by Régis Soavi
Talking to my students about the masters I have known is obviously part of my teaching. Some were so important that I cannot simply dismiss them and claim that I made it on my own. The masters I have known left their mark on me, shaping me and, above all, opening my mind to fields I knew nothing about, or which I sometimes suspected existed but could not reach.
Are the Masters of the past masters of life?
I have always felt it was important not to turn these masters into supermen, geniuses or gods. I have always considered these masters to be much better than that. Idols create an illusion, lulling us to sleep and impoverishing idolaters, preventing them from progressing and spreading their wings. In this regard, Tsuda sensei, now a master of the past, wrote in his eighth book, The Way of the Gods:
It is not for me to worship, deify or idolise Mr Ueshiba. Like everyone else, he had strengths and weaknesses. He had extraordinary abilities but he had weaknesses, especially vis-à-vis his students. He was fooled by them because of considerations that were a little too human.’1Tsuda Itsuo, The Way of the Gods, Chap. XVIII, 2021, Yume Editions (Paris), p. 144 (1st ed. in French: 1982, Le Courrier du Livre (Paris), p. 156–7)
Ki is a guide
In the same way that I wanted to preserve the sacred nature of Aikido without ever turning it into a religion, a dogma or an ideology, I tried to convey as simply as possible what I had learned from the masters I had met, encountered and followed, whether they were masters of Aikido, Seitai, Jūjutsu or even music.
My guide has always been ki through their teachings.
I am a fortunate man: fortunate to have been born at a time when O-sensei Ueshiba Morihei was still alive and teaching his art directly on the tatami mats. I was fortunate to start Aikido while the historical masters were still alive, at a time when, still young and in good health, they were full of vigour, and having just arrived in Europe, they had a very strong desire to introduce us to the best of Aikido. They were still imbued with the presence of O-sensei and were committed to passing on the founder’s message of peace, without verbiage but in a very direct manner.
I learned so much from these encounters, discovered so much. Contact with them was enriching, and it seemed essential to me to meet them all if possible. At least to approach them, to serve as uke whenever I could.
My first encounter with the man who would later become my master, Tsuda Itsuo, took place during a training course organised at the Aikido Zen Dojo by Maroteaux sensei, who was my Aikido and Hakkō-ryū Jūjutsu teacher at the time. He would already tell us about his trips to Japan, which were rather realistic and without exoticism, as well as the encounters he had had there. It was thanks to him that Tsuda Itsuo became my master. The way he talked about him convinced me that there was something there I was looking for. I was not disappointed, quite the contrary, but this marked the beginning of a period which, although it only lasted ten years, laid the foundations for what I am able to teach today. It was a long and difficult journey, but one that was also enriched by other encounters. First there was Nocquet sensei, then Noro sensei, both of whom taught in Paris like Tsuda sensei, and this proximity made it easy for me to follow their teachings.
The 1970s
In the 1970s, we were eager to meet the first generation who had known O-sensei. Dare I say it, we were a bit like rōnin, those ‘masterless samurai’ running from one dojo to another, from one club to another, from one training course to another. The range of teaching offered by these masters was both fascinating and touching. It was a constant source of enrichment for us young aikidokas. We listened with great interest as they recounted their experiences, anecdotes about the Honbu Dōjō, or the traditions of Japan, which was so mysterious to us. All this took place at a table in a small Parisian café with Tsuda sensei, or in a bar next to Rue des Petits-Hôtels (where Noro sensei had his dojo), or yet in a restaurant after a seminar with Tamura sensei or Sugano sensei.
At the time, I had not yet been to Japan; it was Japan that had come to me, as I used to say. France was fortunate to have all these prestigious masters passing through. We were able to attend seminars with Kobayashi sensei, Yamaguchi sensei, Ueshiba Kisshōmaru sensei and even Shirata sensei who, although already very old, gave demonstrations that left us all speechless with admiration, he who knew so well how to combine gentleness, kindness, firmness and a sense of the sacred.
All these masters allowed me to discover the best of our art.
Are the Masters of the past hindrances?
The masters of the past can prevent us from progressing:
if, instead of using them as inspiration, seeing in them the possibilities available to us to surpass ourselves, we consider them only as above-average individuals, exceptional beings whom we can never equal, let alone surpass;
if, instead of showing that everyone, according to their own continuity and level, can benefit from this art, we sink into personality cults and make their teaching a teaching for the elite;
if, instead of discovering ourselves and promoting individual development, we content ourselves with repetitively and tediously copying techniques that have lost their soul and thus seem outdated and ineffective;
if, instead of encouraging discovery, we turn it into a cult rather than an art, keeping little secrets to ourselves, or even lucky charms because they belonged to the masters;
if, finally, we no longer understand O-sensei’s teaching, a teaching that was addressed to both men and women, that inspired life and joy as opposed to death and resignation, then we will have wasted our time, and what is more serious, we will have lost our soul.
They all started with a first step, just like our simplest students, and it was their efforts, sometimes stubborn, that brought them to where they ended up.
The encounter with Noguchi sensei’s Seitai
My teaching also involves Seitai and the discovery of Katsugen undō. Noguchi Haruchika was considered in his day to be one of the best technicians in body normalisation, an outstanding technician capable of prodigious feats. What he passed on to us through his student Tsuda sensei revolutionised my Aikido, turning it into an instrument of fulfilment for human beings. Having been his close friend for more than twenty-five years, Tsuda Itsuo spoke to us about him in a very simple way. He did not make him into a god, yet his admiration was immense. He inspired in us, his students, the desire to know more, to go further in the discovery of the human being, to awaken in us sensitivity and intuition.
My encounters over time with the three sons of this great master have also been a source of knowledge and have deepened my understanding.
Each encounter should enable us to go further.
Sergiu Celibidache: a conductor, but not only that
The simple fact of having been able to attend a master class in conducting (actually the last one he ever gave) at the Schola Cantorum in Paris by the giant that was conductor Sergiu Celibidache gave me more than I could ever express. I sometimes talk about it to my students, describing his way of conducting the orchestra, his sense of the sacred in music, his rigour without rigidity. Like some great martial arts masters, Sergiu Celibidache had reached the end of his life with an impressive economy of means, every gesture was necessary. There was nothing left superfluous, only a pure gesture that gave birth to music. The intensity of his presence and his way of experiencing music had a profound effect on me. This man, who said, ‘I am more interested in the flaws that prevent you from reaching your true potential than in your progress,’ knew how to find and reveal the best in the musicians he conducted. He had the ability to discover hidden or latent talents in young musicians and thereby encourage their development.
An encounter with Kase Taiji sensei
The masters of the past are still here to guide us today through the experiences that we can pass on if we know how to transmit them. For example, I had the opportunity to meet Kase Taiji sensei and attend one of his classes during a seminar at the Pré-Saint-Gervais gymnasium in the suburbs of Paris – this is fairly commonplace. But the experience I had at that moment has stayed with me for the rest of my life.
As a young teacher, I arrived a little early to give my Aikido class at the gymnasium. Just before the turn leading up to the stairs to the changing rooms, I found myself immobilised, paralysed, unable to move, as if I had been turned into a statue. I was struggling to realise what was happening to me when I heard a man coming down the stairs and then turning the corner. That is when I realised what was going on: I only knew him from photos in magazines, but there in front of me was Kase sensei. He walked quietly past me with a smile. Just his invisible presence, the Ki that preceded him, was a revelation to me and at the same time a confirmation of what I had detected in certain other masters. Ki is not an illusion, nor an Eastern hoax; I too could feel it in a tangible way.
This great sensei had unwittingly taught me a very important lesson, one that I must pass on to my students, sometimes simply by telling them anecdotes like this one that I was fortunate enough to experience.
The transmission of the spirit that inspires continuity
Do we even have the right to claim this title? Is that not just bragging? Is that not just showing off? Or are we already outdated and old-fashioned, unable to pass on what all those great masters tried to teach us? I am talking about my generation, the one that had the privilege of receiving directly, and moreover first-hand, what O-sensei had transmitted.
Aikido is a school of life, a school that awakens the lives of those who practise it. Far from being just another string to our bow, it is there to challenge the false ideas and subterfuges that our society offers us. We must understand what guided the masters of the past, because fundamentally that is what attracted us when we discovered this art. This art that seemed so amazing and so beautiful to us. It was what we felt when we were thrown or immobilised that allowed us to continue, that firm kindness, devoid of all violence and at the same time uncompromising.
Will we be masters of the past for future generations?
Do we even have the right to claim this title? Is that not just bragging? Is that not just showing off? Or are we already outdated and old-fashioned, unable to pass on what all those great masters tried to teach us? I am talking about my generation, the one that had the privilege of receiving directly, and moreover first-hand, what O-sensei had transmitted.
And my questions are: have we been able to pass on the essentials? Have we been able to guide our students in such a way that they find within themselves the strength and pleasure that inspire continuity and the desire to seek further along this magnificent path?
All these great masters had a different spirit, a spirit adapted to their era, but they were able to transcend that era to bring us the tools, sometimes philosophical, sometimes physical, that they themselves had drawn from older knowledge and from other great masters or philosophers who are now gone.
All these great masters are not really dead; they are still alive, they continue or should continue to live through us in order to prepare the great masters of the future. I feel like a link in this chain which – I hope with all my heart – will enable society to move from the prehistoric barbarism in which we still find ourselves to a human civilisation in the full sense of the word.
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Article by Régis Soavi published in Jan. 2018 in Self & Dragon Spécial Aikido n° 19.
Notes
- 1Tsuda Itsuo, The Way of the Gods, Chap. XVIII, 2021, Yume Editions (Paris), p. 144 (1st ed. in French: 1982, Le Courrier du Livre (Paris), p. 156–7)