In his book Art and Illusion the art historian Ernst Gombrich argued that an artist compares what he (or she) has drawn or painted with what he is trying to draw/paint, and by a ‘feedback loop’ gradually corrects the drawing/painting to look more like what he thinks he is seeing. In this piece, I will argue that’s exactly what we are doing when we try to analyse and identify the application of kata.
In the last few decades, western karateka have seemingly become obsessed with “bunkai”, supposedly the application of kata to “real fighting”. From my experience, in the 1970s and ‘80’s few Japanese teachers had any understanding of kata applications, but neither were they that interested, as (I imagine) they thought, to be preoccupied with function seemed to detract from the purity of form. This apparent shortcoming however in no way seemed to diminish their ability or talent. In recent years, the Japanese have started to teach kata application a bit more, presumably in response to market demand.
Before we go any further, I’d like to explore a definition. People who have read me before will know I am karate’s Gyles Brandreth, an inveterate and unashamed name dropper. Whoops, here goes another. In the early 90’s I met and trained with Mitsusuke Harada1. I asked Harada sensei what he thought of kata bunkai. He told me that in the KDS (Karatedo Shotokai, his organisation) they preferred the term “bunseki” which he translated as “analysis”, and that “bunkai” implies breaking down, and in some way destroying. I called to my memory E.B. White’s metaphor of dissecting a frog to see how it works. It will be clear to the observer how the muscles, bones and tissues interact, but it will never function as a frog again. Perhaps that’s true of kata?
I suggest the Japanese didn’t need explanations, in part due to their culture and style of teaching. Early karate tuition in Japan was, by some accounts quite brutal and somewhat militaristic. The sempai / kohai structure meant that students did as they were told, or shown, with unflinching obedience. This style of learning created ranks of dedicated students. By Darwinian selection, those who could not cope fell by the wayside, and those who survived, thrived. There was no place for explanation. You did your drills, you fought and you eventually discovered how the kihon or kata move worked in a life-or-death conflict. Recall the scene in the first “Karate Kid” movie where young Daniel polished the cars and painted the fence. This was his kihon. It was only much later that Miyagi Sensei showed him how to apply these moves in a fighting context. Miyagi had to give something to the young westerner to “prove” the efficacy of karate training. For an Asian perhaps this would not have been necessary, as the student would be expected to have trust or faith in the master.
Having learnt in this type of environment, I speculate that the JKA teachers, coming to Europe and America in the 50s and 60s would have been a bit taken aback by the impertinent gaijin students bleating; “what does this move mean?” or “how does this kata technique work?” Early video footage pretty well proves that even the greats, such as Kanazawa, Enoeda and Nishiyama had no idea how to apply these kata. Some of the bunkai on record is completely preposterous. The problem is not that the kata didn’t work, rather that the western students were asking the wrong questions, and, to try to keep them happy, the Japanese sensei made up answers. Many of these bunkai routines found their way into public demonstrations where they looked good in the context of a theatrical performance, but bore little resemblance to anything one might see in a real conflict.
I’m not arguing that the kata training and techniques were not or are not effective, rather that one should not always take a given sequence of moves too literally. We cannot get into the mind of any individual who originated a kata, so we can’t know for sure what they were trying to achieve. Furthermore the kata, once transmitted down the student line begins to evolve, morph and mutate, making it harder again to get back to the source for either form or intention.
I’ll propose a theoretical way a kata might have evolved. Imagine a Chinese streetfighter. A tough guy who defeats every challenger in his youth. As he matures, he takes a more philosophical approach to life and eschews physical violence. An Okinawan traveller comes across him and, impressed by his reputation, asks the master to teach him. The old master now realises that whilst his own training, along with his many scraps, made him tough and highly skilled, he was also ill-disciplined and lacking in morality or a greater sense of purpose. He devises a series of drills that encourage diligence of practice, whilst promoting health, longevity and good citizenship. Many of the exercises are based the stuff he was dishing out at the docks on a Saturday night but some of the brutality has been taken away. The student, out of respect for the teacher, does not question or query these drills but diligently copies and practices. He takes this system, along with the kata back to Okinawa and teaches what he has learned. His students practice and pass on, and with each passing on, two things happen. First the student applies his or her own flavour and personality to the form, emphasising (consciously or unconsciously) his own preferences and biases. Secondly he (or she) misremembers or misinterprets a move, thus further changing (developing) the kata. Nothing wrong with either of these phenomena. Indeed if each kata can be considered a unit of cultural inheritance (a “meme” as Richard Dawkins termed it) then what we are seeing is evolution by natural selection in action.
The problem comes when the 21st century student tries to seek deeper meaning in the form. What tends to happen is that the student first looks at the superficial form and decides it cannot make sense as a literal example of how to fight. For example to suggest the 7th-9th steps in Pinan Shodan / Heian Nidan, three advancing “upper blocks” would be a sensible response to an attacker punching your head three times whilst stepping back with each blow, is patently absurd. The diligent student, not wishing to brand Itosu (or whoever developed Pinan Shodan) a fool, looks for a more plausible “application”. The first rising forearm might be literally a blocking action, thwarting a headshot by moving in and minimising the distance. The second could be tying up the attacker’s limb with an arm bar, and the third one a forearm smash to the head. At that point, with the assailant unconscious it might be appropriate and safe to turn away, and deal with the next attacker… and so on. This “reverse engineering” approach is how many modern teachers approach “kata bunkai”.
There is however an alternative viewpoint. I move, your honour, that there might be a simpler explanation. The kata were developed as calisthenic drills to improve fitness and mobility. By deploying limb movements that resemble some of the fighting techniques, these exercises build some of the core skills needed for combat. Add kumite / tuite (sparring or wrestling practice) makiwara and other conditioning exercises, and put them in the tough, austere environment of the dojo, and you now have a complete syllabus for building a complete fighter, whilst instilling the values of respect, courtesy and self-discipline, whilst promoting physical health. So a kata sequence that goes, for example; two steps east, two steps west, three steps north and so on doesn’t have to represent a literal fight, just a way to fit some training into an available space.
This point of view does not carry much weight with many of today’s karate teachers. They continue to insist that kata in a RBMA (Reality-based Martial Art) must “be effective” (literally). They look for the shape, and apply it to a conflict scenario. Thus a “block” becomes an arm bar; a “step” becomes a throw or trip; a “recoil hand” becomes a seizing or trapping technique, and so forth. Typically the exponents of this sort of teaching are accomplished, experienced fighters, so the applications deployed become entirely credible. This is where Gombrich comes in. These teachers cannot know what was in the mind of Matsumura et al when the kata was first laid down, or exactly how the moves have evolved since the mid-19th century (or earlier) so in their interpretation, they are applying their own prejudices to make sense of the kata. In other words they are manipulating the medium to reflect their own version of reality. The kata performance is tweaked until it looks and feels like the application assigned to it.
Now, I’m not saying this is a bad thing. Indeed much of my training takes such sequences from kata and applies them against an (this is important) uncooperative and aggressive opponent. This is a useful way to remember the sequence of kata, to get a clearer understanding of biomechanics and to get a feel for what real conflict can be about.
What I am suggesting though is learning and practicing a kata for its own sake can be a fruitful and fulfilling exercise. Solo practice can be a form of moving meditation. Committing a complex sequence of steps to memory is a valuable mental exercise. Performing a kata as technically precise, and physically vigorous as one can is training for body and mind. As a well-known sportswear manufacture might say; “Just do it” – rather than trying to dissect a frog – might sometimes be the right approach.
- Harada Mitsusuke was an early member of Funakoshi’s Shotokan dojo. On Funakoshi’s death he and Egami sensei established “Shotokai” as their interpretation of Funakoshi sensei’s original teachings. Although in his advanced years Harada’s karate was soft, yielding and subtle, judo men I knew talked of him as an old-school hard man in the 1950’s and ’60s. Harada never claimed higher than Godan, as that was the last grade Funakoshi held. ↩︎
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