creativity, and feeling "alive." Winnicott, a famed psychoanalyst and pediatrician called it the "true self," and noted its crucial importance to our sense of being fully alive and engaged in what we are doing. He noted that this subjective experience of selfhood, if not hindered by our caregiving environments, comes into being and gives meaning and fulfillment to our pursuits throughout life. It is the place from which passion and drive emanate, allowing us to continue our pursuit of goals even when faced with frustration. It fuels this ability to "take heart" even in adversity, not giving up.
What may not be so obvious is the fact that "soul" may not be evident in every learner. It is a quality of being that, unfortunately, for many people has been driven underground. There are many reasons why this may be. We all can relate to experiences in which our souls have been invaded or attacked by others. Sadly, maybe this was done even by our own caretakers or teachers when we were children, unable yet to defend ourselves. Perhaps who we were was directly attacked or maybe it was simply ignored. Either way, a result can be a protective hiding away of that which is most precious to each of us, our very sense of truest self. Sometimes we bury that part of ourselves so deeply that we eventually lose touch with that part of ourselves, forgetting who we are. The resulint lostness can leave us feeling dull, even dead inside, and can block the natural childlike wonder and joyful engagement in learning. Parker J. Palmer says in his book "The Courage to Teach" that the soul is shy, like a wild animal in some ways, unwilling to show itself unless it feels safe from exploitation or attack. So, we hide our disconnectedness from ourselves. We may bring this disconnection and fear to the learning environment. As I've noted earlier, I certainly brought my own fears to the dojo. And I can say once I began my training, my sense of disconnection with my own body became quite apparent. You may have noticed these things, too. As I have reflected on this state of being, at once exposed and challenged by my martial arts training, I have learned something important about myself. I have beheld that the hiddenness of my soul has kept me from freely and joyfully learning as children do, from a sense of body-mind unity, emotion and passion translating almost effortlessly into action. This kind of experience is birthright of each of us. Gladly, I am finding my soul again, and my Kempo training is both a vehicle and a pathway for that process. The world champion martial artist Peter Ralston recognizes this unity in his insightful statement, "The body reveals the self."
I think it is crucial that our souls "show up," not just for learning, but, ultimately, for living. But what allows our souls to be fully present to learning something new? I think part of that answer lies with our teachers. We can all relate to teachers we've had who inspired us to learn, who fired our desire to become more than we were. We can also remember those who put us to sleep! So, what is it about those teachers who were inspirations to us? What did they have that the others lacked? What was it that allowed them to reach their students and change them? I would like to suggest that there are several qualities in a teacher that can help him to reach his students in such a way that "soulful" learning can take place.
First, the effective teacher is attuned to what is unique about each of his students. He really looks at and sees his student for who that person is, noting gifts and liabilities. He conveys acceptance balanced with the shared desire for change in the interests of learning a new skill. Furthermore, he echoes back to his students what he observes to aid them in accepting their gifts and meeting their goals. In doing so, he not only helps his students acquire martial arts skills, but also helps them find their own unique expression of the art. In doing so, he assists the student in expanding his or her experience of selfhood and capacity for full expression. Such a teaching posture is a far cry from the rigid, authoritarian approach that demands that the learning self echo to the teacher his or her greatness. Rather, the teacher allows himself to be used as a mirror, if you will, for the student, in the service of self-actualization.
Second, but no less important, is the teacher's gracious modeling of excellence in skill and knowledge so that his students can envision a mark toward which to strive. He helps his students through his own mastery of the art to envision their own goals. He is, thus, in some ways what I call a "vision caster," but the expert teacher is sensitive to the ease with which a student may become discouraged. He does not position himself far away from the student. Rather, he comes alongside the student to provide hope for the journey, a fellow traveler. And he is careful to help his students to break the journey toward that mark into manageable steps. In doing this, he protects morale and allows his students to experience joy and mastery along the way.
Finally, and in my opinion, most importantly, the expert teacher is aware of the shyness of the soul, and he purposefully creates a space for learning that is inviting and safe. While inviting his students to learn, he protects the boundaries and solitude of the soul that are essential to a dignified sense of self. This means he does not demand, coerce, or shame. Neither does he humiliate. He will not use his expert skills to intimidate or to exert power for gaining respect. He certainly may push us to perform at our best, but he does so with humility. He understands that learning occurs best in the context of a certain kind of relationship, one of trust in which a mentor sees, cares for, and guides into new experiences the learning self. In doing so, the teacher helps to create a learning community, but he does not lose sight of the importance of respect for each student's "solitude," that is, as the poet Rilke's writings on solitude suggest, guarding the other's sense of self from attack or intrusion. In this environment, the soul is more likely to show itself, and, I believe, this makes exceptional learning possible.
Teachers have and will continue to hold an important place in our lives. We are fortunate if we find one or two who embody the qualities I have noted here. Indeed, the impact they may have on us as learners can be profound. I know I am deeply grateful for those who have and are making such a difference in my life as I strive to become more that I am. As I bring to a close these reflections, I think of an alternative definition of learning that I appreciate even more than the one I began with. It is "to come to be able." It is my hope that we together can enjoy the ever-expanding vistas of ability and selfhood as we engage in the dance of teaching and learning.
Breakthroughs in Kempo Training
Bryan Touchet, MD
Anyone who has ever tried to learn a new skill has eventually met with frustration. We have all had the experience of trying and trying again but just not “getting it.” We may eventually master the skill, but it is usually not without some struggle. To a degree, I think this experience is normal, and I am experiencing this pattern again as I engage in Kempo training. Struggling to master a new skill has been on my mind quite a lot lately, partly because I am an educator, and I’m fascinated with how we learn. Another reason is that I have encountered, in the midst of my struggles, some surprising breakthroughs. What is surprising about them is that they involve an unexpected flash of “insight” in which I suddenly comprehend a technique. I somehow “get it,” and I am able to perform the technique with new mastery. These events have caused me to reflect on what these insight experiences actually are and what keeps me from having them more often. In the process, I have made new discoveries about myself that I believe accelerate my ability to master Kempo.
As a stage for discussing these issues, I would like to share an experience I had recently during one of my Kempo training sessions. Sensei Pacer was working with me on kicking drills, and I was having trouble with the flying front thrust kick. The goal was to kick the Wavemaster to knock it over. Without going into too many details, let’s just say things weren’t going so well. It seemed that even though I tried harder, my performance was not improving. In fact, the opposite was true. Now, I am not one who does well with this particular situation. Problems should yield to greater effort, right? Well, this problem wasn’t, and I was feeling helpless to change the situation. In fact, I was getting downright angry. Fortunately, Sensei Pacer wisely interrupted me to demonstrate a few more times how the technique is done correctly. This time, as I observed, something clicked. I noticed something different, even though I couldn’t have articulated it at the time. I just noticed how he moved with an economy and efficiency that I lacked, not requiring the Herculean effort I was putting forth to be effective. As my turn to try again came, I turned to my Sensei and I said, “All you did was this…” and then I performed the move, and the Wavemaster tipped over effortlessly. My mouth fell open, and we both laughed out loud. My first thought was, “What just happened?” I still at that moment could not explain why I had suddenly acquired the skill I had lacked not five minutes before. I then went on to repeat the technique successfully multiple times after that. In a flash, I had suddenly broken through my learning barrier. It was a moment of joy and of mystery, and one that I will not forget. In fact, the wonder of it has driven me to reflect on the experience, trying to understand what happened and how I can reproduce the experience of insight to propel my learning.
Peter Ralston discusses insight in martial arts training, and notes that it is an experience through which we suddenly understand a technique, perhaps before we’ve even performed it. This understanding enables us to then perform the technique correctly without the arduous struggle that sometimes characterizes learning. These mysterious events, unfortunately, appear to be much more elusive than we would prefer. I can recall a handful of them in my life. How I wish I could produce them at will, but, of course, many aspects of human performance, owing to our wondrous complexity, are not easily grasped or controlled. Some things, like happiness or sleep, cannot be forced or captured at all. Somehow, they find us. Perhaps the flashes of insight I am discussing are like these other elusive experiences. If so, as is true for sleep or happiness, maybe it is possible to set the stage for their appearance. Perhaps we can invite insight into our learning experience by preparing ourselves appropriately.
In pursuing insight, I have discovered that the first place to start is to remove barriers. Ironically, the most common barriers that I encounter usually are ones of my own making! I find that I am unconsciously setting up barriers that inhibit my progress. The first place to start then is to become aware of what I am doing that is slowing me down. I have found this to be true in my work as a psychiatrist as well. People may not know exactly what to do in a situation to change it, but they may be able through carefully consideration to come up with a few things that they can stop doing to make the situation better. Turning specifically again to my experience with the flying front thrust kick, I realized that one barrier had to do with several assumptions off of which I unconsciously operating. The first was that brute force was needed to successfully execute the technique. Underlying this assumption was another more troubling one – that I was not strong enough to do it. Working with those two was a third – the belief that trying harder by tensing up and jumping higher, in other words, overcompensating, would bring me success. My efforts, guided by these assumptions, produced actions that were strained, tense, lacking in efficiency, and ultimately, unsuccessfully. Somehow, observing my Sensei perform the kick with effortless grace caused me to question the assumptions. As I acted outside of these assumptions, I suddenly found myself able to do something that all of my previous efforts had failed to produce. What I realize is that what I assume may hinder my progress, and that awareness and questioning of assumptions can lead to new perspectives and skills.
As I reflected further, I cam across another barrier. I had been approaching the kick through what I call a “technical” approach. I was so determined to do it correctly by focusing on the various aspects of the kick that I failed to give room to an overall understanding of it. My struggle with the kick was characterized by “doing without understanding,” which to met means carrying out an action without first perceiving its essence or meaning. In fact, my excessive focus upon technique actually prevented a fuller understanding of the kick. In contrast to this kind of experience, in a flash of insight, I suddenly perceive meaning. The movements suddenly make sense to me. It is a strange combination of knowing what to do, and somehow knowing the why behind it. It’s like I suddenly perceive the intention behind the act, the “why” of the actor. The movement is no longer just a technique repeated; it is a strategy expressed in action. In my technical approach, I had missed the essential nature of the kick, which is not about brute force launched straight into the target. Rather, the kick is about an elegant yet powerful transfer of energy through the human form from vertical leap to horizontal strike. Once I perceived the meaning, I was suddenly able to perform the act. Now, this last part may sound a little strange. After all, what “meaning” could there be to the flying front thrust kick? You either do it or not, right? What I am referring to is our ability to grasp the underlying principles that give an action its sense of purpose, helping it “make sense.” I believe we can give room for meaning by being open mentally to perceiving the nature of a technique. We do this by interacting with the technique through three pathways. First, we observe the move performed expertly. This allows us to see the movement in its entirety. If we are perceptive, we may pick up the big idea behind the technique. Next, we try it ourselves. Practicing like this allows us to recreate the technique in our own way, through our own bodies, and perhaps, through this process, to arrive at a bodily understanding of what the movements are about. Finally, we attempt to describe the move and it purpose. This can be accomplished by teaching the technique to someone else. One need not to be an expert to begin teaching. Teaching is a valid path to learning. By teaching, we solidify our understanding of technique, combining ever-improving demonstration with a conceptual understanding of the technique’s meaning and purpose. This three-step process is, I believe, integral to apprenticeship learning. In medical school, I learned the process as “See one. Do one. Teach one.” It expresses concisely one path for laying the groundwork for insight.
A final impedance to my performance was referred to earlier in discussion of assumptions, but I would like to return to it again because frequently it is a problem I encounter in my training. This barrier is a failure to relax. As I practice Kempo, I tend to tense up. This occurs automatically for me, almost imperceptibly, no doubt in response to the assumptions I mentioned earlier. I mention it here because it doesn’t just reveal maladaptive assumptions; it becomes a problem in its own right. If I believe I lack the required strength and that exerting more effort will make up for that deficit, then I will tense up to attempt to deliver more power. Ironically, the result is reduced power and effectiveness. There is wisdom in the rule “relaxation + speed = power.” There is another reason I mention failing to relax. That is, it is a manifestation of my attempts to over control my performance. When I try to over control a process, I become anxious both physically and mentally, resulting in excessively tense muscles and overly narrowed mental focus, becoming inefficient and reducing my chance to perceive the big picture and gain insight. As I have reflected on these behaviors, I have realized that I am trying to control or extract a result from a learning process that cannot naturally yield to such efforts. Once again, it’s like sleep or happiness. They cannot be forced by effort, and neither can skillful performance of martial arts techniques. I have discovered that I need to cultivate a posture of relaxed openness that allows the result to find me. This does not imply that I am passive. I still need to set the stage through observation, disciplined practice, and explanation. In doing these things with openness, I make it much more likely that insight will find me and that I will experience breakthroughs.
In summary, I have discovered several principles useful in accelerating my mastery of Kempo. First, become aware of the assumptions that underlie your efforts, and be willing to question and challenge them. Next, be careful of the narrow technical approach to Kempo training. Instead, give room to discovering meaning behind the movements through the three-step process of observing, doing, and teaching. Finally, learn to relax, since relaxation enables skill and power to develop more fully.
Albert Einstein once said that we are not likely to solve a problem by applying the same way of thinking that contributed to the problem. He understood the value of examining how we think and of changing our mind-set when necessary to overcome obstacles. This wisdom is clearly applicable even to Kempo training, and it tells us that we can, through careful self-examination, reach new levels of achievement in power, skill, and effortless grace.