Sometimes we rationalize the idea intellectually by observing highly skilled individuals and comparing our meager skills against them. But still we have a hard time grasping that we haven’t really learned anything after four or five years of diligent study. Only a few monk-like individuals are so devoid of ego that they truly believe they know nothing when going for shodan.

So how does one explain this mystery, especially to those students who are brimming with “self confidence” and don’t want to hear that their studies are only beginning?

Here’s an analogy that might help shed some light on the situation.

Consider spelunkers (individuals who explores caves). Spelunkers don’t just walk up to a cave and hop in…unless they’re idiots. Instead, they first carefully collect the proper tools for the job. They prepare themselves mentally and physically for the rigors of cave diving through hiking, rock climbing, and other gateway activities. They also find an experienced spelunker to tag along with and learn from.

It takes a lot of time, preparation, and experience for a cave adventurer to actually get into real caves and begin to appreciate their beauty and complexity. If they don’t take the proper time and precautions, their experiences can be baffling, unpleasant, and even dangerous.

Martial arts training is no different. Kyu ranking is a very colorful way to accumulate the proper tools for the job at hand (life protection). A punch is a tool, as is a kick, block, or self defense technique. Eventually, after the tools are assembled, the fledgling martial artist utilizes gateway activities (yakusoku kumite, blocking drills, etc) to orient themselves to the demands and rigors of the task. If they’re smart and lucky, they’ll find guidance from someone who has traversed a proper path ahead of them – a competent sensei.

Eventually, after a few years (let’s say four or five), that martial artist is ready to take some real steps into self expression, creativity, and effectiveness. Furthermore, the arts can then be used to slowly coagulate the body, mind, and spirit into a formidable whole.

Martial arts are deep and cavernous…so deep in fact that you can spend your whole life exploring them, appreciating their beauty, and never reach the bottom.

Black belt means you have the tools, but it takes patience and perseverance to finally reach the caves and dive down in without getting lost or worse.

(pictures: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/40/Kholki_cave_entrance1.jpg, http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mi7AIQ22soI/SQG1tflOj4I/AAAAAAAACl4/ZOZsye0fyX8/s400/gigantic_cave_room.jpg)

I ask myself – “what if a bystander saves a victim of violence in the hopes of getting a reward? Isn’t that doing the right thing for the wrong reason, and isn’t it still the right thing to do?”

Even though the act of saving the victim was still right, the spirit of the act was wrong and therefore doesn’t reflect budo as I understand it. It is therefore a hollow act.

But hey, who gets to decide that going after a reward is wrong in the first place? What if you have a family to feed, and a reward might meet those ends?

These gray areas keep my mind whirling and remind me I still have much learning to do!

Forrest Morgan shares an interesting tale, which I’ll summarize here:

“In Budo Shoshinshu, Yuzan defines three degrees of doing right. He illustrates his point with a parable about a man who dies during a journey. Before leaving, the dead man had trusted one hundred ryo of gold with his neighbor for safe keeping.

No one else knew of this transaction, so the neighbor is left with the dilemma of whether or not to act honorably.

Of course, taking the money is the dishonorable option, but Yuzan proposes there are varying levels of honor, depending on why the friend returns it.

* The first and most honorable course of action is to return the gold to the dead man’s family without ever considering theft.

* A second alternative would be to covet the money briefly, but then be overtaken with shame and return it.

* The third possibility is to consider keeping the money but decide against it for fear of being discovered by family, friends, or servants.

All three situations result in the same outcome: a fulfillment of giri and remaining honorable. However, each case reflects a different degree of moral conscience, and therefore, a different level of honor the individual has attained.” – Living the Martial Way

Hierarchy is a polarizing mechanism. When it’s working fair and properly, individuals can benefit. When it is corrupted or run incompetently, everybody suffers (except perhaps those at the top). Hierarchy is a powerful tool, and in the martial arts, it is thrust into the hands of people who may or may not deserve it.

In many modern countries a high premium is placed on individual freedoms. Very rarely do we quietly tolerate anything that impedes our rights as citizens. The military, out of need for cohesion and order, is a rare example of effective hierarchy in modern times. Of course there are a myriad of other hierarchies in our lives, including work, family, school, etc., but none of those are as staunch and unyielding as the military.

In the midst of a thousand civilian activities and pastimes lies the martial arts. No basketball coach or yoga teacher holds the same authority and power over subordinates as the martial arts Sensei. Ironically, no coach or teacher could get away with the same lack of credentials and know-how as a slick, philandering ‘Master’ (if a basketball coach can’t win, they’ll be replaced. If a yoga instructor can’t hold a position, they’ll be replaced. If a martial arts instructor can’t defend him/herself or even perform a technique properly, they can still get by with fast talk or big claims).

The use and abuse of the exceedingly strong civilian hierarchy utilized by the martial arts has a long and complex history.

Where Martial Arts Hierarchy Came From

As it stands today, the hierarchy in martial arts stems from two predominant places. The first of which is traditional eastern culture. Born from a mixture of beliefs, but based most dominantly out of Confucianism, the Asian people have always placed high value on order and levels of authority. As one Sensei once joked to me with tongue-in-cheek, “if the Japanese saw three piles of dirt, they would name one Renshi dirt, one Kyoshi dirt, and one Hanshi dirt.”

The order of Asian society has influenced everything they do, from family life to dojo life. This structure has led to some amazing advances in their societies, and some behavior that is often seen as confusing and even disturbing (i.e. Seppuku and kamikaze pilots).

The Okinawans, while less militaristic in their day-to-day hierarchies, also put great emphasis on order, especially in regards to families, instructors, and community status.

As westerners came to learn the martial arts, they inherently absorbed the methods and mindsets of their teachers. This was compounded by the simple fact that many of the early western students were military personnel looking to improve their odds of survival in combat.

As mentioned earlier, the military is one of the most effective and inflexible modern day hierarchies. When young people were molded in that system, they absorbed the hierarchical aspects of military training. Being sharp and at-attention made sense to them, and not questioning what their instructors said or did was second nature.

When those early instructors came back to their home countries and started their own dojos, they built schools using the lens they knew best – strict, unyielding hierarchy.

How Hierarchy Came To Be What It Is

The example of karate hierarchy is very intriguing and a bit unique. Most scholars and historians believe that karate was developed as a civilian art, used by the Royal Court Guard (think Motobu Udundi), military police, and civilians. In fact it is commonly believed that one of karate’s greatest progenitors, Sokon “Bushi” Matsumura, was in charge of the court guard at one point in his life.

Although the background of karate is diverse, it was not intended SPECIFICALLY for battlefield use. Instead it was taught down family lines and within tight knit circles of friends and relatives. The teaching, despite what we see in a lot of modern dojo, was not extremely regimented. There were no excessive amounts of ceremony. In fact, since the learning groups were so small, they often started and stopped in completely unstructured ways and utilized subtle teacher/student etiquette.

However, as with other martial arts, many of the westerners that first learned karate were military folk. When they brought karate back with them, they took the techniques they learned from their Sensei and the organizational structure they learned from the military and melded them together. Thus was born the crisp, at-attention, BOW TO YOUR SENSEI type of mindset that has become prevalent throughout some martial arts circles (for better or worse).

As is the way in martial arts, students who learn a brand of hierarchy, whether it be relaxed or strict, tend to continue that tradition.

The Benefits of Martial Arts Hierarchy

Regardless of the specific level of strictness in a given dojo, there are a few concepts that seem pervasive. For example, there is always a matter of respect for seniors. Juniors in the dojo are expected to listen patiently to those ranked higher than them, and not speak belligerently to them no matter what the circumstances. This emphasis on respect is a massively positive aspect of traditional training.

Many individuals, children especially, can go through their whole lives without having to show respect to anyone. In the martial arts , however, you won’t get very far without it. Respect is one of the most crucial personality traits when it comes to keeping an open mind and understanding other people.

A sister benefit to respect is discipline. Although discipline takes a very visceral form in the martial arts dojo (bowing, standing still, listening quietly, etc) it becomes more and more valuable in a person’s daily life. Discipline in the dojo translates to self discipline, and self discipline is a cornerstone to personal success.

The hierarchy of a dojo can often be a microcosm for what people can expect in the real world. Students who learn the intricacies of handling superiors, subordinates, and ‘equals’ can often translate those skills into the workplace and home environments.

The hierarchy of a dojo can also provide serious motivation for students to achieve. The desire to ‘move up the ladder’ and command the presence and respect that seniors get can become palpable, and students are sometimes able to push themselves beyond what they thought was attainable. It is a goal-setting ideal that can teach people to move beyond their perceived limits and take charge of their own destiny.

The Pitfalls of Martial Arts Hierarchy

The benefits discussed can be perverted more easily than you might suspect. The desire for respect can often lead to a lust for power. Vanity and self-importance are traits not uncommon in martial arts ‘masters’ who wield their position like a club.

The ability to start a dojo and place people underneath you is astoundingly easy. Literally anyone can do it. Therefore, people that have no outlet for their self-aggrandizement often use martial arts to satisfy their needs.

Command, power, and influence are highly addictive ‘substances’. Just like John Kreese of the Cobra Kai in the picture above, some instructors enjoy seeing a little army consisting of versions of themself, ready to listen, follow, and take commands.

If you doubt the addictive powers of martial arts achievement, observe the gaining of rank, trophies, certificates of mastery, and dozens of black belts by some practitioners. Although these accolades are occasionally well deserved, often they are used to fuel the ego.

You’ll notice that when describing the serious issues inside the arts I didn’t say “All strict hierarchies are bad, and all loose hierarchies are good”. If only it were that simple. There are strict hierarchies that are extremely ethical and fair, and some loose hierarchies that are very devious and unscrupulous. It really comes down to how the teacher chooses to wield his/her authority and how juniors choose to operate inside of a given system (there are examples of ethical dojo heads who had to leave power in the hands of their subordinates, who then abused that power).

Final Thoughts

We often say in the martial arts that one should maintain a beginner’s mindset when learning, the goal of which is to avoid the ‘expert’s malaise’ that lulls people into a lack of growth. Another aspect of the beginner’s mind is to remember what it is like to be the low man on the totem pole. To recall the positive sensations when higher-ups took notice of your achievements and gave you valuable criticism, and the negative sensations of when you felt wronged and slighted.

As you become more and more powerful in the arts, it is critical to use that power wisely. Martial arts instructors are not gurus and they are not therapists; they are not financial counselors and they are not generals. But, when done properly, they can be a source of inspiration and a guiding light to help students achieve their goals and learn the techniques and traditions that have benefited practitioners for generations.

If you study an eastern martial art, especially one that is derived from Japan or Okinawa, it might benefit you to learn more about Wabi and Sabi. To that end I will try my best to capture their intent and how they relate to traditional martial artists.

The Modern Wabi-Sabi

Before I dive into the history and meaning of the two words, I need to address a modern occurrence. The current trend in discussing Wabi (wah-bee) and Sabi (sah-bee) is to link them together, and pronounce them as if they were two syllables of the same word: Wabi-Sabi. The reason for this is because the definitions for the two have become a bit convoluted over time, and many people are unsure about the subtle differences in each.

So similar are they and so in tune with each other, that many people simply use them interchangeably or as a single unit. Wabi-Sabi is frequently used to describe design elements and material possessions that are old, natural, and austere. Things that contain Wabi-Sabi are said to have a lot of character, and are not generally mass produced.

I don’t consider this modern mindset wrong, but I also don’t think it’s complete. I’ll explain why.

What is Wabi?

Depending on where you look, you’ll encounter different definitions for both Wabi and Sabi. When I’m in doubt, I tend to go to Dave Lowry, and he has this to say:

“Wabi originally meant ‘poverty’, and its connotation was as negative as the English translation implies. Sen no Rikyu [a famous tea master] imbued the term with a wholly different flavor, though. He used wabi to mean a poverty of materialism, of superficial appearances. Wabi he defined as a minimizing of things, the better to gain a spiritual insight into oneself and the world around…That which is factory produced is sterile and anonymous, without wabi. Wabi is the quality of the natural and handmade, it reflects the personality and character of the maker.”

The man in Lowry’s story, Sen no Rikyu, was one of the most famous Chado masters in Japanese history. Chado is the art of tea ceremony, and before Rikyu came along the art was a garish thing. Daimyo and other high ranking officials used the tea ceremony to show off their wealth, and acquired the most elaborate tea sets they could find. The entire event was glossy, polished, and fashionable.

Rikyu changed that. He eliminated the pomp and circumstance and grinded the ceremony down to its very essence. He eliminated all of the fancy clothing and finery that distracted from the act itself, instead choosing materials that exuded Wabi.

Consider this teacup:

vs the following teacup:

The first teacup is certainly inferior when it comes to theatric detail, but Rikyu would argue it is an item of far greater value. The first cup is unique to it’s maker, and subtly tells the tale of years of use. The second teacup possesses superficial beauty that is replicated again and again; one only need glance at it to understand everything that it is.

Wabi is not just a concept for centuries old tea ceremony; it can related to our western lives as well. First observe this new barn that looks very sharp and well made:

Now consider the following barn, that has certainly seen years of use:

Can you see how the old barn speaks through Wabi?

Something that makes it even more beautiful is it’s fleeting and serene quality of Sabi, which we will discuss next.

What is Sabi?

To establish a base definition of what Sabi is, we again go to Dave Lowry and his years of exploration into the Japanese culture:

“The earliest references in japanese to sabi…were pejorative. Even today, when someone speaks in Japanese of sabishii, he is almost always indicating a kind of forlorn loneliness. [As Rikyu developed his version of Chado, he redefined sabi as he did wabi.] Sabi is not just ‘aloneness’. It is an acceptance of solitude, a resignation to it, even a calm and tranquil happiness in being by oneself. Sabi, in its most authentic form, carries with it a notion of a comfortable proximity to nature…To appreciate sabi is to discover contentment in solitude. To integrate sabi into daily life is to recognize that all of our relationships with others, even those we cherish and love most deeply, are limited.”

As Sen no Rikyu made changes to the material tools of Chado, so did he change the very spirit of it. It went from a banquet hall diversion to a poignant savoring of moments amongst a few individuals (or by oneself). It eventually evolved into the graceful and contemplative process we see today:

The tea ceremony became the perfect vessel to demonstrate Sabi because of the economy of motion and the culmination of the entire event into one sip of tea. There is no way to preserve Chado beyond the few moments it takes to complete, and no two ceremonies can ever be the same, despite the systematic ritual.

Sabi is the essence of bitter sweetness. It is a chilled breeze as you watch the sunset over an empty field of reeds. It is dropping a single pebble into a pond and then never returning. It is the singular and personal acceptance of ichi-go, ichi-e: one encounter, one chance.

Look again at our old barn and see if you can sense its mortality and harmony in solitude:

It is important to note that not all old things possess Wabi, and not all solitary things possess Sabi. For something to possess both is rare indeed and is worthy of our time and attention.

Wabi and Sabi in the Realm of Martial Arts

Wabi and Sabi hold special significant to classical martial artists. As many people have come to know, the Samurai were not just warriors but artists and scholars as well. Part of their growth as complete bugeisha was the study of Chado, Ikebana (flower arrangement), Calligraphy, and other artistic endeavors. In these pastimes they found ways to hone their character and skill for the day when battle would come.

Wabi is found in much of a traditional artist’s repertoire. One only need look at the uniform’s worn. A plain white gi is often accompanied by a single insignia or patch, and around that gi is tied a belt. Once a martial artist has accrued enough experience, they are given a black belt, and as the years pass, the black belt begins to fade and tear. Soon, it becomes worn in a completely unique way. The same is true for the tsuka, or hilt of an experienced swordsman.

These items express the character and effort of their creators, the martial artist’s using them. This is also why you sometimes hear of people purposely trying to put wear and tear on black belts by scrubbing them with brushes or cutting the exterior black threads. These people want desperately the Wabi that comes with experience and hard work, but don’t want to put in the real effort to get it. Consequently, this is also why some companies sell belts that “mature” at a quicker rate.

Sabi is often found in the way traditional martial artists train, especially in the realms of kata and hojo undo. Hojo undo is the austere physical conditioning regiment that some practitioners put themselves through using ancient tools like the Chi’ Ishi, Nagiri Game and Makiwara. Often during those exercises a person is being pushed only by themselves, and the tools they are using are made of natural elements like rock, bamboo, and clay.

Kata is the purest expression of both Sabi and Wabi in the martial arts. A kata’s movements are handed down over generations, pounded again and again as each practitioner adds a bit of his/her own character to the template. The techniques in traditional kata are stark, effective, and without garishness. There is nothing extraneous and every motion is built with economy in mind.

When a kata is performed to its fullest potential, it is a singular experience that can never be repeated. The meaning and execution of the techniques exist to fulfill the requirements of the moment, but then immediately vanish after the kata is over. The event is a bitter sweet one as the practitioner knows he was the victor and thus saved the lives of himself and his loved ones, but at the expense of those of his opponents.

This is the same sensation a swordsman experiences as he stands poised in front of his opponent, prepared to make a single cut, and live or die.

Facebook group member Brian Zitzow astutely pointed out that in that article I didn’t mention anything about Aikido. He’s right, and the reason why is because I was lacking a good concrete example like that of Shaka Zulu or Oyata Sensei. Luckily Brian provided me with something to fix that.

The following is a story about real Aikido in action. It is written by Terry Dobson, a very well known Aikido practitioner who also happened to study directly under Morihei Ueshiba. Enjoy!

“THE TRAIN CLANKED and rattled through the suburbs of Tokyo on a drowsy spring afternoon. Our car was comparatively empty – a few housewives with their kids in tow, some old folks going shopping. I gazed absently at the drab houses and dusty hedgerows.

At one station the doors opened, and suddenly the afternoon quiet was shattered by a man bellowing violent, incomprehensible curses. The man staggered into our car. He wore laborer’s clothing, and he was big, drunk, and dirty. Screaming, he swung at a woman holding a baby. The blow sent her spinning into the laps of an elderly couple. It was a miracle that she was unharmed. Terrified, the couple jumped up and scrambled toward the other end of the car.

The laborer aimed a kick at the retreating back of the old woman but missed as she scuttled to safety. This so enraged the drunk that he grabbed the metal pole in the center of the car and tried to wrench it out of its stanchion. I could see that one of his hands was cut and bleeding. The train lurched ahead, the passengers frozen with fear. I stood up…Continue Reading

Right away I’d like to reverse the idea of compassion from what people normally consider. Usually compassion is seen as a lofty ideal not suitable for real-life self defense. There is no time, as it is argued, to be toying around with someone who wishes you bodily harm.

There is a rather well known martial artist who goes by the name of Shaka Zulu. History buffs will immediately recognize that name from the African leader of antiquity, and indeed the modern Shaka received his “name” from the Zulu tribe. He says this about real life combat:

“He who cannot defend himself owns nothing, not good fortune or even his own life. If you start out from a weak point in an attack, and a weak point means to me: somebody attacks me with a knife, and I say ‘I’m just gonna control them or disarm them’…no man. That’s not my attitude, my attitude is ‘I’m gonna kill you’. And if I see that you can’t handle what I got, I will deescalate. But there is no way I am going to rev myself up from that low point of control to I’m gonna kill you. It’s not gonna happen that way and it’s going to take too long to get there. So I start from the top first – I’m gonna kill you, and if I don’t have to, I won’t.”

Compassion in a confrontation does not mean the initiation of half-hearted, ineffective techniques. It means having the mastery over yourself to preserve the life of your attacker if possible, and controlling yourself to do no more damage than is necessary.

All or Nothing, Revenge, and Lessons Learned

The common mindset among brute martial artists is that a confrontation is all or nothing. If an assailant afronts a martial artist, no matter what the circumstance or level of violence, the martial artist is then entitled to dismember the aggressor and teach him a lesson for his misconduct. By not striking first, the martial artist has thus followed the letter of “karate ni senti nashi” (there is no first strike in karate) and is therefore in the right.

There are other basic motivations that are often cited as ‘justifications’ for extreme violence. One is pride, thinly disguised as the foggy concept of Honor. For example, if a “creep” starts to tug and harass an individual’s girlfriend, that person has the right to defend the girlfriend’s honor by breaking all of the harasser’s bones. Another example is revenge for some transgression perpetrated in the near or distant past.

Unfortunately all of these mindsets drastically miss the true purpose of martial arts training. That purpose is not self defense, or even defense of others, but of life protection.

Life Protection

When properly trained, and at the peak of their capabilities, martial artists have heavy burdens to bear. They must possess the ability to inflict immediate destruction upon opponents should the situation mandate it, but also be capable of all gradations of violence below that level. They must feel that they are accountable for the protection of their own life, the lives around them, and the lives of the attackers. Therefore, if at any point possible, it is up to them to show compassion and preserve the life of wayward aggressors.

The reason why traditional martial arts are so complex (some say overly complex), is because the old masters desired to have the ability to knockout or control opponents with immediate swiftness that didn’t necessarily force a death dealing blow.

You may be thinking, “Yes that’s nice but in this day-and-age you never know when a situation will appear mild and escalate into a gun or knife attack”. That’s very true, and also why it is critical to practice the mindset Chaka Zulu expresses above, and to hone technique to the point of expertise. An unskilled fighter may have to bludgeon and kill an attacker, when a master could knock him unconscious. The result of the situation is exactly the same for the defender either way, but drastically different for the attacker. The brute fighter may call it ‘just desserts’ for the attacker, but the martial artist seeking life protection would realize he took a life when it wasn’t necessary. If the situation were a military combat confrontation on the field of battle, the decision process might be more black and white. But civilian martial arts are not the same as military engagement.

Allow me to illustrate the point with a story from “Karate-Do: My Way of Life“, by Funakoshi Gichin of (what is now) Shotokan Karate:

“One day I went to a poetry-reading party in Tamagawa. Japan, then, was still in a state of postwar chaos, and people were warned that it was dangerous to walk along at night. But I decided no one would molest an old man like me, so [after the party] I got off the train at Otsuka Station and started for home…The incident I am about to relate occurred somewhere between Otsuka and Hikawashita; it began when a black-clad figure sprang suddenly out from behind a telephone pole.

“Hey Granddad!” he cried, making a lunge for my umbrella…I realized that he was a thief but I could also tell, from the tone of his voice, that he was a very amateur one, a newcomer to the trade, so to speak, trying to pretend that he was tough…

The man snatched my umbrella from my hand, and it looked to me as though he was about to try to hit me with it. His stance was full of openings, when he swung the umbrella at me, I ducked under and, with my right hand, took a firm grasp of his testicles. The pain was, I have no doubt, very near unbearable. The umbrella fell to the ground, and the man himself, after a sudden sharp cry, looked as though he might well pass out.

Fortunately, a patrolling police officer appeared on the scene, and I released my assailant into his custody. As I continued on my way, I realized that the would-be robber was almost certainly a veteran recently returned from some distant front. Jobless, he had decided to rob me on the spur of the moment, and I, also on the spur of the moment, had done what I constantly tell my young trainees never to do: I had taken the offensive. I did not feel very proud of myself.”

Even as an older gentleman, Funakoshi Sensei was so skilled that he dealt with his assailant quickly and effectively. Be assured that if Funakoshi had decided to, he could have maimed the young man, and who would have blamed him? He was being attacked by a youthful tough who also had a weapon. Funakoshi realized in an instant that a high level of aggression was not necessary to neutralize the situation effectively. Indeed he was such a harsh critic of violence against others that this completely viable execution of self defense upset him!

I have no doubt that Funakoshi, looking back, would have advised himself to be more aware. To make wiser decisions about where to walk and what to avoid. In fact, awareness, presentness, and conflict resolution skills are all held with the utmost regard in most traditional martial arts. The most compassionate way to deal with a violent situation is to prevent it from starting (sen sen no sen is not just a physical concept), even at the sacrifice of ego and pride.

“The Hands is Connected to One’s Heart”

Seiyu Oyata Sensei is the headmaster of Ryu Te, a traditional style of karate that features highly advanced kyusho techniques. Oyata Sensei is painfully capable of inflicting lethal damage, and quick. However, despite his talent for violence, he had this to say about his own art:

“Goshin Jitsu. Your Life, my life, I protect. Life Protection.” Oyata Sensei has a way of saying a lot with a little. Life protection is a pervading mindset in Sensei who still strive for the true meaning of “do”, the way.

The Real World and Compassion

Compassion has no negative effects on real-world self defense. It does not slow down or hinder technique. The mindset of happo zanshin, of utter dominance is still present. You can do what needs to be done, even if that means enacting the ultimate penalty on attackers. However compassion is not only wise from a philisophical standpoint, but a legal one as well.

If Funakoshi Sensei had killed his young assailant, it’s difficult to say what fate would have awaited him. He might have gotten off free, but maybe not. In today’s litigious society, you can bet he would have had serious repercussions to deal with. Those repercussions are something we modern practitioners of life protection need to keep in mind.

When a conflict first erupts, the law cannot be swimming through your mind as it will slow you down and make you hesitant. Instinctual technique must kick in through years of hard training. However, if you can, you must assess the intent of the opponent, the likelihood of other attackers, and the amount of force needed to put yourself in a position of safety. Consider seriously the options of running away, of disengaging and using verbal negotiation, or of striking/grappling/bending your opponent into compliance. No matter what circumstance you are presented with, your mindset is initially the same – deadly serious. But by securing the situation as quickly as possible, you get to decide how things end. And, if you have the stomach for it, you can be compassionate.

* * *

Life protection is heavy. I don’t blame anyone for simplifying self defense into: “if someone attacks me, I’ll pummel them until they can’t move or breath…because you never know”. But one thing I do know is that the old masters did not think this way, and I personally have decided to seek what they sought.

If I saw someone who liked to go to the ground I would assure myself: “see that’s a mistake because there might be other bad guys. You never want to go to the ground if you can avoid it. Besides, that statistic about 90% of all fights going to the ground is greatly exaggerated.” Debunked. I win.

Even though my analysis had merit, I was using it as an excuse to close my mind. I was scared of the vastness and complexity of the martial arts. Instead of trying to learn about people and styles that I had no experience in, I simply chose to dismiss them.

In our martial training, there is a great fog to wade through. The fog is there because we each have to develop as individuals and complete artists. Some people choose not to explore, and decide simply to build walls around themselves based on the limited knowledge they have. This shields them from the uncertainty and scope of martial exploration. A few years ago I started constructing my walls, but I’d like to explain how I ultimately decided to tear them down (and how you can too).

Despite the closed-mindedness I displayed in previous years, I’m not angry at myself. I was young both in age and experience and it is impossible to understand the martial arts in a broad sense early on. In fact, comprehending how all the martial arts work together is one of the great ongoing challenges that I don’t think I’ll ever truly lock down.

I’m not angry because I was able to eventually turn my debunking habits into healthy learning (which we will slowly define). A couple of factors helped me turn that corner. First, I took on a full time teaching role at a young age. Just as my walls started to go up, I was forced to discuss concepts with students much more world experienced than me. All of my concrete solutions had to stand up to their inquiries and stories about how real violence happened to them. Since  I was young, I didn’t have all the answers already planned out, as opposed to someone well entrenched in their box.

Second, I was an avid reader. Even though I started as most people do with pop culture books and movies (Enter the Dragon, The Princess Bride, etc), I quickly switched over to instructional books. Some books spoke to me immediately, like “Living the Martial Way”. Other books utterly confused me, in a good way, like “Book of Five Rings”.

Third, through our annual training events, I was exposed to real practitioners of different styles. I got to see (and still do get to see) top martial artists go about their business and explain their concepts. It was through one of the seminars by George Alexander and Rick Zondlo that I ultimately decided to study swordsmanship, which has been invaluable in increasing my awareness of the broader aspects of martial art technique and mindset.

Emptying the Cup

Joe Hyams tells an excellent story in his book “Zen in the Martial Arts”. I’d like to take a quick excerpt. This is a story Bruce Lee told Joe during their first training session together:

“Let me tell you a story my sifu told me. It is about the Japanese Zen master who received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen. It was obvious to the master from the start of the conversation that the professor was not so much interested in learning about Zen as he was in impressing the master with his own opinions and knowledge. The master listened patiently and finally suggested they have tea. The master poured his visitor’s cup full and then kept on pouring.

The professor watched the cup overflowing until he could no longer restrain himself. ‘The cup is overfull, no more will go in.’

‘Like this cup, you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?’” – Zen in the Martial Arts

When I was debunking people, it was because my cup was full of my own opinions. True learning is allowing yourself to empty that cup and honestly listen to other people. Of course, that doesn’t mean you have to blindly accept what’s given to you.

“This does not mean that Bruce prevented me from applying a critical mind to his teaching. In fact, he welcomed discussion, even argument. But when challenged too long on a point his reply was always, ‘at least empty your cup and try.’”

I still think my evaluations about taekwondo and ground fighting had merit. Kicking high DOES open up your groin, and is risky on certain surfaces. But what if you have an opponent who constantly keeps his guard down. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a devastating high technique to finish things quickly? Furthermore, who walks around on ice and slippery gravel all day?

If given the option, I wouldn’t want to take a fight to the ground. It’s risky because there might be other assailants to deal with, and room for proper ground technique is always a factor. However, sometimes you aren’t given an option. If you get bull rushed from behind and end up on the ground, no amount of straight punch practice is going to get you out of that situation.

Learning Means a Critical But Open Mind

It’s my belief that every practitioner should try to learn with an empty cup. It can be very scary to do so because the realm of martial arts is so vast. It takes decades to become competent in just one style, let along being open to other styles. There is also the risk of becoming too eclectic and ‘watering down’ your core style. This occurs when people loss the ability to separate the original intent of their style with their own personal findings (or if they are trying to make up their own system).

I believe having a core style, and being faithful to it, is critical to success. However, in my personal experience, considering outside sources has served to strengthen my good techniques and improve my bad ones along with broadening my general comprehension. Using a critical mind to assess both the valuable and not-so-valuable in other methods has actually increased my ability to spot nonsense in the arts, as opposed to making me blind to it.

Why the Walls?

Why is it so common and easy for martial artists to put up walls?

The first reason is sheer laziness. The less we have to think about other stuff the better. Why not just take what’s spoon fed to us and accept it as ‘the best’ way to do whatever?

The second is fear. Fear that years spent in training might have been a waste. That the ultimate techniques promised early on aren’t going to be delivered as neatly as advertised, and that there may have to be a starting over – an emptying of the cup.

The third is business. Many school owners are relying on profits coming in from students, so why would they bother to send those students elsewhere to learn? If they promise the moon and stars, then the student will likely stick around for awhile before getting bored and moving on (or drinking the koolaid completely and staying for the long haul).

Finally, martial arts is an absurdly political realm. People’s egos demand that they stand apart from everyone else, and that their method for doing things is unequivocally better than every other way. They simply can’t bring themselves to admit that someone else might know better. Or, if there are other practitioners who are their “enemies”, they might disparage that style just to get back at the individual.

It’s messy, but you don’t have to contribute to the mess. Use an open mind toward other martial artists and respect what they have to say, even if you come to the ultimate conclusion that you don’t intend to agree with their opinions. Recognize bogus martial arts for what they are, but be careful not to dismiss foreign concepts before you’ve given them an honest shake.

Ultimately you might come to agree with something I believe – the fog is the fun part!

David Bowie. Changes. 1973.

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David Bowie. Changes. 1990.

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David Bowie. Changes. 2002.

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David Bowie is a brilliant artist. He grows and changes with his art as he develops as a human being.

It would be easy for him to play this song the same way every time he is in concert. People would love him for it and he’d get paid. But instead he chooses to keep inventing and exploring. Sometimes it turns out better, sometimes worse.

Bowie’s persistence for originality keeps him engaged in his art. It’s not that he dramatically alters the structure of the song, turning it into something unrecognizable. Instead he plays with the intangible things like tempo, timing, rhythm, etc. It’s also why after over 35 years he still seems excited to perform, and why he still captivates audiences.

Can you grow with your art? Do you have the courage, persistence, and brilliance to keep exploring?

Or so we’re told on occasion.

A lot of people are surprised at the level of flimflam that is around today, and are shocked that people buy into such “astounding” feats (like this one and this one). But if you think martial arts chicanery is new, think again. Consider the 70′s and 80′s when martial arts were just starting to reach levels of high national exposure. Bruce Lee had come and gone and left a tumultuous blend of eclectic “masters” in his wake.

One of those wannabe’s was a man named James Hydrick, or “Sum Chai” as he liked to be called.

Hydrick began his rise to fame in Salt Lake City, Utah, where he started his first martial arts studio. Therein he taught students how to control and enhance their mental abilities. Through a series of impressive physical stunts (like jump kicking a basketball net) and mental demonstrations (like making heavy bags sway without touching them), Hydrick became a local phenomenon.

In 1981 Hydrick’s true star was born when he appeared on a show called “That’s Incredible”. On the show he demonstrated his best techniques and astonished audiences worldwide:

Hydrick’s combination of physical fitness, Bruce Lee persona, and mental abilities caused him to become a sensation. It didn’t stop there though:

“The tabloid newspaper The Star quickly ran an article on Hydrick labeling him “The World’s Top Psychic.” The glowing account labeled Hydrick’s powers as “incredible and staggering.” Other newspapers revealed that Hydrick could cure headaches and colds with a touch and answer questions before they were asked. A scientist and electrical engineer from the University of Utah after much testing also concluded that Hydrick’s psychic powers were indeed authentic.” – Unexplainable.net

Here was a man that seemed to bridge the gap between the real and unreal. University-proven and publicly displayed, what was there to doubt about Sum Chai’s powers?

Unfortunately there was one man floating around who kept a close watch on claims of this nature. His name was (and still is) James Randi. Aka the Amazing Randi. A professional magician turned seeker-of-facts, Randi routinely busted metaphysical hustlers, faith healers, and mentalists. He went so far as to create a $10,000 dollar prize for anyone who could demonstrate supernatural powers under controlled circumstances. (Later Randi would up the ante to 1 million dollars and establish his own educational foundation).

Taking note of Hydrick’s dramatic rise in popularity, Randi requested a demonstration on the “That’s My Line” television program wherein Hydrick could first demonstrate his abilities, and then try to recreate those results once Randi put down some simple scientific parameters. Watch what happens, and do take note of the host whom you might recognize:

Unseen in this clip are a few more details. First, Randi offered an alternative solution to the packing peanuts, in case they were indeed somehow ruining the psychic connection; he asked Hydrick to where an ordinary medical mask over his mouth and nose. Hydrick flat out refused. Furthermore, Randi had in place a sensitive microphone that was aimed at Hydrick’s mouth during a rehearsal the day before. During the test, Randi was able to detect strong gusts of air coming from Hydrick, even though they were visually undetectable.

Certainly Randi was no fool and had no concern about losing his money that day. He also went on to explain his theory as to how Hydrick operated: “Hydrick was simply blowing the page over, and he spun the pencil around by the same means. Not immediately evident are these facts, however: First, the blast of air from a half-open mouth takes time to get to the props, and Hydrick made sure he turned his head away from the pencil and the page after giving a sharp puff of air, so that he was facing away when the action occurred. Second, one blows not directly at the prop but at the table surface” – James Randi

The rolling dowel trick as seen in the “That’s Incredible” clip was also easily explained. The wood on which the dowel moved was slightly concave. As the dowel would reach the far end from the initial roll, it would slow down, allowing Hydrick to mentally “stop” it. Then he could draw it back since the dowel was naturally inclined to roll backward. The concavity was so slight however that the friction of the wood would allow it to stop at the close end without settling back into the middle.

Seemingly foiled, Hydrick began to realize his time was limited and that he had to make one last effort to regain his fame. A few month’s after “That’s My Line” he agreed to another test, this time with magician and investigator Danny Korem. It was during this interview that footage of Hydrick’s martial arts operation and personal physical prowess became available. It was also the last straw for his credibility:

In a move that is actually quite surprising for con-men, Hydrick fessed up to the ruse. He explained his system and his personal background.

As many manipulators and con-artists do, Hydrick came from an imperfect childhood wherein he was starved for attention. he also fell into crime and used his abilities to preserve his own safety in jail. It was this combination of want and reward that led him to create Sum Chai.

Currently Hydrick is serving jail time as a registered sex offender in possible connection with his kung fu students.

Certainly James Hydrick can serve as an excellent study in the mystery of the unknown and the willingness of people to believe. Furthermore, we should take this incident as a stern warning when studying the arts to question what we see and attempt to understand why we do what we do (and how we do it). Lastly, we should be very careful as to what claims we make, as James Randi is still alive and ready to make us prove it.

They’re also skeptical when I say they don’t need to love violence to join a martial art.

In conversation I never debate if martial arts are violent (they are) or if there are violent martial artists (there are). Instead I suggest that you needn’t be driven by bloodlust to get extraordinary value out of training.

Unfortunately, in the world we live in, violence can be thrust on us at any given moment. Whether we like it or not, we can find ourselves in altercations, scrapes, and even life-threatening situations. The two options we have are to depend on the ability of others to help us (like police, security, etc) and to prepare ourselves as best as possible.

In feudal era Japan, a lot of martial art activity involved the desire to kill. A Samurai often increased his status and the prestige of his sword style by dispatching other worthy opponents. This became even more prevalent after the Warring States Period (when most soldiers and Samurai had constant conflict to worry about as opposed to focusing on duels).

Nowadays the closest thing we have (thankfully) is Ultimate Fighting. Martial arts are still a tool of war, just ask the marine corp, but they are also a method of civilian self defense. The shift has been made from glory-through-killing to life preservation.

I’m tempted to liken our situation as civilian martial artists to that of the old Okinawans. The Okinawans were simple farmers, fisherman, etc who developed karate and kobudo as a means to defend themselves with what they had: farming tools and their wits. If a ronin or pirate were to start trouble in their village, the Karateka did what he had to do to eliminate that threat.

I’m tempted to compare us to them – but it’s not the same. The Okinawan Karateka were civilians, policemen, judges, doctors, and spiritual guides all rolled up into one. We are civilians through-and-through and have a deluge of laws to live by. Although I feel as strongly as anyone that we must do all we can to protect ourselves and the ones we love, there are gradations to violence and repercussions that we have to face.

So What Are We?

We are law abiding individuals who realize that the severity of life and death still plays a roll in our lives. Guns make the line of survival only a hairsbreadth wide. That’s not a comforting thought, but what can we do? We can’t pack heat all the time – even gun enthusiasts with licenses to conceal can be caught unawares or unprepared. What we do have is martial arts and they are just as crucial for people who abhor violence as those that love it.

One thing that does concern me is the amount of individuals I hear talking about how much they love to fight/spar, and what a thrill it is to knock someone out. Of course I understand the feeling of empowerment a good technique or strike can give, but I don’t believe causing aggressive dysfunction in another person’s body should be thrilling, nor should it inspire unwarranted confidence in ability. The most effectively violent practitioners I have met are also the most reserved. Their abilities have to be used with care and control in a realistic environment. If that sounds like a tough mixture to obtain – care and control plus realistic aggression – it is. Damn tough, but worth it.

I think a lot of people (including myself) ask themselves from time to time – am I the right kind of person to be studying a combat art? Shouldn’t it be left to someone bigger, tougher, stronger, better?

The answer is no – you need to train and the rest of us need you to train. The people in command of any given situation need to be those that understand and respect violence; those that can use it, but don’t want to. In a world that can snatch everything away quicker than a heartbeat, it is up to each of us to do our best to persevere.

Train if the thought of violence unsettles you – train harder if it makes you shudder.