Tai Chi has a problem
Tai Chi is hundreds of years old, and it has been in the west since the early 20th century. But still, it has a long way to go. More often than not, people I meet have no idea what Tai Chi is, but know plenty about Yoga! Even those who do know of Tai Chi know little of its diversity and depth of benefit.
Instead of ranting about this, I want to dream a little bit about what it might look like for Tai Chi to grow, and also reflect a little on its possible benefits beyond the usual “relaxation” and “improved balance”.
Where are we now?
Currently, when I look at the Tai Chi world, I see a huge variety. That’s not a bad thing in itself - in fact I think it’s quite amazing - but it makes for some unfortunate truths. First, as said, many people have little idea of what Tai Chi is, leading to a sort of “blind men and the elephant” problem - one person says it’s x, another says it’s y, etc. Second, among the various schools there is often a dogmatism which leads to weird competitive disagreements about specifics, rather than acknowledgement of differences (“agree to disagree”) in a way that’s mutually supportive. Third, because of little knowledge and sectarianism, a lot of published literature cannot necessarily be said to represent tai chi as a whole: the tai chi chosen for study may be of low quality, or it may be of high quality but also high rarity (and perhaps poor transferability).
I think this is a good reason to be educated on differences to allow for informed decision-making and reasonable commitment to a particular way of doing things; but over time, if a given style is not taught broadly and effectively, it may very well just die off, as will the others if they continue down this path.
Some people I know don’t really mind if Tai Chi remains in obscurity. Perhaps they just want to practice for themselves, not everyone else. Historically, many Chinese martial arts have been guarded with secrecy within their families of origin, any way. However, at the same time, we cannot ignore that it would be amazing to see such arts being shared far and wide with greater quality. There are a decent number of Chinese martial arts that seem to be strengthening, and this seems concurrent with a willingness to “open up” and be adapted for the times while still pursuing quality.
I think one of the biggest reasons people have against this sort of adaptation is a fear that the quality will be lost - this is sometimes a criticism of Yang Chengfu’s popularization of Yang Style, for example (noting that this criticism seems to come from more elitist types). But won’t there always be a “star pupil” or someone who is able to take things to the next level? Chen Zhaokui (who had a number of skilled students owing to his clear teachings), Feng Zhiqiang, to name a couple… wouldn’t we want to increase the likelihood that such people may arise in the future? This is partly where we get a strange closed-fisted competitive vibe amongst some practitioners, who want to preserve a strange and unnecessarily burdensome hierarchy.
If Tai Chi is based in any reality rather than fantasy, its methods should be able to be handed down across cultures and with reliability. In my own opinion, one of the biggest things standing of the way of Tai Chi’s growth is not its difficulty (aren’t many things difficult?), but the teaching methodology (or lack thereof): if students aren’t just being told to practice forms slowly and gracefully, they’re being demanded to incorporate such imprecise phrases as “relax”, “sink the qi”, “release the kua”, but with strict precision. My experience is limited, but I believe this results in cues that can very rarely be practiced without substantial individualized attention over the period of years. In today’s age, that is far too long; nobody wants to spend 5 years learning how to relax their hip joints! This is especially problematic when these cues are used to teach classes larger than 10 people (unless you’re in it for the money!). The methodology needs to adapt.
Although it’s true that such a radical way of using the body necessarily requires a period of de-conditioning (relative to many habits of modern humans), there should be ways to expedite this process, right? Why would any teacher want their student to progress slowly? Doesn’t everyone want to progress quickly? Why do we assume this is mutually exclusive from patient persistence? Why do we demand ourselves to exclusively train with a lack of clarity?
Where can we go?
If Tai Chi hopes to survive and flourish, some change needs to happen. In my opinion, this actually doesn’t really need to be so radical. A big thing that needs to change, perhaps, is language.
This is not to say that we should drop chinese phrases and terms. In fact, I think learning them can help us a lot by informing us of their context and what they actually refer to. However, I also think that in the english-speaking world, we need to really educate ourselves on the technical words we like to throw around (myself included, admittedly) to “translate”. This may very well allow us to be more precise with how we translate the chinese terms (which may be more precise than we know!), and use better descriptions and cues for incorporation.
For example, Chansijin is often translated as “silk-reeling force”. If I told a newcomer to “move with chansijin”, chances are they would be quite confused. If I answered their demands for clarity with “oh, just relax and move with the whole body with spirals”… maybe their frustration will be abated, but it is incredibly unlikely they will suddenly grasp the concept chansijin. Worse, if they stick for long with that idea of chansijin as just being “relaxed full body spirals”, they may very well end up tense, injured, or fed up.
On the other hand, if chansijin was used as a broad-term to indicate a force which is transferred through the body via proper body mechanics (e.g. stable, strong, and mobile joints) and mind-integration… well, immediately it begins to carry more meaning. The task is then to clarify what those mechanics are, how they relate to each other, how they manifest, and what sort of mind-integration it entails. By no means does this make Tai Chi easier - but it does potentially make it easier to teach, easier to follow, and easier to commit to over the long term, and short term, (I believe) it may actually speed up the learning process - it’ll definitely be faster without having students learn Chinese on their own or decode cryptic aphorisms. And in the end, with its meaning clarified, the term “silk reeling” can be a neat, beautiful package to contain this meaning and function as a better cue.
This may very well also lead to a change in teaching format.
Supposedly, in the not-very-well-recorded history of Chinese martial arts, forms were a fundamental part of the curriculum. In fact they may be the most easily objectifiable part of it: list the movements, describe (or illustrate) their execution, and you’ve done quite a bit to preserve your art.
But nowadays, it seems that many teach this as the curriculum. A standard hour-long public Tai Chi class may be entirely dedicated to learning and practicing a form, which may or may not be practiced in the student’s free time. If body method is taught in such a class, it isn’t with very much depth - perhaps the students already know it and just need to be reminded, or perhaps the teacher just wants to sprinkle it in and hopes that the students integrate it (hopefully they describe it clearly!).
Because the form is just but a part of the broader picture, then there may be a need to adopt different classes: form classes, body method classes, etc. Or perhaps, a tiered system: beginner, level 1, level 2, etc.
I think if you saw such a curriculum laid out in front of you, you will quite quickly have a clearer idea of what awaits you, and you will be an a much better position to decide if it’s something you want to commit to long-term. To me, that’s much better than telling someone “tai chi is a super deep art, if you want to learn form me you need to practice every day!”
Thoughts on benefits
Considering these sorts of changes in mind, I think it’s a no-brainer that Tai Chi is a bit more than just a relaxing, slow-moving dance you can learn on YouTube. The benefits of this long-practiced art may exist if it has been transmitted over a period of time, but what are they, and why are some people (like myself) obsessed with this art?
For this, I can only really speak from my own experience.
I started practicing Tai Chi as a very clumsy person who was quite muscular from lifting weights, but still not exactly “strong”. I had a lot of physical habits from years of video-gaming that made application of strength quite awkward for me. I also have very flat feet which has made me quite averse to running, as it always felt like my lower body was just banging on the ground. So in general, although I was in some ways physically fit, I was no athlete, I was not totally physically healthy, and I was quite disconnected from my body.
When I joined my first Tai Chi class, I was blown away by the fact that just standing could be so physically and mentally challenging. This thrilled me and I was hooked immediately. It felt like I was really using my muscles for the first time. But still, over years of practice, my joints ached, and I was not really much more relaxed. If anything I was just acutely aware of how bad my body felt, and I was increasingly frustrated at being unable to progress in my tai chi, which I believed must go farther than this. I was practicing daily, but rather than benefit, in a way it felt like I was drilling my body into the ground.
Well, after some time, I found my current teachers, who are among the clearest and most precise I have known - and they speak english! Year by year I could see and feel my body changing, and I learned more and more ways of how to describe these things I was learning to do. I believe this is because the teachings are grounded so much in reality, and both my teachers put great effort into clarifying what these often obscure phrases mean, or what their practices entail.
I’ll pick one idea that has been a huge help for me: stability. It’s not just a benefit, it’s also an idea and an experience. When we seek to keep a joint stable, we do so in a relaxed way not by stiffening the joint in place, but being very clear about establishing a rotational axis. For those of us with muscle imbalances, this can be quite difficult and may actually require conditioning exercises. But whether you’re a tai-chi devotee or a weightlifter, the concept and practice of stability has broad-applicability and benefit.
Simply put, it permits an efficient transfer of force, and it prevents injury. Most importantly, it is not a very difficult concept to grasp! And think about it: if stability aids relaxed movement, what might that mean for a cue as apparently strange as “release the kua”? If we are told to stabilize the hips, and we know what that means, well we are one step closer to being able to relax the kua and use our legs more.
For this reason, logically I think this is where Tai Chi in itself could have broader application, especially in the martial arts world. All too often do “masters” make big claims of fighting ability, being able to “deflect a force with a thousand pounds” but never being able to clearly describe simple fighting strategy technique. Again, drawing on the concept of stability: what does it take to maintain joint stability in a fight? What purpose does it serve us? These are much easier questions to answer than “how do you use your qi to defeat an opponent”, though they may help us answer that!
