(Approx 2 minute 20 second read)

In a recent article I wrote about lineage, one of the comments I received said, “The worth of a teacher is not measured by the fame of their lineage, but by the depth of their understanding, their ability to transmit, and their humanity.”
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He added, “…what truly matters: the value of a teacher lies in what he or she can awaken in students, not in what is displayed, but in what is embodied.”
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I couldn’t agree more. Perhaps it’s something that becomes clearer as we get older and gain experience. But there’s still this unspoken tension in the martial arts when someone starts to think for themselves, asks questions, shows curiosity, or wants to try things outside the group. Too often, that’s seen as defiance. Not growth.
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I see it the other way around. If they’re thinking for themselves, something’s working.
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For me, loyalty that comes from pressure, hierarchy, or expectation doesn’t mean much. Loyalty that comes from choice? That’s the one that counts. I’ve never been interested in collecting people. I’m interested in preparing them.
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The job of a teacher isn’t to be the destination. It’s to be part of the journey. If someone eventually surpasses me, challenges me, or goes in a direction I never did, then fine. That’s success. I’d rather someone leave my dojo stronger than stay smaller.
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This doesn’t mean tradition doesn’t matter, or that lineage and structure don’t matter. They do. They give us something solid to stand on. But foundations should support growth, not limit it. When tradition protects the teacher more than the art… well, that’s ego, not teaching.
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And yes, it stings when someone moves on. Anyone who says otherwise isn’t being honest. But that disappointment is ours to deal with, not for them. Done right, separation isn’t a failure. It’s proof the training worked.
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After more than fifty years in the martial arts, and plenty of time in places where style or rank didn’t mean a thing when reality showed up, one thing is clear: the job isn’t to create agreement. It’s to create ability.
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When ego steps up, purpose steps back. Status matters more than skill. Image matters more than outcome. I’m not a fan.
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Good teaching shouldn’t make people dependent. It should make them better, stronger, more capable. Less in need of reassurance, not more. Students shouldn’t have to look over their shoulder wondering if they’re ‘doing it right’ by someone else’s standards. The measure is simple: can they stand on their own when it counts?
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I get it, many dojo need students to cover overheads and pay your wages. Fair enough. But I don’t rate success by who stays. I rate it by who can walk away with ability, clarity, and confidence, without needing to carry a person, a title, or a group name with them.
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Don’t get me wrong, tradition matters. Standards matter. But people matter more.
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At the end of it all, training isn’t about admiring the instructor or the lineage. It’s about making the student better.
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That’s it. No mystique. No hero worship. Just results. And if they do it better than you… well, you can always shuffle off to the corner of the dojo and put on your dunce hat.
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Written by Adam Carter – Shuri Dojo