Martial arts: The philosophical art of self-defence
In modern martial arts, particularly in the west, we place great emphasis on perfecting techniques and questioning if they would work in the street or in the octogen. Recently I have frequently heard people denigrate less aggressive styles, claiming “that wouldn’t work in the ring”. Firstly, I feel that these people are missing the point of these styles. The test of a style is if it can succeed in doing what it was designed for. Various forms of kung fu may not be appropriate for the octogen, but if taught correctly they can defend effectively against thugs. Arguably more importantly, this kind of questioning of traditional arts points at a more disturbing fact. There seems to be a cultural shift in recent decades. Philosophy, meditation and breathing techniques used to be an integral part of the martial arts. Eastern teachers and some teachers in the west still place emphasis on these things but I am becoming increasingly concerned that martial arts are beginning to be diluted, or altered, for a western audience. The paying customer wants to learn to fight, to get fitter or to compete. There isn’t anything wrong with this, it is the practitioner’s choice and they can gain a lot from these things. But if a practitioner has not been made aware of the depth of the arts and how profoundly it can alter our minds, spirit and heart, then their instructor has dishonored the student as well as the art. I am fully aware that this article will be controversial but I hope to explain how the philosophy behind Asian martial arts is not only rooted in Zen (Cha’n) Buddhism and Taoism, but is essential if we are to gain the most out of the arts.
Buddhism spread from India to China just over 2000 years ago, In 65 AD, a community of Buddhist monks were living under royal patronage in the northern part of Kiangsu province (near modern Shanghai). The first monks had possibly been there a century before. Among those who spread the teachings of Buddha to China was Bodhidharma, who is credited as both the founder of Cha’n Buddhism, which is better known by the Japanese name of Zen, and as the founder of Kung Fu. He arrived in Southern China around 475 AD. The more military minded north emphasized meditation and magic, whilst the south emphasized philosophical discussion and an intuitive grasp of the teachings. In around 496 AD, the emperor ordered the construction of the Shaolin temple on Mount Sung. According to legend, Bodhidharma spent nine years meditating in a cave before finally accepting a student from the temple, who, to prove that he understood that the physical, external is worth little, cut off his hand. After this extreme act, Bodhidharma accepted him and began training him in Zen. He taught the Shaolin monks yogic exercises and possibly Indian martial arts such as kalarippayattu to strengthen the body and help gain self-understanding. It is this self-understanding which is greatly emphasized in Zen as one of its core principles is that the Buddha is the mind, and the mind is the Buddha. Whilst other Buddhist schools place emphasis on reciting sutras, Zen emphasizes understanding our Buddha nature, which is in us all. “ […] This mind is the Buddha […], Beyond this mind you’ll never find another Buddha. To search for enlightenment or nirvana beyond this mind is impossible […]” (Bloodstream sermon)
The Shaolin monks strengthened their bodies to allow long periods sitting in the lotus position whilst practicing Zazen meditation. To improve their health, they practiced the forms (quan) as a form of meditation; gradually these forms were adapted to defend the temple during a time of political instability (warring states period) until they became the Shaolin kung fu forms which we would recognise today.
The Chinese often saw Zen as a foreign form of Taoism and they do indeed hold many similarities. The central idea of both Taoism and Zen can be expressed by the tai-ji (ying/yang) symbol. It demonstrates a rejection of opposites and the need for harmony in the world. For good to exist, evil must exist. Good and evil are relational in nature. “When all the world recognizes beauty as beauty, this in itself is ugliness, when all the world recognizes good as good, this in itself is evil. / Indeed, the hidden and the manifest give birth to each other. / Difficult and easy complement each other. / Long and short exhibit each other…” (Tao The Ching, Chapter 2). Yin/yang is the coherent fabric of nature and mind, shown in the interaction of all things, establishing harmony. The swirling symbol shows the blending of the negative, dark, feminine (yin) with the bright, hard masculine (yang). The circle in each half shows the reliance upon the other. Obviously, this is a simplified explanation. Both Zen and Taoism aim to understand this relationship between yin and yang and gain a true understanding of one’s own nature, thus gaining sage-hood.
Translated, the Tao means ‘way’ or ‘path’. It is the origin of the universe and governs the development of all beings. Any attempt to explain it will be shallow, as it can only be fully understood through experience. Zen emphasizes meditation and teaching through parables and koans (riddles which help focus the mind during meditation) more than other forms of Buddhism, many of which place a large emphasis on memorizing and reciting the scriptures. The teachings of Zen are noticeably similar to Taoism. Both discuss the Tao (pronounced Dao, or Do in Japanese), which may be described as the way the universe works – everything working in harmony with everything else. Although the Tao itself is difficult to explain, I have experienced it whilst performing my kata before. “Tao can be talked about, but not the eternal Tao […] As the origin of heaven-and- earth, it is nameless: As “the mother” of all things, it is nameable […]” ( Tao Teh Ching, chapter one). When Zen spread to china, through cultural exchange and philosophical discussion, it is likely that Taoism and Zen influenced each other. Indeed, some scholars argue that Zen is the merging of Mahayana Buddhism with Taoism. Although this is a controversial topic, which I would rather avoid here!
The Tao is difficult to understand but it may be felt. Chi, or Ki in Japanese, flows through you when you perform a particular technique so well that your training partner feels the energy from the strike within their core rather than the feeling from an externally powerful strike causing bruising. This shows how acting in accordance with Tao can directly help our martial practice. I understand that many are skeptical of chi, and I used to be, but according to Taoism we all have this vital energy running through us. Through breathing exercises (think about kata such as Sanshin and Tensho if you train in karate, or Sil Lum Tao if you practice Wing Chun) and working in accordance with biomechanics, a relatively small person can achieve incredible striking power. The martial arts do not only use the teachings of Taoism and Zen but these philosophies are fundamental to our practice. The Taoist often aims to reach a level of skill in their art that they can attain a state of wu wei or what western athletes may describe as being ‘in the zone’. This state of the totally focused mind, in which an action is performed effortlessly, is acting in accordance with Tao. Of course this state can only be accomplished through continual practice of the techniques (forms, kata). This is hard to explain, but the follower of Lao Tzu (founder of Taoism), Chuang Tzu does illustrate it well in his parable, “ cutting up an ox”. A prince’s cook was cutting up an ox. Without any effort, the limbs of the ox fell apart; “[…] with a whisper, the bright cleaver murmured like a gentle wind […]”. When the prince asked what method, he used, the cook replied; “What I follow is Tao, beyond all methods! […] I see nothing with my eye. My whole being apprehends […]” (The way of Chuang Tzu ). This is what Bruce Lee meant when he said that when he punches, he doesn’t punch, it punches.
I can understand my readers thinking that all this philosophy is interesting but how does it influence non-Chinese martial arts. In a basic way, we can see its influence in the terminology and etiquette which we use whilst training in Okinawan and Japanese martial arts (the meaning of the terminology in Korean martial arts is similar). When I enter the training hall, or dojo, I bow to show respect to the art, at least this is how it is usually explained to the beginner. However ‘dojo’ means ‘the place of the Tao (way/path, do in Japanese )’. So, you are showing respect to the place in which you are training to understand the Tao, a place of enlightenment! Traditionally the sword schools in Japan were associated with shrines or temples (mostly Shinto and Zen). Hence showing respect to this place where we grow as human beings is imperative to the art. When you bow to your Sensei, you are showing respect to an individual with a past life, as ‘Sen’ can be translated as before, and ‘ Sei’ as born. Hence a true Sensei was born before, in a spiritual sense. The Sensei has a responsibility to guide the student in moral and spiritual matters, as well as teaching the techniques. To me, this is the difference between a martial arts instructor and a Sensei. If an instructor over charges and focuses purely on technique, then they may be a good instructor but cannot be a sensei. I’m aware that this point will be controversial but according to the true meaning of ‘sensei’, it seems self-evident. “[…] The martial arts sensei is very much like the Zen master […,] if the student wants guidance in climbing the steep path to expertise, the instructor is willing to act as a guide- on condition the student is willing to take care of himself along the way[…]” ( Joe Hyams, Zen in the martial arts, p5). If the student has the right attitude and the Sensei provides spiritual guidance, then they will gain some understanding of the essence of the arts.
These terminologies are only a symptom of the spread of Taoism and Zen to Japan. The spread of Zen, and arguably Taoism can be traced directly to a Japanese Buddhist priest, Eihei Dogen (1200-1253). Born into the influential Minamoto clan, he was able to live in comfort. However, before he was ten he has lost both of his parents (father died when he was 2, mother when he was 8). Before his mother died she suggested that he should become a monk to help save people. The young orphan was taken in by his uncle, Minomoto Michitoma. Michitoma taught him the art of poetry and aided him in his Buddhist studies. By the time, he was a teenager, he had already become part of a temple but was starting to experience doubts. If all beings have Buddha-nature, why is there so much emphasis on ritual? After meeting a master who had returned from China (Master Eisai) and receiving teaching from him, the twenty-three-year-old Dogen travelled to China.
He returned after intense training in 1227, and rapidly gained many followers. His emphasis on zazen (seated meditation) over reciting doctrines made his Zen teaching popular, but began to annoy the powerful clergy. In 1243, the clergy burnt down his temple! The temple relocated to Echizen province, as the daimyo (provincial lord) was one of his disciples. He only left the temple once, and this was to teach the Shogun in Kamakura, who was so impressed by him, that he offered to build Dogen a temple in Kamakura. Aware that he would become an advisor to a warlord, he politely declined his offer. To turn down the Shogun was an extremely brave act of integrity, one which gained him even more respect from the shogun, although it could have easily got him killed on the spot! Dogen tragically died of an illness in 1253, but his teachings continued to spread through Japan. Having powerful daimyo, and a Shogun amongst his followers/ admirers undoubtedly helped with this. Zen and Taoism became an important part of the education of the samurai, influencing their moral code of bushido, as well as helping them to keep a calm mind in their martial arts training.
For a samurai, the training of the mind was an essential part of their training. The samurai class was founded in the eighth century. Since this time the martial arts had been the highest form of study for a young person of nobility, and of course, as demonstrated by Dogen’s story were hugely influenced by Zen and Taoism, but the belief in the Demons of Shintoism also influenced them. A westerner may claim that ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’. However, for the samurai, a great warrior should have a calm and balanced mind. The greatest warriors were often calligraphers, painters, flower arrangers and poets. I believe that the pursuit and appreciation of all art forms is still vital to being a true martial artist. Technique and a strong body can create a ferocious fighter but for that fighter to be a martial artist, they must seek to improve their mind and spirit.
For this reason, the samurai used the saying ‘ Bumbu Itchi’, ‘ The pen and the sword in accord’.
Some of the most reliable information on how much the samurai were influenced by Zen philosophy comes from the brush of prominent samurai. Although there are a few notable writings, arguably the most influential is ‘Go Rin No Shi’, ‘The book of five rings’, by Miyomoto Musashi (1584-1645). He was born into one of the most prominent clans of the samurai; the Harima, and was part of the noble Fujiwara family. Although his birthname is Shinmen Musashi No Kami Fujiwara No Genshin, he adopted the simplified Miyamoto Musashi (Miyamoto was his village). Thankfully his adopted name is easier to write than his complicated official name! I will avoid a detailed biography of this great samurai but his life was fascinating and I may write about him in the future. When he was seven, his father either died or abandoned him, and he was left in the care of his maternal uncle who was a Buddhist priest. He accepted a duel when he was thirteen, this was his first kill. Throughout his life, he participated in battle several times, and had over sixty duels by the time he was thirty. From the age of thirty, he would use Bokken (wooden practice sword) during duels, as he had realized that killing in duals was unnecessary. Although a samurai should have resolute acceptance of death, one should die for a cause, not in an attempt to prove skill. He didn’t lose a single duel. In 1645, when he was aware that he was dying, he transcribed the book of five rings.
The title indicates a veneration of Zen, Shintoism, Taoism, and Confucianism. The five rings refer to the five chapters (books), which take their names from the elements. The books: Ground, water, fire, and wind discuss the techniques of his unique style; Ni Ten Ichi ryu (two swords, one heaven). This style uses a Wakizashi (companion sword) in one hand and a Katana (long sword) in the other. Although he makes regular reference to Zen, his final book, the ‘Void’ seems to be focusing on his Zen influenced philosophy. Void is a Buddhist term for the illusory nature of worldly things. I believe this is why he stopped killing in duels. His focus changed from proving his superiority, to using his art as a way to attain philosophical understanding. This is what a true martial artist should aim to do, to use technique and practice to point to the way to live our lives, continually improving ourselves. Musashi realized, as every truly great martial artist has that the perfection of our art is a lifelong pursuit. Musashi’s single mindedness led him to perceive the world differently. A painter sees colour and shade, where the untrained eye will not. Similarly, the martial artist will see people’s demeanor, stance, attitude and will think about the world through the trained mind of an artist. “To attain the way of strategy as a warrior you must study fully other martial arts and not deviate even a little from the way of the warrior […]. Polish the twofold spirit heart and mind, and sharpen the twofold gaze in perception and sight. When your spirit is not in the least clouded, when the clouds of bewilderment clear away, there is the true void [ nothingness, free from the self as ego] […]” (The book of void, Musashi)
Through my own practice, I have seen more talented people than myself lose the passion for the arts and give up. Through giving up they miss out on the moments when they realize that their stance in normal life has become more stable, or the moments of seeing the beauty and movement of all things. Training brings us closer to understanding our true nature, and seeing the beauty and symbolism in the simple actions, from the bamboo bending in the wind, to the agility of the swallow. My main aim in life is to dedicate myself to understanding karate, the way of martial arts and change the perception of the martial way. Martial arts take immense dedication and sacrifice, enduring physically, and overcoming both mental, and emotional boundaries. The intermediate violinist plays until their fingers bleed, eventually developing hardened skin and intuitive movements. This is analogous to our own training, yet it isn’t generally perceived as an art in the same way.
The second noble truth in Buddhism teaches us that there is an origin to suffering, and that is attachment to three kinds of desire: sense pleasure, to become something, and to get rid of something. Musashi’s 21 precepts of Dokkodo (way of walking along) show how much this principle governed his life. Written for his disciples, a week before his death, he wrote down 21 simple rules for living. His fifth rule reads ‘be detached from desire your whole life long’. Until recently, I didn’t understand how I could aim to improve myself whilst letting go of my desire to improve. It seemed paradoxical! I think that the desire to improve isn’t bad, it’s the attachment to the goal of improving (gaining money, next belt, nicer car etc.) which can have negative consequences. When I was a child, I was told that there was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I fruitlessly ran through fields searching for the end of the rainbow. I failed to feel the grass beneath my feet, or to observe the beauty of my surroundings. I failed to enjoy the journey to my goal. The path and the journey are more important than the goal. I failed to get the gold, but more importantly, I didn’t appreciate the journey. All our paths are different, but we must stop being so goal orientated and enjoy our journey, as martial artists, and as human beings. The words within this essay can (hopefully) help you on your path, but to understand the philosophy of martial arts you must experience it. Understanding our true nature can only be achieved through experience. The Buddha didn’t attain enlightenment through reading, he gained it through absorbing and experiencing the teachings of various teachers, and through battles of the mind, spirit, and body. He fought with his demons and desires. Through his personal growth, he gained enlightenment. Literature can help us on our path, but it is self-understanding which can make us better people. Our greatest opponent is ourselves.