Lost in Translation. Kata are sequences of techniques, presumably ones the creator (or modifiers) of the kata had found to be particularly effective. Today we know the names of the kata and the names of each technique and stance present in the kata.
Fukyugata Ichi (created by Matsubayashi-Ryu founder Shoshin Nagamine in 1940), for example, begins with a left downward block (gedan barai or gedan uke) in a left zenkutsu dachi, followed by a right middle punch (chudan tsuki) in a right shizentai dachi. See:
The 1940 Karate-Do Special Committee: The Fukyugata "Promotional" Kata. Can you visualize this?
That was a trick! Once the movements of a kata are identified as specific techniques, the meanings become fixed. A "block" has a certain meaning, as does a "punch." A stance has a certain configuration and weight distribution. A dynamic process is reduced to a series of still photographs.
We assume that techniques and movements have always had names. The teachers of old were much less likely to verbalize or write down such things. They would demonstrate techniques and say "like this." The student would follow and generally not ask any questions. If the student asked for clarification, the teacher would often reply, "I already said, like this." The teacher was unlikely to elaborate verbally.
Words became particularly necessary when books about Karate started to be written in the 1920s. Each technique had to be named to accompany the proper picture or photograph. Often names were just descriptive or made up. If the teacher showed a punch to the face, the author (in his language) might have used the term "face punch." Or he might have used "upper level punch" or "rising punch." But the odds are that his teacher used no term at all (except "like this.")
But wait a minute. Suppose instead of merely punching, the teacher actually poked the attacker in the eyes, closed his fingers, and followed through with a punch. Should this be written down? Perhaps the author of the book would leave out the eye poke because it was not quite suitable for the general readership (we can't have children going around poking eyes). Such a gruesome technique might offend the publisher (who probably thought that Kendo was a more noble art). Karate teachers had to overcome widespread prejudice against and misinformation about their art during this time period. Besides, this aspect of the technique could be practiced by the teacher's advanced students who didn't really need a book anyway.
Editorial choices aside, the very act of naming techniques presents a very real danger of limiting them in terms of performance and applications. My sensei,
Katsuhiko Shinzato, is a professor of linguistics in Okinawa. Although fluent in both Japanese and English, and an established expert in linguistics, he resists any requests to label techniques or body dynamics processes. "In order for the body to move freely," he says, "the mind must not be fixed."
Once you name a technique, you limit it -- you limit its performance and potential applications.