After graduating from high school, I enrolled in the full-time course at the Nippon Shorinji Martial Arts Professional School (commonly known as Busen) located at the Kongo Zen Sohonzan Shorinji in Tadotsu Town, Kagawa Prefecture, in order to further pursue Shorinji Kempo, in which I had achieved the rank of 2nd dan after starting at the age of seven.
(Note: Shorinji Kempo is not the same as the Chinese martial art transmitted through Shaolin Temple in Songshan, China. Rather, it is a uniquely Japanese martial art founded by a Japanese man named Doshin So, who returned to Japan after World War II having studied martial arts in China. Drawing upon various experiences—including Buddhist and Confucian training—and martial arts backgrounds such as Japanese classical martial arts, judo, and kendo, he reorganized and established the system. Centered on the teachings of primitive Buddhism, it was founded as a religious organization under the name Kongo Zen.)
I was able to spend two full years living in the dormitories and devoting myself to training at this school.
Busen traces its origins to an internal disciple system known as Sanmonshu—young practitioners from all over Japan who came to train in Shorinji Kempo resided above the imposing Niohmon gate, which stands at the entrance of the vast headquarters facility.
The formal establishment of the vocational school was a long-standing dream of the founder, Doshin So, though he passed away before it could be realized. Shortly afterward, Busen was founded as a fully residential training institution.
This life was, without doubt, one of the most important and irreplaceable times of my life, but it was also a very intense and demanding two years.
Of course, academic education was part of the curriculum, but as a specialized martial arts school, it provided an outstanding environment for training and served as a vital institution for nurturing future instructors. At the same time, students spent a great deal of time cleaning and maintaining the vast facilities of the headquarters, and preparing for and assisting with various events held there.
Although there were full-time staff (non-practitioners) employed at the headquarters, the students served as essential support staff and became a valuable labor force. However, this also served as a profound opportunity for learning.
Upon entering Busen with great enthusiasm, we were greeted by a speech from President Yuki So, daughter of the founder and successor to the second generation of Shorinji Kempo leadership.
Her message was truly shocking.
As mentioned earlier, Shorinji Kempo is distinct in its strong philosophical orientation.
For example, the founder of Aikido, Morihei Ueshiba, was a devout follower of the Omoto-kyo religion, and his art heavily reflects its spiritual teachings. However, Shorinji Kempo is unique among martial arts organizations in Japan in that it is registered as a religious corporation.
While part of this may have been a countermeasure to GHQ’s postwar prohibition of martial arts, the religious element—centered on Kongo Zen Buddhism with Bodhidharma as its principal image—was never superficial; it was deeply earnest.
From its inception, Shorinji Kempo was never about simply creating strong individuals. Its goal was to develop spiritually and physically polished leaders who could take on the task of rebuilding postwar Japan. The foundation of this was a commitment to character building based on primitive Buddhist principles.
Ramblings on Religion
Especially from the 1980s onward, under the influence of America’s New Age boom, Japan saw a proliferation of what could be called new new religions (those born after WWII, as distinct from new religions which appeared after the Meiji era). This climate eventually contributed to the emergence of the Aum Shinrikyo cult and the ensuing tragedy, and thus, religious skepticism—or even allergy—remains deeply ingrained in Japan.
At the root of the issue is a lack of understanding about what religion fundamentally is. Many Japanese people have grown up without ever having real religious experiences or spiritual foundations. As a result, some drift into questionable religious movements when searching for meaning.
Of course, not all new new religions are inherently bad. The real concern lies in those movements that exhibit cult-like, anti-social tendencies.
From a religious studies standpoint, so-called “universal religions”—which seek to transcend ethnicity and national borders to spread their belief systems—inevitably carry some degree of anti-social potential. In contrast, ethnic or indigenous religions tend to be more locally grounded.
Ironically, even if one rejects religion entirely, humans cannot become mentally independent that easily. With the collapse of traditional family and community structures and the loss of religious and spiritual anchors like Shinto and Buddhism, not to mention poor governance and economic woes, Japan has become a psychologically unstable society—what one might call a “nationwide bipolar disorder.”
There’s a historical parallel here with Akhenaten, the ancient Egyptian Pharaoh (also known as Amenhotep IV and father of the famous Tutankhamun), who attempted to abolish traditional polytheism and introduced the monotheistic Aten religion. He proclaimed that “man will awaken and stand on his own feet.” Yet after his death, his capital city Akhetaten was abandoned, its temples destroyed, and his name erased from history—only rediscovered 3,000 years later through archaeology.
So why hasn’t the happiness of modern people increased despite our scientific and technological progress?
It’s because the human brain hasn’t evolved fast enough to adapt to new systems. We still fear the dark, the unknown, and death. We remain emotional, impulsive, and vulnerable to anxiety, just like people of the distant past.
Even psychology and neuroscience are still in their infancy when it comes to decoding the vast universe of the human mind. Researchers themselves admit—often with a sense of irony—that they are essentially running experiments on patients without truly understanding the full implications.
The reason I write this is because I hope people will grow into intelligent individuals who can speak about religion with at least a minimum of understanding, rather than simply dismissing it as something for fools.
Tenshin-sensei claims openly that he “doesn’t believe in God,” and while personal belief is a free choice, it is deeply disrespectful to perform martial arts demonstrations at religious sites while denying the validity of those very beliefs—especially when such denial stems from ignorance.
If someone is informed about human history, religious traditions, and spiritual practices, and then chooses their beliefs thoughtfully, that is admirable. But to criticize publicly without understanding is not only shameful, it’s socially reckless.
From the perspective of intellectuals, such behavior only reinforces the notion that martial arts are nothing more than violent practices upheld by the uneducated and emotionally immature.
In Japan, freedom of religion is constitutionally protected. As long as one does not publicly disparage beliefs, there is no problem with non-believers performing hōnō enbu (dedicatory demonstrations) at shrines or temples. I am not promoting any specific religion—this is more of a trivia-like detour.
But I do want people to understand that criticism born out of ignorance is a primal instinct and must be consciously avoided.
Every Person Is a Gem That Shines When Polished
Now then, returning to the main thread of the story.
President Yuki So once said:
“This headquarters, I regret to say, is not an ideal place.”
“Even among the well-known instructors here, everyone has their own flaws. There are no saints or perfect individuals.”
I liked Shorinji Kempo, but I wasn’t exactly a die-hard enthusiast.
I had never read Shorinji Magazine (the official publication), and I didn’t know a single one of the headquarters instructors.
On the other hand, a friend from my home dojo who enrolled alongside me, and several other classmates from Sapporo (for some unknown reason, that year saw an unusual anomaly—out of just nine new students, five were from Hokkaido, and aside from my friend, none of them knew each other, which astonished the instructors) were avid readers of Shorinji Magazine. They knew the faces and names of almost every instructor and reacted as if they were meeting celebrities.
Still, these were headquarters instructors. And given that Shorinji Kempo (as I had previously discussed in detail) holds up the ideal of character development through gyō (修行 – ascetic training), I naturally assumed they would be highly refined individuals.
So when I heard those words from President So, internally I couldn’t help but think, “Seriously?”
If even the people at the headquarters didn’t live up to the ideal, then wasn’t that a sign that the Shorinji Kempo system was fundamentally flawed?
And sure enough, once I began living at the headquarters, I realized that what she had said was true.
In my second year, one instructor was suddenly dismissed from the headquarters. It was later revealed that he had embezzled a large sum of money and was subject to disciplinary action.
Moreover, the attitudes and behaviors of some instructors were, at times, surprisingly immature. I witnessed numerous instances where they failed to control their emotions. Even among the instructors themselves, relationships were often strained, and it became increasingly clear that these interpersonal issues were directly impacting the organization’s operations.
Of course, many instructors possessed admirable qualities, and I received numerous valuable teachings from them. I hold a deep sense of gratitude for their guidance.
But at the same time, there was a stark contrast between my expectations and reality.
President Yuki So went on to say:
“If even the instructors are like this, then the students—being even less mature—are bound to have more issues. That’s why I want you all to clash with each other, fully and openly. By confronting one another head-on, you’ll polish each other into radiant gems.”
At the time, I didn’t really grasp what she meant.
But in truth, those who pursue martial arts tend to be more hot-tempered and ego-driven than the average person.
Soon enough, daily clashes began—between students, between seniors and juniors, and even occasionally with instructors.
As a side note, President Yuki So herself also had her share of issues, though I won’t elaborate here. She now stands at the head of another major martial arts school (technically, she has passed the position to her son), and it would be inappropriate to go into criticism—even though the problems were not scandalous, just ordinary ones.
In the end, I underwent such a dramatic transformation that my own family said, “You’re like a completely different person.”
Now, I’ve written at length, but let me shift focus for a moment.
Whether inside or outside Japan, interpersonal issues occasionally arise within Tenshin-ryu.
But that’s only natural—it would actually be strange if no problems occurred in human society.
Back at Busen, I used to get into arguments almost daily—with classmates, seniors, and juniors alike.
The atmosphere was tense and often hostile.
Of course, the ideal is “everyone getting along.”
But human beings are inherently subjective. Each person sees the world from their own center point.
While we may have some capacity for objectivity, it is always limited—and even that objectivity is a product of our subjectivity.
So naturally, these differing perspectives and egos clash. Conflict arises not from “good vs. evil” but from different interpretations of righteousness. In truth, it’s not dualism—it’s monism, where each party holds their own version of right.
Therefore, we mustn’t define conflict itself as “evil.”
Interpersonal tension should be addressed and resolved, yes—but if we regard the mere existence of conflict as something that should never happen, it becomes a kind of psychological allergy.
As a result, avoiding conflict becomes the goal, and the actual problem only grows worse.
Of course, resolving conflicts is never easy.
Unless each individual matures and grows, the same issues will continue indefinitely.
One of my most intense daily conflicts was with an older classmate.
Every time we saw each other, we exchanged sarcastic remarks, mutual criticism, and antagonism—even during paired training, our keiko felt more like a fight than practice.
We were easily the most antagonistic pair in the group.
But about three months after starting school, I suddenly experienced a wave of deep gratitude—for everything.
For the circumstances I was in, my family, my friends, every instructor and student at the headquarters, and even for people I had never met.
It was a personal epiphany.
The trigger? Strangely enough, it was watching the 1997 Neon Genesis Evangelion movie (The End of Evangelion) when it premiered on July 19.
Why that film evoked such powerful emotions in me, I don’t know.
But during the latter half of the movie, something inside me shifted.
Even after returning to the dorm, I was overwhelmed by a sense of joy, boundless love, and heartfelt gratitude.
And when I saw that same older classmate again—someone I had bitterly disliked—an overflowing sense of love and appreciation poured out of me, and I was able to greet him with a genuinely warm smile.
From that point on, my attitude toward him completely changed.
I approached him with kindness, love, and gratitude—and in turn, his attitude toward me transformed as well.
He started following me around like a shadow. The barbed conversations stopped, and our sarcasm vanished.
We became, to my surprise, good friends.
Naturally, my life became much more peaceful, free of daily conflict.
That positive shift has continued to this day.
To think that someone I once disliked so intensely became a close friend—it was a rare and precious experience, not easily found in life.
Of course, my personality today has been shaped by many other lessons as well.
But that experience was undeniably one of the turning points.
In Buddhism, there are concepts called jun’en (順縁 – favorable causes) and gyaku’en (逆縁 – adverse causes).
Jun’en refers to entering the path through positive circumstances, while gyaku’en refers to being driven toward spiritual awakening through hardship.
In my case, encountering someone I considered an enemy ended up being the very experience that allowed me to grow and open my eyes.
Tenshin-ryu, as an organization, is still immature and in a state of growth.
Issues will undoubtedly continue to arise.
But this is a sign that both the organization and its individuals are evolving—and those issues are also opportunities for further growth.
Communication is an inescapable challenge for humanity—until the day we evolve into fully developed beings, it will remain a struggle.
From ancient times, communication has been our species’ most powerful survival tool, born out of necessity in the struggle for existence.
Which is to say, as long as we live, we must continue developing our communication skills.
If we don’t, we’ll always be plagued by dissatisfaction in our interactions with others.
I don’t believe we were born into this world simply to live a life full of stress and interpersonal friction.
There’s an old Edo-period proverb that goes:
“Even a tile can become a gem if polished.” (from Kefukigusa)
A gyoku (玉) refers to a jewel, and the saying means that even a person who seems unremarkable—like a simple roof tile—can shine with brilliance if they continue to polish themselves.
It’s a hopeful phrase, but also a sobering one: if you don’t polish yourself, you will never shine.
Moreover, even once you have polished yourself and begun to shine, neglecting to maintain it will eventually cause dust and grime to accumulate, obscuring your brilliance once again.
What matters most is to continue polishing—consistently and without end.
I myself still have a long way to go in my training.
Research suggests that as we age, the personality we’ve worked hard to cultivate through learning and habit tends to weaken, and our inborn temperament begins to reassert itself, eventually taking control.
So as someone who will apparently turn 47 this October (I had to look it up because I forgot), I can say with confidence that my personality is likely declining.
Compared to my 18-year-old self who dove into the “tiger’s den” of training and self-discipline, I now need to work even harder to polish my character—or else risk descending, day by day, into a pitiful and unlikable version of myself.
コメント