A few years ago there was a discussion among the contributing members of a forum on the Yang Family Tai Chi website that attempted to answer the question, “What is the ‘REAL’ tai chi?” In other words, what did the tai chi of its founder, Yang Luchan, look like? A lively debate followed (It’s the internet, after all), but the matter remained unresolved – the participants each tended to stick with their ideas.
We can only approximate an answer – Yang Luchan left no writings of his own. We know the following about him: he learned Chen style tai chi at Chenjiagou (“Chen Family Village”), and became very good at it. He got a job teaching martial arts to the Imperial Palace Guards, and then adapted it by slowing it down, the better to teach others besides soldiers. His sons carried on the tradition and one of them, Yang Banhou, first wrote “Explaining Taiji Principles” sometime around 1875. There are older texts, such as the “Salt Shop Manual.” But the books – much like this blog – aren’t manuals in the sense of “How To,” so much as they’re discussions of the underlying principles. It wasn’t until Yang Chengfu (Yang Jianhou’s son) that Yang tai chi took its present form and we started seeing “How To” manuals with photos and illustrations.
Depending on what legend you believe, the “original” tai chi was either a REALLY long form with more than 300 postures, many of which are now forgotten; or it was no “form” at all, but rather the postures we’d recognize (more or less), performed in a variety of combinations. There are some obscure forms of Yang family style that claim to be “secret” or “inner family” or “original” styles.
Underlying all such styles (and most Asian martial arts more generally) is the premise that what passes for tai chi nowadays is a shadow of its former self. Such thinking is not unique to martial arts – Chuang Tzu and Confucius both mention “the ancients” as being morally and philosophically superior to the people of their own times. Nor is it unique to China – Aristotle and whoever wrote Ecclesiastes both groused about how things were better “back in the old days.” And within modern Stoicism, the philosophical tradition I try to follow, considerable energy is expended (I’d say wasted) in asking whether this-or-that idea or thought is in keeping with what the tradition’s creators had in mind.
One of the “Old Stoic Masters,” Seneca the Younger, had
quite a bit to say on how to treat one’s slaves. This is completely incompatible with modern
thinking. Likewise, his thoughts on
women have no place in contemporary Western society. In an online discussion, one woman asked if we
shouldn’t re-translate his work to fit modern society. While acknowledging the fact that we’ve moved
on from many of the concepts that were day-to-day reality for him, I suggested
it may be best to leave his writing and thinking as it stands, and either
accept, modify or outright discard it as we each see fit. Remember, I told her, that Seneca and other
Romans were building on the Stoicism of Greeks like Zeno; if they thought it was
perfectly acceptable to build on, adapt, improve or modify the foundation others laid down, what’s
stopping us? I told her, in short, to write her own book.
I tell this story because it’s the same approach I have to tai chi, both learning it and teaching it. It’s one thing to venerate “the ancients” and be profoundly grateful for their wisdom and effort. This is healthy and encourages a rational humility; if I'm going to change something, I'd better have a VERY good reason why. It’s another thing altogether to turn the founders into plaster saints and their art into an inflexible exercise in orthodoxy. This stifles growth and leads to what more than one martial arts master has referred to as a "dead art.
In the
same sense that my Stoic philosophy has to adapt and change to fit in the
modern world (yet still preserving the foundational principles), the
foundations of tai chi can and ought to be built upon, adapted, improved or modified.
Philosophically, I think I’m on pretty defensible terrain. The descendants of Yang Luchan - particularly Yang Chengfu - did precisely this. Yang Jun himself has made no secret of the fact that his expression of tai chi is influenced not only by his grandfather’s teaching, but also by his degree in physical education. Yang Jun is not only building on and improving how tai chi is taught, but also how tai chi is done, and this is noble & admirable.
You’ve seen me say here and you’ve probably heard me say in class that my goal as a teacher is to get my students to a point where they need a better teacher than I am. I sincerely hope my students get better at the art than me. How can the art grow and improve otherwise? Keeping the idea of a "growing and improving art" in mind, I find the question of “What is the ‘REAL’ tai chi?” trivial to the point of meaninglessness.
The “REAL” tai chi is what you create with your effort in class and your practice & study at home. If it doesn’t look like anything Yang Luchan would recognize as such, so what? As long as we adhere to its Essential Principles, which haven’t materially changed in nearly 200 years, there doesn’t seem to be much point to orthodoxy, unless it has something useful to teach us.
The statues in the image above are cool to look at, but our art itself isn't set in stone like they are.
