Tales of the Hermit:

Volume 1-The Castle In The Rain And The Judge

By Oscar Ratti & Adele Westbrook
Publisher: Via Media
Hardcover, 168 pages, 228 illustrations
The Castle in the Rain and The Judge, published by Via Media as the first volume of a
series entitled Tales of the Hermit, belongs to the literary genre known as historical
fiction, whose best examples have the dual power to entertain us with their storytelling
magic, while opening new vistas for us upon eras, people and events whose impact on
our evolution still resonates down through the centuries and across cultures.
This volume follows the dramatic adventures and experiences of a Western pilgrim, Père
Dominic, who-while traveling through exotic regions and kingdoms in Central Asia and
the Far East-is influenced by two main cultural streams, the Western and the Eastern,
interacting (sometimes violently) in the Medieval and Renaissance eras in both cultures.
Forced by political and military upheavals to flee from the urban centers of his mission
territory, Père Dominic is rescued by a mysterious group of mountain dwellers, known
simply as the Summit Residents, who slowly reveal many secrets of mountain asceticism
and the warrior cults of their region. To them, he introduces the ways of thinking, as well
as the technology of Western culture.
The authors, with regard to the chosen method of narrative, have joined the time-honored
tradition of integrating text and images to tell a story-a tradition that finds many noble
precedents in the carvings of ancient symbols and sculptures in stone, in Illuminated
Manuscripts of the High Middle Ages, in the early printed books of woodblocks and type,
expanding today into the complexity and refinement of new genres of narrative such as
the graphic novel. In their best examples, two components-words and images-blend and
complement one another in such a smooth synthesis that (as in certain masterpieces of
Oriental brush painting on silk and paper scrolls), they coalesce to represent, captured
between two covers, the very essence and drama of life itself.
Oscar Ratti and Adele Westbrook have a distinguished reputation as the authors of two
books that have long been recognized as classic publications: Secrets of the Samurai, and
Aikido and the Dynamic Sphere. Their combined insights, together with a highly
developed aesthetic sense and far-ranging artistic ability, ensures that this new Series will
also inform, captivate, and inspire readers.
168 pages 8-1/2" x 11"
228 illustrations
Hardbound
ISBN 1-893765-01-6
Aikido Today Magazine (March/April 2002)
“... a unique work of historical fiction that not only
told a story of magic and wonder, but also opened
my mind to the relationships of Eastern and Western thought....
Its magnificent artwork makes the stories come alive.”
~ The Book Reader (Fall/Winter 2001-2002)
A graphic novel that spiritualizes. Fascinating tale of a Western pilgrim who flees his
cruel overlords and comes to rest with a group of mountain dwellers. The year is 1624.
After passing through India and China, Pere Dominic comes to study the Summit
Doctrine: “A vision of creation oriented toward the balanced acceptance of life in all its
positive forms and embodiments as they evolved toward an end that was actually a
beginning.” He passes through various levels and comes to appreciate two stories from
the scrolls in the Library. The first story, The Caste in the Rain, is about a warrior who
comes to a castle, is led inside, through splendid halls, by a mysterious lady. He bathes in
hot scented water, dresses, amuses the lady, begins to love her — but is interrupted by . . .
his fate. And he becomes part of a mystical battle that culminates in . . . the destiny of
death. Pere Dominic muses after reading this first tale, and goes on to The Judge. Two
warriors enlist an old, gentle man to be judge to their fierce, earth-shaking battle. There
follows a warrior code of conduct and a severe combat of swords, and Death arrives in all
its metaphysical guises. The battle is wide and vast and encompasses all of life and
destiny and honor and death. The ending is shocking — and very understandable.
Judging is simply never the answer to the deepest aspects of life. This large-sized
volume, filled with telling drawings and incisive scenes of mortal combat, is a brilliantly
rendered spiritual lesson, stunningly original and exquisitely imaginative. Life, death,
destiny. And an awareness of the freedom of the unconditioned.

~ The Bloomsbury Review (Nov/Dec 2001)

“An original epic... With the text are black-and-white illustrations that have little in
common with traditional comic art. Realistic but spare, they accompany the story without
telling it. ...the illustrations are artistic and skillful...”

This is the first in a multi-volume series entitled “Tales Of the Hermit”. The book follows
the epic adventures of the Western pilgrim and scholar Père Dominic and his adventures
in the Island Empire after his arrival from traveling across Central Asia from Europe.
This fictional historic tale is accompanied by dramatic illustrations -- many large, vivid
drawings that portray both the action and intrigue of the story. Here Ratti is at his best.
Famous for his ability to portray action and technique in martial arts line drawings, for
this series Ratti has developed a new, unique image style -- a combination of ink outline
and charcoal, along with a background wash that creates dramatic effects with minimal
detail-- from facial close-ups to wide-angle portrayals of battle. There is still the action
and movement of the old Ratti images, but here there are also nuances of emotion and
facial expression.
In total effect the combination of images mixed with narrative is reminiscent of the
picture books (e-hons) so popular in Japan through the centuries -- volumes filled with
dramatic and colorful woodblock print images used to portray nature, the arts and society
as well as samurai action.
Back to the story. Forced by political and military upheavals on the Island Empire,
Domimic abandoned his missionary efforts and fled from inhabited areas. He was
rescued and sheltered by a secretive group of mountain dwellers who had isolated
themselves within a hidden fortress atop a high mountain peak in a remote corner of the
Island Empire.
It is here that Dominic is introduced into the unusual society of his refuge, where we are
told he will spend the next 20 years. The place is known as the Summit, and it is
inhabited by an internationally diverse population of warriors, scholars, healers,
agricultural and other specialists known as Residents.
The Summit also contains a huge library. Amongst the many documents are scrolls which
relay the personal history and adventures of many of its current and past occupants. Two
of these scrolls are the centerpiece of this volume: “The Castle in the Rain,” and “The
Judge’ -- which the reader experiences along with Pere Dominic. On their own they are
intriguing stories of warrior conflict and mystical experience in a far away place and
time.
After finishing the book the tales crept back into my mind. They provoked me again and
again to thought and introspection. This is perhaps their real purpose. There are parables
designed to provoke question and elicit insight, to enable the reader to embark on his own
journey. This method of learning is the cornerstone of Zen and traditional Japanese
martial arts, one that emphases experience, intuition and insight over route learning.
The book’s prologue introduces Dominic, his journey and flight as well as the Summit
and its mystical and complicated world. Much more remains to be revealed in future
volumes. The reader is introduced to many Summit Residents. Revealed too, are some of
the secrets of the mountain and four of its nine lower levels – housing, armory and
warrior training, aesthetic creations, and mystical and religious doctrines seen in
architectural motifs. Does the Summit represent an actual physical place, or does it
represent a structure of mind or human motivations – a sort of Maslow hierarchy of
human motivation and need on a societal level? Equally it could represent some fanatical
image of creation.
On another level the book raises issues of systematic violence, man’s capacity to inflict
physical harm based on survival instincts or as result of his intellect constructs, as well as
the nature of reality itself. Pere Dominic had never been able to arrive at means or ways
to resolve these many conflicts. Is journey allegory for man’s journey itself?
The first tale, “The Castle In The Rain,” begins with a Samurai flight on horseback, but
quickly turns into a mystical subconscious adventure and discovery of his own heritage –
a story that raises questions of collective karma and inherited social debt. It also exposes
how a society built upon force of weapons produces its own instability through a legacy
of hate and vengeance.
The second tale, “The Judge,” is a purely individual one – a story of two Samurai fighting
a challenge match. But it is equally a story where ego and emotional bondage from the
past overcome logic and responsibility – something that calls into question logic versus
emotion in daily conduct.
Dominic then discusses these scrolls with other Residents. The questions raised by this
book are awesome: the balance between the mechanisms of social order and the dictates
of humanity, questions of logical action set against subconscious dictates within human
interaction and conflict, and questions about the very premises of morality and action.
The central tales also illustrate the frailty of the humanity.
In the book, an emerging Summit Doctrine is also alluded to cryptically – principles by
which various forms of violence can be transformed to enhance human existence –
innovative and responsible ways to face reality and to contribute to its balanced
manifestation. But these are not explained in detail in the first volume.
Dominic seems poised to play a role in the Summit’s evolution. He represents a Western
way of thinking and culture. This may prove to be a critical part of the eventual amalgam
of social ethos at the Summit. His Western orientation of logic, science and focus on
technology and the material are balanced against the Summit’s Eastern orientation -- a
reliance on intuition and insight and priority of focus on the social and psychological
needs of man and society.
Will a new social/political ethos be slowly revealed by Ratti and Westbrook in upcoming
volumes, one that addresses the very root problem of human interaction – how to deal
effectively with issues of human conflict that might otherwise revert of violence, and how
to construct a stable society rather than one with a inherent instability? These and other
questions are all too numerous, but future volumes will undoubtedly clarify the direction
and intent of this thought-provoking beginning.
The martial artist will find this volume particularly appealing. Romantic visions of
samurai, his society, ethos and motivation are examined and challenged against both
Western and humanistic ideals.
The Tales Of The Hermit is produced by the same husband and wife team who also
produced two martial arts classics - "The Secrets Of the Samurai," and "Aikido And The
Dynamic Sphere." This latest epic series, an "Alice In Wonderland"-like tumble into 17th
century Japan, might just be their most successful.
Tales Of The Hermit:
Volume II -Yambushi & Homecoming
By Oscar Ratti & Adele Westbrook
Publisher: Via Media
Hardcover, 191 pages of illustrationed text
$29.95
Tales of the Hermit Vol. 2
Yamabushi and Homecoming
Yamabushi and Homecoming, published by Via Media as the second volume of a series
entitled Tales of the Hermit, belongs to the literary genre known as historical fiction,
whose best examples have the dual power to entertain us with their storytelling magic,
while opening new vistas for us upon eras, people and events whose impact on our
evolution still resonates down through the centuries and across cultures.
In Volume I of Tales of the Hermit—The Castle in the Rain and The Judge—Père
Dominic, a Western pilgrim, began his epic journey throughout Europe and the Orient.
Upon arriving at the Islands Empire facing the sun, he was welcomed at first, but
eventually he was forced to take flight when the country’s rulers turned against all
foreigners and their teachings.
In a state of extreme mental and physical exhaustion, Père Dominic was rescued by a
mysterious group known only as the “Residents,” who carried him to safety on the
Summit, a remote mountain site.
As the Residents employed various therapies to help Père Dominic regain his health, they
encouraged him to explore the collection of scrolls assembled in the Library on the
Summit, where other visitors to the site—as well as certain Residents—had contributed
accounts of their experiences and imaginative reflections in a series of carefully guarded
illustrated manuscripts.
After a number of spirited and wide-ranging discussions with the Residents concerning
the contents of the first two scrolls he had examined in Volume I, in Volume II Père
Dominic discovers two more scrolls, entitled simply Yamabushi and Homecoming,
which will offer different—and challenging—responses to the ever-present and ofttimes
agonizing dilemma of how to try to live an ethical life in the midst of a violent reality.
Père Dominic’s journey continues . . .
Publication Date: December 2002
192 pages 8.5" x 11"
Hardbound
231 illustrations
ISBN 1-893765-03-2
Price $29.95

The drawings, the graphic story, the large-sized pages all contribute to an overwhelming
experience of courage and spirit, battle and peace. This is the second volume in the series,
Tales of the Hermit. The first saw Père Dominic (called Celt), forced to flee the violence
of the rulers of the Islands Empire, welcomed and healed by the Residents. In their
library, he finds two scrolls, Yamabushi and Homecoming. Martial arts is the focus in
both these scrolls, but the message is peace, and a spiritual wisdom.
In Yamabushi, a returning pilgrim, the Yamabushi, "formidable in appearance, bristling
with weapons that catch and reflect the firelight," joins a group of wanderers and tells the
story of his evolution from student of secret spearfighting arts to battlefields in "sinful
wars" to current downcast warrior. Come join us, rebuild the temple, says Master Naoto,
but the Yamabushi makes no response. The Master wanders on with his group, coming
across dead bodies, burying them. A bloody fight ensues between him and marauders,
and the Yamabushi rides to the rescue. A final, thrilling fight to the death. Peace is the
focus here, peace in times of violence. Père Dominic meditates on the scroll, talks with
others about dealing with violence without destroying the aggressor.
The second scroll, Homecoming, begins with the tracking down of a first rank cavalry
officer, and ends with the cavalry officer, wounded, training a farmer in the use of
swordplay. ... A brilliant production of art and insightful ... full of risk and wisdom ..."

Review by Christopher Caile

This is the second in a multi-volume series entitled “Tales Of the Hermit”. In this volume
the reader continues the "Alice in Wonderland"-like tumble into 17th century Japan
begun in volume one.
In this volume the reader experiences two more fascinating and thought provoking tales,
the Yamabushi and Homecoming. The text is illustrated with such powerful, compelling
images that the viewer’s experience is almost cinematic. This is Oscar Ratti, the
illustrator, at his best.
The Tales Of The Hermit series is tied together by a larger epic story: the adventures of
the Western pilgrim and scholar Père Dominic. In the face of political and military
upheaval, Pe‘re Dominic abandons his missionary efforts on the Island Empire. Fleeing
inhabited areas he is rescued and given shelter by a mysterious group of mountain
dwellers known as the “Residents.” Their domain is a hidden fortress atop a mountain in
a remote corner of the empire known as the “Summit”. The Residents themselves have
been drawn from every coner of the globe.
During Pe‘re Dominic’s continued recuperation, in this volume he selects two more
scrolls to read. The Summit has a huge library and the scrolls portray the personal history
and adventures of many of its current and past occupants. By reading the adventures
along with this Western visitor to the Summit, the reader accompanies him on his
intellectual and emotional journey into the collective experience of those who have gone
before.
On a lighter side, Yamabushi and the Homecoming tales presented in this volume are
straight forward and enjoyable for themselves. But the reader has to be careful. The tales
can also draw him in to elicit deeper questions about the very nature of man and society
and the role of systematic violence both on a personal and societal level.
The two tales in Volume I, “The Castle In The Rain” and “The Judge”, delved into the
roots and of physical and societal/political violence. Volume II extends this examination,
but turns to the other side of the coin, so to speak. In this volume the tales contrast violent
versus non-violent means of resisting violence, and the viability and repercussions of
each strategy.
This is, of course, no less than the principal dilemma of our time: how to break the
continuing cycle of violence against violence that has plagued man’s history, and how to
formulate an ethical response to violence that can serve as an alternative to more
violence. The works also examine the moral and ethical dilemmas faced by these
decisions – a sort of Reinhold Niebuhr examination of the ethical and political
application of force and the paradoxes of moral choice.
These questions have also been a central theme of investigation by the inhabitants of the
Summit. And, we suspect, the reader in future volumes will accompany Pe?re Dominic in
discovery of what is called the Summit’s emerging doctrine -- based on principles by
which violence might be transformed to enhance, rather than disrupt, human existence.
Detailed disclosure must await future volumes.
In the first tale, Yamabushi (Yama meaning mountain, Bushi meaning warrior in
Japanese) centers on competing themes about how to respond to violence as seen through
two characters, Naoto, a pilgrim and Haru, the Yambushi. Naoto has an aversion to
violence, and when forced to physical self-defense, he limits his response to ethical
action and does not seek to injure the attacker. The Yamabushi warrior’s creed includes
pre-emptive violence, and he believes it is often necessary to kill or be killed.
Naoto is, of course, the embodiment of what the authors expressed so adeptly in their
earlier work. “Aikido and the Dynamic Sphere” illustrated the principle of channeling an
opponent’s aggressive energy to overcome an attack without injuring the attacker.
“Secrets of the Samurai” certainly gives clues to remarks of Naoto about his teacher (in
that book’s discussion of the concept of “Haragei”) when he talks about the ability to
conduct streams of violence into the void and learn about the center where “life finds
both its main source and fullest scope were pain can be absorbed and balanced by the
harmony of creation.”
In contrast to Naoto, the Yamabushi (named Haru) sees pre-emptive physical violence
and the use of weapons to kill as effective and appropriate, a strategy that in the tale
actually seem to work, at least as a short term solution. And this is the rub: the ethical
solution proves to have less short term validity. Clearly, however, as Naoto said, the
approach he advocates takes much training on an individual level, and much time,
education and patience.
But Naoto is not alone. The Residents at the Summit also allude to a longer term
alternative. In the Prologue, Pere is told by Yu Xia, a hermit of the 9th level, how man’s
Yang, or his instinctual urge towards violence, is tempered and balanced by his yin, his
mystical and philosophical aspects as well as his creative abilities and artistic expression.
These two aspects, Yang and Yin, also find concrete expression within the two principal
characters in the first story – the yang of a mountain warrior, a Yamabushi, and the yin,
Naoto, a traveling monk, who represents a peaceful response to violence whenever
possible.
This diversity really expresses a deeper expression within man himself – of man’s
biological and instinctual “survival of the fittest,” a Darwinian heritage of biology,
against his higher, evolutionary brain, where reason, education and behavioral training
may help to temper deeper instincts – instincts always ready to spring forth – man against
himself.
In the Interlude between the tales, an important definition is made between defense, the
way to escape and avoid or stop an attack, and that of “counter-attack”, the way you
defeat the attack – violently or non-violently. Involved are ethical questions, such as, if
you believe that there is never an excuse for taking a life, doesn’t that lead to the
conclusion that only men using violence and power will triumph in the end?
In the second tale a wounded and dying aristocratic warrior eludes a war party searching
for him and asks a lowly peasant to finish him with honor and bury him – a very unusual
bridging of class and society. The story revolves around concepts of “nobility”, that built
on class and power, versus one derived from inner strength, spirit and moral position.
This volume defines the issues of violence and questions much more clearly than volume
I, but the reader will still be perplexed as to where all this is going. In volume I, the
reader’s interest was peaked not only by the Residents, but also by their mysterious
refuge – an upward spiraling structure within a mountain built on nine levels. The lower
levels included housing, armory and warrior training, aesthetic creations, and mystical
and religious doctrines seen in architectural motifs. But in Volume II, nothing more is
revealed about the structure.
What comprises the upper levels, and what does the structure represent? An actual
mountain enclave or some sort of Maslow hierarchy of human motivation and need on a
societal level? And what is this ethical doctrine of response to violence that the stories are
eluding too?
Of course all these questions lead the reader to an upcoming volume three.
In Volume III of the Tales of the Hermit Series, Père Dominic, a Western pilgrim,
continues his exploration of life on the Summit of the mountain fastness in the Islands
Empire where he was given refuge from the military authorities who were seeking to
capture him.
As a Westerner born in Ireland and educated in England, France, and Italy, Père
Dominic’s travels had taken him through Persia, India, and China before he had finally
arrived at the Islands Empire facing the sunrise. Although he had been welcomed at first,
he had been forced to flee for his life when the political and military climate turned
against all foreigners and their creeds.
Sheltered on the Summit by a mysterious group of individuals known only as the
“Residents,” Père Dominic had begun a slow and difficult recovery from the state of
physical and mental exhaustion that had marked his arrival in this wild and remote area.
Part of the therapeutic regime the Residents had devised for him consisted of distracting
his mind by exposure to the wealth of scrolls in the Library on the Summit that reflected
the experiences and imaginative reflections of not only the Residents, but also of many
others who had sought refuge on the Summit in the past.
In Volume I of Tales of the Hermit, Père Dominic had delved into two scrolls, one
entitled The Castle in the Rain and the other, simply, The Judge. After reading them
carefully, he had entered into lively discussions of their contents and possible
significance with a number of the Residents. In turn, it was suggested that he study two
additional scrolls—the first entitled Yamabushi or “Mountain Warrior,” and the other,
Homecoming (both of which are narrated and illustrated in Volume II).
Then, during a tour of the Library collections on the Fourth Level of the Summit, three
additional scrolls, bundled inside one larger cover, were recommended to Père Dominic
by the Hermit, Yu-Xia. When questioned about them, Hori, the Librarian, offered a few
words concerning their contents as he handed the elaborately tied package to Père
Dominic: “These three tales, The Monk and the Samurai, The Sword Maiden, and The
Katana That Caused It All, are linked together by a single narrative, and are quite
different in tone from those you have read previously. They are meant not only to
surprise and amuse, but also to provide another perspective on the human condition
which we all share—for better and worse!”
Père Dominic’s journey takes a new turn . . .
144 pages 8.5" x 11"
Hardbound
186 illustrations

Ryoma - Life of a Renaissance Samurai

by Romulus Hillsborough
Ridgeback Press, $40 Hardcover,
614 Pages ISBN 0-9667401-7-3
This is an important fictionalized biography of Sakomoto Ryoma, an incredibly adept
19th century statesman, warrior, businessman and samurai who was a founding father of
modern Japan -- a genius in a time when creativity and independence of thought were
rare.
The book is very readable and exciting. To westerners it opens up an important period in
Japanese history as it weaves together the complex tapestry of ideology, events, life,
culture and political/military forces leading to the modern age -- all portrayed through
Ryoma's eyes. But this is no dry text. The dialogue is lively, and the personalities and
views of many important leaders are brought to life, mixed with a sense of drama and
history that holds the reader.

Ryoma lived during the political turbulence instigated by Commodore Perry's forced
opening of Japan beginning in 1853, when western power thrust open this feudal, isolated
nation. In the backdrop was western subjugation of China and India which spawned fears
of a similar fate for Japan. Suddenly confronted with the reality of superior western
armament and technology, Japan was split on how best to respond -- some were
dedicated to expelling the barbarians at any cost, while others favored opening the
country. At stake was no less than the independence and future of Japan, as powerful
political/military forces jostled for position: the Shogun and the Tokugawa regime in Edo
fighting to maintain their political/military hegemony (one they had maintained for
hundreds of years), the Imperial Court in Kyoto (under the Emperor) which many sought
to restore to governmental power, and powerful regional powers (hans), who plotted
against each other as their allegiances changed. It was this political cauldron that brought
forth Ryoma and other fascinating samurai leaders who piloted internal factions into a
modernized Japan.
The book begins with Ryoma's formative years. At first Ryoma's life was uneventful as
he grew up as a lower class samurai in his native province of Tosa. But then he traveled
to the Shogun's capital, Edo, and distinguished himself in the study of fencing (kendo)
and witnessed the arrival of Commodore Perry's warships. He soon realized that feudal
Japan was no match against foreign technology and that samurai spirit could not stem the
power of Western armament. These experiences shaped him as a leading protagonist in
the overthrow of the Shogun. Later, back in his native province of Tosa, Ryoma became
associated with revolutionaries who spearheaded political assassinations (by the sword)
in the name of preserving Japan from foreign influence and restoring the Emperor to
power.

Seeking another path Ryoma abandoned Tosa to become a masterless samurai. Leaving
his clan without official permission was a crime which placed Ryoma on a list of wanted
men. Pledged to slay the Shogun's naval commissioner, Katsu Kaishu, who is seen as a
traitor, Ryoma became captured by the logic of this enemy. This brilliant naval student
and leader adopted the young samurai (Ryoma) and gave him a powerful gift -- western
naval knowledge -- the modern equivalent to an internship on a Star Trek Voyager. This
knowledge became the key to a future political alliance with a powerful clan, the
Satsuma, under whose sponsorship he and his men started a western style trading
company and received the use of a ship. Ryoma and his company supplied armaments
(guns) to a rival clan, the Choshu, who headed the revolutionary movement against the
Tokugawa regime. This supply relationship and Ryoma's personal political acumen
helped forge an unlikely relationship between these two distrustful and once rival clans --
an alliance that eventually spearheaded the downfall of the regime.
In this drama Ryoma is a most unlikely candidate. He was among the Shogun's most
wanted man, an outlaw in constant hiding although he seemed almost indifferent to his
safety -- as if he felt protected by some powerful unseen force. His lower samurai rank
would normally have barred him from association, much less influence over, powerful
leaders. And his worn and soiled clothes, unkempt hair and non-attention to personal
hygiene did not contribute to a heroic image. In addition he was brash and often flaunted
proper etiquette. Not what you would picture for a diplomat. But his persuasive vision
and ideals combined with judgment of people and an almost uncanny sense of timing
influenced a generation of great leaders who would shape Japan's entry into the modern
era. He also provided an outline for action. Ryoma penned the political plan for the future
of his country by which the Shogun relinquished his power and reins of government to
the Emperor who sat over a union of former feudal clans.
Throughout the book the reader is introduced to Japanese samurai and other leaders,
political groups and regional military powers which, to those not versed in Japanese
history, may be at times difficult, even daunting, to remember. But the confusion is worth
the effort, for what emerges is a riveting political and military drama -- the powerful story
of Ryoma which is so large that it is often difficult to remember that the tale is one of
history and not fiction.
To martial artists this book will open up an understanding of samurai and the enlightened
role they played in laying the keystones of modern Japan. These were members of the
feudal power structure and society who saw beyond the narrow vision of their own
heritage and position. One also sees the role of early fencing societies (kendo
associations) at a time when kendo was not just limited to sport, but when its practice was
used to train those whose swords were tools of political and military warfare. This book
also educates the reader about the role within Japanese history of the great southern
Satsuma clan -- the clan which had earlier controlled and then invaded and subdued
Okinawa and the Ryukyu Islands and whose ban on weapons spurred the development of
karate.
Martial Arts of the World: An Encyclopedia
Volume One: A-Q, Volume Two: R-Z
Hardcover, 895 Pages, $185.00 US
Edited by Thomas A. Green
Publisher: ABC-Clio, Inc.
Reviewed By Jason Couch
For some time, the martial arts readership has awaited a volume that would catalogue and
detail the entire spectrum of martial arts, as Draeger and Smith's Asian Fighting Arts
managed to do for the Asian martial arts. As the years have passed since its re-publication
as Comprehensive Asian Fighting Arts, increasing access to the Internet has resulted in
an explosion of interest in information on an ever-widening variety of martial arts. Asian
Fighting Arts was groundbreaking in both its scope and its depth of coverage of Asian
martial traditions. It is with pleasure that I now announce the birth of an encyclopedia
reflecting today's eclectic interest in Martial Arts of the World: An Encyclopedia.
This encyclopedia encompasses a range of martial styles and subjects never before
published in a single work. It offers an incredible diversity, which is why I believe it will
become a standard resource for institutions and dedicated martial artists. It may lack
some of the exotic appeal of Comprehensive Asian Fighting Arts, but it more than makes
up for that deficiency with its solid academic basis and much broader scope.
There have been intermediate attempts at a martial arts encyclopedia with varying
degrees of success. Corcoran, Farkas, and Sobel put forth a solid effort with The Original
Martial Arts Encyclopedia: Traditions, History, Pioneers. Their work, punctuated with an
impressive array of photographs, certainly increased the coverage of non-Asian arts.
They also provided an extensive coverage of martial art personalities, particularly US
karate practitioners. Even with substantive entries on other arts such as savate and sambo,
though, the focus was overwhelmingly on Asian disciplines. Suffering from a lack of
recent revision, it is also dated.
Lawler took a less successful approach in her Martial Arts Encyclopedia. Her effort to be
inclusive resulted in a dictionary-style volume limited to mainly brief entries. Lawler’s
focus was also overwhelmingly Asian, with little mention of non-Asian martial arts.
Most recently, the editors of Inside Kung Fu published the Ultimate Martial Arts
Encyclopedia, which, while flavorful, is basically just a republication of certain past
issues of their different magazine lines. The academic value is therefore the same as any
other issue of Inside Kung Fu, which is little.
The set reviewed here, Martial Arts of the World: An Encyclopedia, is the first to go
beyond a token effort of covering martial arts other than those from East Asia. It does so
by linking together cross-cultural themes as well as including traditional categories of
style, country, etc. Further, it is a more useful reference for martial research since
bibliographic entries are provided for each entry, rather than lumped together at the end
of the volume.
Physically, this two volume set looks like a matched pair of academic textbooks. The
cover, in keeping with the worldwide theme, displays both eastern and western training
photographs. The volumes themselves extend over 400 pages each, with a total length of
almost 900 pages including the index.
The encyclopedia is composed of nearly 100 entries by over 40 contributors. Each subject
is discussed in depth. Unfortunately, however, many minor or less practiced martial arts
are not directly addressed, although they may be noted, or included within the historical
backgrounds of another arts.
The contributors are often familiar to the reader either from their academic achievements
or as well-known practitioners in their respective disciplines. Following each topic entry
is a listing of related topics in the encyclopedia and bibliographical references for the
entry itself. Appended to the end of Volume Two is an abridged version of Joseph
Svinth's informative timeline Kronos: A Chronological History of the Martial Arts and
Combative Sports.
The organization shows thought, but is not necessarily intuitive for the reader unfamiliar
with the set. Major subjects, such as countries, have general entries detailing the types of
martial traditions historically practiced in the country. A listing of the country-specific
arts and other related topics will appear at the end of the entry guiding the reader to
further resources in the set. The index, however, is thorough and will normally lead you
straight to your destination.
The entries themselves range from good to excellent, with a variety of writing styles
displayed. At the minimum, an entry provides the basic history of an art, including
relevant technical and philosophical discussions. These types of entries include at least a
handful of good bibliographic references and also the occasional pop reference, such as
Black Belt magazine. They appear to be aimed primarily at a reader unfamiliar with the
subject and offer a limited selection of resources for further reading.
At their best, the entries are near journal-quality articles worthy of publication in their
own right. These entries often include a long list of scholarly references that provide a
fertile ground for further academic research. Many topics appear to have been thoroughly
researched to provide an in-depth examination normally reserved for a specialty book on
the particular topic itself.
What impresses even more is that the encyclopedia format provides an opportunity to
include subjects that transcend style, including: folklore, chivalry, religion and
spirituality, meditation, political conflict, rank, social uses, training grounds, and
women's issues. In addition, fascinating entries have a tendency to appear on topics the
reader would not expect to see at all. To my surprise, not only was there an entry for
"Professional Wrestling," but it turned out to be both an informative and enjoyable read.
Other diverse topics, such as gunfighting, heralds, performing arts, and traditional
Chinese medicine were also surprising but welcome. Again, part of its value is because
these topics are rarely covered as a part of the martial arts, let alone found together in a
single source.
One drawback to the format is that the focus of the entry depends primarily upon the
identity of the contributor. I do think it is a criticism worth mentioning because I believe
this encyclopedia may become a standard reference in the field. A problem arises in that
no information is given about the various contributors other than name, city, and
occasionally school or organizational affiliation. So unless a reader has either read a
contributor's writings before, or is familiar with a contributor as a practitioner, the reader
may have difficulty judging what influence may be present. The lack of biographical data
that could help expose the inherent bias of the contributors is the only serious criticism I
have of this work.
It should also be noted that this set is quite expensive. Bearing a list price of $185.00 US,
this set is probably going to be more popular with institutions than individuals. Price is an
important consideration today since a ready supply of information awaits at the end of a
mouse click. The value of an encyclopedia lies in its use as a handy bookshelf reference.
The online competition is increasingly difficult to compete with, since not only is more
information added daily, but it is also free. Nonetheless, as a testament to its merits, I can
say that Martial Arts of the World: An Encyclopedia is worth the price and belongs on
the bookshelf of both the institution and the serious martial artist.
Medieval Swordsmanship
By John Clements
Paladin Press
Softcover, 324 pages
FightingArts.com review by Ken Mondschein
Much as the Holy Roman Empire was neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire. John
Clements’ “Medieval Swordsmanship” is neither about things medieval, nor is it about
swordsmanship—and this commonality, in fact, is where the book’s resemblance to
anything historical ends. Though this tome is much-vaunted in circles interested in
historical European martial arts, a more accurate title would have been, “How John
Clements Thinks Medieval Swords Should be Used.” Any useful information scattered
through the book can already by found in works by such scholars as S. Matthew Galas
and J. Christoph Amberger. Mr. Clements adds little original research of his own—if it
was research, indeed, since footnotes and documentation are few and far between.
This is not to put down Mr. Clements personally, for he has, more than any other
individual, done a marvelous job in spreading awareness of and interest in the historical
Western sword arts. It is a shame, therefore, that his book reads like a cross between
Bruce Lee’s “Tao of Jeet Kune Do” and the liner notes of an album by the heavy-metal
band Manowar. Since most medieval martial arts only come down to us today in the form
of elaborate, detailed written treatises, obviously, proper research methodology is critical,
requiring not only a knowledge of all aspects of fencing, but also training in the
historian’s craft and at least a passing familiarity with the original languages. “Medieval
Swordsmanship” has none of this, rather, it is 324 pages of a 21st-century man’s opinion
of how swords should be used, based on his own backyard experimentation, riddled with
factual errors, and infused with a liberal amount of screeds against modern sport fencers,
theatrical fight choreographers, and anyone else the author deems lacking in proper
martial spirit and intent.
At the heart of Mr. Clements’ philosophy is the notion that a modern individual, equipped
with a reasonable reproduction of a medieval sword, can, through a cursory examination
of these historical treatises, and experimentation with “sparring” and “test cutting,”
approach the knowledge and skill of a professional medieval man-at-arms. This is, of
course, a fallacy, akin to supposing that, equipped with a katana (Japanese sword) and a
translation of “The Book of Five Rings,” one can recreate Musashi’s (a famous Japanese
swordsman) skill with the sword, or that given a copy of “Kodokan Judo” and some
willing partners, one can be as good as a judo-ka trained by Jigoro Kano (founder of
judo). The real tragedy of this do-it-yourself approach to martial arts is that, in obscure
corners of Europe and America, there are even teachers still passing on centuries-old
traditions of Western martial arts. However, to seek them out and begin the long process
of apprenticeship, and only then undertake the reconstruction of medieval arts, would
require humility and a willingness to forgo quick results.
And so, “Medieval Swordsmanship” has very little to do with medieval combat. It may
be a good system for backyard fencing with replica swords, and Mr. Clements may be
very good at what he does. However, we cannot say that it is an accurate picture of
historical Western martial arts, nor recommend it to anyone interested in this subject.
John Clements obviously has the potential for great things. It is a shame that he wastes
his time in producing volumes such as “Medieval Combat.”
Pressure Point Fighting: A Secret Guide to the Heart of Asian Martial Arts
by Richard Clark
Tuttle Publishing 2001, 194 Pages
Paperback, $19.95
ISBN: 0-8048-3217-X
Pressure point fighting, vital points, dim-mak, hyel-dul, and kyusho-jitsu are all words
used to describe the methods of attacking vulnerable locations on the human body. If you
have been involved in the martial arts over the past several years, you will have noticed
that a new trend is creeping into the world of combat science. Many seminar instructors
around the world are preaching the gospel of pressure points, and how they apply to the
martial arts. Rick Clark is a leader in this movement to educate martial artists about
pressure points and their use in the United States and abroad.
Rick Clark has been practicing the martial arts of Judo, Karate, Taekwon-do, and Arnis
since the early 1960's. He brings these many years of experience as well as a love for
research into his new book "Pressure Point Fighting: A Secret Guide to the Heart of
Asian Martial Arts."
In the preface of the book Clark writes, "you will not find anything in this book that has
not been written elsewhere before." Why then would I recommend that you purchase this
book? The answer lies in the presentation of the material. Rick Clark has taken the
complex and confusing world of vital points and stripped it down to a basic idea; "It does
not matter why it works, it only matters that it works."
This pragmatic approach stands in marked contrast to many of pressure point teachers
who either ground their teachings on the science behind their work. On one hand, there
are people who claim we should follow the ideas and teachings of Modern Western
Medicine, neurology and science. They state that we live in a society that uses this
paradigm to explain our medical care so we should stick to the science that we have
developed to explain the functions of our bodies. On the other hand, there are the people
who claim that we should use Traditional Chinese Medicine's concepts of qi (or energy
flow) which embodies a holistic approach to understanding the science of pressure points.
They make the argument that the original founders of the martial arts system lived and
worked under this paradigm and therefore we should resort to the science that they
developed to explain the functions of the body.
Both schools of thoughts contain strong arguments. Mr. Clark also explains the basic
ideas and principles from each orientation. He then goes on to state his opinion which is
"hit them at their weakest point" (Sun Tzu).
The opening chapter is devoted to explaining Mr. Clark's "Core Principles." These are
ideas and concepts that you can apply to your study of the martial arts. For example,
Targets of Opportunity, Out-of-the-Box Thinking, the K.I.S.S. (Keep It Simple Stupid)
concept and many others. With a basic understanding of Clark's world view, you can then
apply these principles to the study of your own individual art. One does not have to
change styles of martial arts in order to use vital points to gain an advantage. You are
encouraged to find the vital point information hidden within the style that you are
presently studying.
The next section of the book deals with various applications to movements found in the
kata of Chinese, Korean and Japanese fighting arts. Professor Clark uses the katas as a
blueprint for his vital point techniques. He states that kata contains vital point attacks and
will show you the correct angle and direction to activate these points on the body. The
movements and techniques are presented with charts of the various vital points being
used and where they are found on the human body so it is easy to follow along even if
you do not practice the form that he is working with.
Mr. Clark's book concludes with detailed printed lists of the various vital points and their
locations. Also presented are various lists of vital points from several pre-WWII and
post- WWII authors. Clark states that the knowledge of vital point usage in karate and
other martial arts was hidden from the public view after World War II. The charts in the
back of this book serve as proof for that theory. Some of the these charts are from books
that are quite rare and many have been out of print for several decades.
So, if you desire to expand your martial arts knowledge, or have felt that there was
something missing in your studies, I would recommend Clark's book. What he portrays is
not art or style specific, but is something that can be used to expand the effectiveness of
virtually any martial art.
Sword in Hand: A Brief Survey of the Knightly Sword
By Ewart Oakeshott
11-1/4” by 8-5/8”, 146 pages, (cloth)
2000: Arms & Armor Inc., $60.00
Reviewed By Deborah Klens-Bigman, Ph.D.
Ewart Oakeshott brings a near-encyclopedic expertise to his subject, evidenced by a large
number of previous books on medieval knights, their arms and armor. The Archaeology
of Weapons is probably the most notable of his earlier works (latest printing 1999).
Sword in Hand specifically traces the development of Medieval European swords. Ewart
Oakeshott covers and classifies swords from 500 A.D. to 1500 A.D. It seems like a long
period of time, but the author points out that some early swords were passed from hand to
hand through generations of a family or group. A sword could be a hundred years old or
more and still be put to use.
The author’s great knowledge is matched by his depth of feeling for his subject, which
makes the book a pleasure to read. Oakeshott takes an archeological rather than an
antiquarian approach to research; classifying swords by type and time period. His
research draws not only on archeological finds, but also on art, literature and historical
accounts in diaries and other documentation.
A reasonable knowledge of European history does help the reader, though it might not be
entirely necessary. Oakeshott does tend to meander, as though he is so full of related
information about Medieval Europe he has some trouble keeping the main subject in
focus. Along the way, however, he offers insights into acquiring, valuing, dating and
even reluctantly selling a Medieval sword. While he reserves his greatest ire for antiques
dealers who claim to know something about swords (but routinely dismiss authentic
examples as fakes), he not only praises fellow scholars in the field, but also is unafraid to
point out his own previously-published errors with grace and good humor.
Oakeshott’s description of a typical knighting ceremony adds little to what can be found
elsewhere. Likewise, his description of the Pentagon of knightly virtues as they evolved
to provide some ethical and spiritual dimension to a knight's vocation (“Liberality,
Loving-Kindness, Continence, Courtesy and Piety” (p. 56)) is also familiar. However,
their mention is more than timely, lest we become enthralled by these wonderful
instruments and forget the violence they are capable of. On the other hand, Oakeshott's
occasional asides on what it is like to actually pick up and hold one of these remarkable
relics echoes the Viking battle songs liberally quoted in the early sections of the book.
Oakeshott includes descriptions throughout of a particular type of sword's role in a battle
or heroic epic. As might be expected, I particularly enjoyed the description of a battle that
took place in 1266 between Manfred of Sicily and Charles d’Anjou of France. The
French forces, which included tough, German mercenaries, outnumbered and out
equipped the Sicilians. However Manfred’s forces prevailed. The deciding factor? New-
style swords, with sharp points, that were able to pierce the joints in their enemies’ plate
armor.
There are only two drawbacks to Sword in Hand. One, regrettably, is the price. Though I
thought it was worth it, sixty dollars is a little steep. Second is its limited availability.
Though it can easily be ordered from Arms & Armor Inc., there is not much publicity for
the book other than on the A&A website (and now this review). If readers cannot obtain
this particular work, I encourage them to pick up any of Oakeshott’s many books still
available at reasonable prices (through the Barnes & Noble website, for example). For
anyone with an interest in the subject, any or all of Oakeshott’s books are worthwhile
reading.
Samurai: An Illustrated History
By Mitsuo Kure
Tuttle Publishing, 2002.
US$34.95 (+$6 shipping).
ISBN: 0-8048-3287-0. 192 p. 9.25" x 12.5" hardcover
Reviewed by Diane Skoss
When I picked up and began to leaf through Samurai: An Illustrated History by Mistuo
Kure I was utterly captivated. Some two hundred fifty color photographs and illustrations
of Japanese warriors across the ages are crammed into 192 (large) pages of text. Many of
the photos come from historical re-enactments in Japan, and they are vivid, detailed,
beautifully reproduced, and for the most part accurate. Unfortunately, the same cannot be
said for the brief text. Although the author hopes "that readers may find enough in these
pages to suggest a new image of the samurai, modifying a picture which has been
distorted by romanticism," and he references much of the current scholarship in the field,
all he has accomplished is the pasting of a few newly uncovered facts onto time-worn
conceptions of the history of the samurai.
Mind you, this is not something that I would notice all by myself (especially besotted by
the photos as I am); I'm no specialist in Japanese medieval history. But I know someone
who is, so I asked Dr. Karl Friday for his opinion of the history presented in this book.
He replied:
Kure has read Takahashi Masaaki, Kawaii Yasushi, Fukuda Toyohiko, Suzuki Masaya,
and other recent work on samurai warfare (including my Hired Swords, which is cited in
the bibliography of his other picture book), but too often he's completely missed the real
importance of what the new scholarship is saying, and how it fits into (and changes) the
big picture. This sort of problem is common in books by amateur historians (Kure is a
physician, not a scholar). The basic cause is researching too narrowly--reading very
specialized works on the topic under study, without sufficient grounding in the broader
context. In this case, Kure clearly does not understand the socio-political backdrop
against which the new scholarship he's read is set. As a result, he's picked up bits and
pieces of details and incorporated them, but his general conception of developments--the
framework in which he sets everything--is still the same story you find in old textbooks.
He's also ignored some of the key scholarship of the past decade or so--including Kondo
Yoshikazu's revisionist (but unanimously well-received) work on arms and armor. All in
all, this is the sort of thing that drives historians crazy.
In short, according to Dr. Friday, "Kure's history is full of (what all specialists today
consider) old canards and other egregious misconceptions concerning Heian, medieval
and early modern history."
So why, you may ask, would I dare call this book to your attention? Basically, it is the
photos, and the line drawings, which were done by noted and respected historian, Sasama
Yoshihiko. They are simply superb, and worth, in my opinion, the price of the book. Just
don't take the history presented herein too seriously. In the end, this book is a perfect
example of how easily misinformation on Japanese warriors can become widespread;
don't fall into the trap. For accurate history on the samurai, read Friday, Thomas Conlan,
Jeffrey Mass, and Paul Varley (Marius Jansen's Warrior Rule in Japan, an anthology of
articles from the Cambridge History of Japan, is a good place to start). Then feast, eyes
wide open, on this book for the sheer delight of the photographs.
Sensei
by John Donohue
St. Martin's Press
Hardcover 258 pages
$23.95 US
Review by Christopher Caile
'Sensei' is a fast paced, exciting thriller -- a fun read that pulls you into the intricacies,
culture and contradictions of the Japanese mind played out through the martial arts.
The story is set in Brooklyn, NY, where college professor and martial artist Connor
Burke becomes implicated in a murder of a prominent martial artist, Mitchell Reilly. Two
NY homicide detectives pick Connor up as a suspect. One of the cops, Mick Burke, is his
brother. But, they also need Connor for his expertise, for there are other martial artists
who turn up too, murdered. Each was killed in ritualistic fashion in what looked like the
result of a martial artist challenge. And in each case a cryptic message was left. Spelled
out in Japanese characters was the word: Ronin (meaning masterless samurai).
As a senior student of a master swordsman (Itto-ryu), Yamashita Sensei (teacher), and a
student of karate and judo, Connor provides the police with a unique portal into the
elusive martial arts world.
As the plot unfolds, Connor acts as amateur sleuth and police assistant. But the action
becomes much more intimate. He becomes caught in a narrowing vortex of murder and
intrigue, a world of ritual, honor and revenge in which he must test his training against
the ultimate fear -death.
There is the clear cut action, suspense and tension of a well executed karate kata, except
in this case the practitioner is not alone. The enemy is real, and he is closing in.
Only an author well versed in the martial arts could succeed in such an intimate portrayal
of the Japanese mind, an explanation of psychology and tradition of martial arts. The
story confronts this Japanese martial tradition of honor, loyalty and culture against
western police tactics and procedures - and Connor is in the middle.
With so many novels full of inaccuracies and misunderstandings about the martial arts,
it's a pleasure to find one written by an author whose experience and background
adequately portrays them.
Fans of oriental mysteries or martial arts tales will love this well executed book full of
twists, sub-plots and excitement. And expect Connor Burke to appear again in future
novels.
With what I know now, I can pretty much make sense of the whole thing. It's taken a
while. Like making sense of the first file Micky showed me. The crime scene pictures,
the coroner's report, the notes from the investigating officers initially seemed
disconnected: a wealth of jumbled facts that didn't hang together. Random acts. A scene
of senseless violence.
But the accretion of facts, the stories spun by witnesses, build on you. And then you can
say, here is where it begins. It's not that things are inevitable; they just look that way in
retrospect. What you are left with is the sense of something that builds over time, the
result of a thousand small and seemingly insignificant events. You can ask why. And to
answer you can point to any one of the facts you uncover. But isolated out in clinical
explanation, it's not very convincing. Or satisfying.
We're all looking for answers of some type. And we search for them in different ways
and along different paths. We hope that knowledge brings control. But life reveals this as
a comforting fiction.
It's like explaining a storm. Waves are spawned by the dance of gravity and wind and
tide. They gain strength and momentum until they hurl themselves at us, standing
surprised and stupid on the shore. It's a hard lesson. Meteorology provides faint comfort
to the survivors.
Ronin (Chapter 1)
He slipped into the empty building before anyone else. Fitness is big business in LA, so it
must have still been dark, hours before the over achievers got there.
The killer knew his quarry well. The patterns would not have changed, even in America.
The master--the victim--would pad quietly into his training hall hours ahead of anyone
else. He trained fighters, but a sound business was a diversified business, and he had
branched out into general fitness and health. It meant a big jump for the bottom line. His
school was clean and upscale, with a receptionist area and account reps who kept the
budget fed, smoothly enticing the hesitant and recording it all on the PCs that sat like
putty colored fetishes in the office cubicles. For the master, even after fifteen years in
America, it was, ultimately, a distraction. The noise, the coming and going, the lack of
focus that was LA, made it harder and harder for him to find time to pursue his art. And
he was, despite all his success, still an artist at heart. Which was why, increasingly, he
found himself before dawn, alone in the training hall, pushing himself further and further,
in fierce pursuit of the moment when he and his art become inseparable.
His name was Ikagi, and he had been training in karate for over forty years. He had the
tubular build of martial artists--all those movie fighters look like weight lifters because
that's what they spend most of their time doing. Ikagi was a professional of the old
school. In his time in LA, he had led and harassed legions of aspiring black belts into his
demanding vision of the martial arts. And he was no less strict with himself. Photos of
him over the years showed a man who looked like a human howitzer shell. Even that
morning, at fifty-eight years of age, his work-out would be grueling. His fingers were
thick and strong from countless sessions of tameshiwari--board breaking. His feet were
tough and dry from hours of work on the hardwood floor of the training hall. You could
see the callouses clearly in the stark contrasts of the crime scene shots taken later--they
stood out as white patches, even with all that blood around.
Ikagi had come in off the street and changed into the white uniform of the karate student.
His belt had become tattered and ragged over the years, but it still made a crisp black
contrast to the pure white of the karate gi. He probably knelt and faced the small shrine at
the head of the training hall. His students said that this was his usual pattern. Then the
warm-ups and stretches would begin. Before dawn, Ikagi would be lost in a daily fine-
tuning of his art: the punches moving faster and faster, a faint white blur in the pre-dawn
light, the kicks precise, balanced, and focused.
His attacker could have jumped in at any point, although the Medical Examiner's report
suggests that the master wasn't dead for more than an hour before the building manager
found him at 5:30. Ikagi had probably just begun his routine when the challenger
appeared.
The evidence suggests that Ikagi knew something of the threat by this time. Some faint
rumbling was coming from Japan. And it quickly became clear to the sensei just what the
intruder wanted. Ikagi was a little bull of a man, and he would have demanded to know
why. Whether he was surprised to learn, whether he was surprised to see his old student
there in the flesh is anyone's guess, although they say some of the really good masters
have a type of sixth sense about this sort of thing. Ikagi didn't mention anything to his
family or friends beforehand, but that's no real clue. If you look at pictures of people like
him, even when they're smiling, the eyes give you nothing.
Ikagi could have known that death was waiting that morning, but he said nothing to
anyone.
The ritual of the challenge was almost certainly performed. The attacker enjoyed the
symbolic trappings. The ritual was important. He was most probably dressed in street
clothes--it's a bit hard making your getaway dressed like an Asian assassin, even in LA--
but he most certainly would have followed all the Japanese etiquette. The bows. The
ritual introductions and presentation of training pedigree. The request for a "lesson."

When the fight was actually joined it was nothing like anything most of us have ever
seen. In the first place, it was fast. Fighters at this level of proficiency, going for the kill,
do not waste time. The more time you spend, the more fatigued you get. The more
opportunities for error. For the killing blow.
These two opponents knew more about unarmed fighting than most people alive. It
wasn't just that the blows uncoiled like a viper's strike. The reflexes at this level are so
accelerated that feints and counter-feints occur with a subtle speed that means most
people wouldn't even notice them taking place. There was some minor lividity on the
victim's hands and feet, but they were so calloused that it doesn't really tell us much.
Ikagi was a karateka, though, and he probably unleashed the arsenal of kicks and punches
that formed the heart of his art.
He got as good as he gave: his forearms and shins were bruised from parrying attacks. He
had scuff marks on the shoulder from rolling on the hard floor, which means that they
used everything they could think of from strikes to throws. Ikagi must have tried a choke
hold at one point. You can tell, because he had the tell-tale bruise on the top of his hand
between the thumb and first finger. He tried to slide in the choke and the opponent
defended by lowering the jaw, using the bone to protect the potentially vulnerable artery
in the neck.
The cops dusted the floor of the training hall to get a sense of how things went. The two
fighters ranged all over the surface, lunging, tumbling, breathing hard in a feral type of
ballet.
Ultimately, they ended up near the weapons rack. I think the attacker panicked. Maybe it
was doubt, rising like smoke in the heat of the contest. Maybe the jet lag. Ikagi was not
just good, he was one of the best, and the whole thing was probably not turning out as
planned. So when they tumbled into the corner, there were all those wooden staffs,
stacked up like spears in a medieval castle. It must have seemed to the attacker like the
answer to a prayer.
Ikagi probably smiled to himself when his opponent grabbed one of the staffs. Only the
master would know that these were the beginner's weapons, made of inferior wood. He
could snap them in two with little effort. And we know that, at some point, he did. Tiny
wood fragments were found along the ridge of the palm--exactly where you would expect
them if you broke something with a sword hand strike. The attacker, wielding what he
thought was a potent weapon, must have been momentarily stunned when the power of
Ikagi's attack snapped the staff in two.
But the recovery was equally sudden. The staff became a spike.
The first strike must have been almost instinctual--a straight thrust, hard and quick, into
the midsection. The pain must have been intense for Ikagi, but the blood trail shows us he
didn't collapse. After that first, electric jolt, the gasp as the point was driven home, Ikagi
pressed the attacker for some time.
Did the jagged end of the staff stay buried in Ikagi's guts, or did the attacker yank it out
right away? It's hard to tell. Eventually, the loss of blood slowed the master down. The
floor was growing slick. And then the attacker finished it.
He plunged that spike into the old man, perforating the abdomen repeatedly. There was
massive trauma here. It went beyond functionality. Did the attacker enjoy it? The gasp
each time as he drove the point home? The growing sense of domination? Did he smile
even as Ikagi's lips were yanked back in a rictus of pain?
These are questions for the shrinks. That morning, it didn't matter. It was over. Ikagi lay
there, agony dulled only by a lifetime of discipline. He attempted to reach the phone, slid
in the fluids pouring out of him, and faded away. As he slipped out of this life, his
athlete's heart pumped faithfully away, the pulse growing faster and threadier as shock set
in and he died.
The killer paused long enough to leave a clue as to what he had become. And a warning.
He dipped his finger in the blood and wrote in Japanese on the wall. The photo of it was
mixed in with all the others, and even with the morbid fascination of Ikagi's death
captured from all angles, the calligraphy was crude yet effective, demanding attention.
"Ronin." The characters read. "Wave Man."
A masterless samurai.

Zen
Bodhisattva Action and Martial Arts
By Jeff Brooks
Author’s Note: Regarding Buddhist traditions, the discussion of Buddhism and its
relationship to martial arts training in this article is a reflection on the Asian culture and
history from which the modern martial arts have developed. It is understood that Buddha
is a teacher, not a god or Deity, and the Buddhist teachings are offered here as
philosophical ideas, not as religious beliefs, with no intent to conflict with the beliefs and
faith of readers of any religion or viewpoint.
Martial arts and Buddhism, especially Zen Buddhism, have a long relationship, but the
nature of that relationship – its limitations and its potential – has not been well
understood. I believe a fully developed Buddhist martial art does not now exist and may
never have existed before. The potential for a genuine Buddhist martial art is possible
now, in our culture, and that is what I want to discuss today. I want to give a kind of field
report, a report of the work we have been doing at our dojo, a description of some of the
sources we have drawn on, the obstacles we have encountered and also some of the
results we have been getting.
It is the intentional and informed application of the principles for bodhisattva action that I
think has been missing from martial arts practice. There is good reason that these
principals have generally not been a part of traditional Asian martial arts, given the
cultural setting in which the Asian martial arts arose. But because of the way our modern
culture has developed, this can be changed. To have a vigorous and meaningful martial
arts practice – in this age of firearms and pervasive technology – I believe it is urgent that
we do it.
First two definitions: a Bodhisattva is a person whose life is aimed at saving all living
beings from suffering. In order to have the skill, wisdom and the energy to accomplish
their mission, Bodhisattvas engage in what are called the “six perfections of wisdom,”
also known as “Bodhisattva action.” The six perfections include the perfection of
generosity, the perfection of moral and ethical conduct, the perfection of not getting
angry, the perfection of joyful effort in doing good, the perfection of meditation, and the
perfection of wisdom.
I was interested in Buddhism when I was very young, and I was interested in martial arts
too. The fact that they had something to do with each other was a bonus, but the
connection was not clear to me. I heard about enlightenment, and understood that it was
some kind of perfection of human life. While not knowing what that required or implied
about a way of living or acting, I understood that it had something to do with peace,
freedom and happiness. These were things I was sure I wanted.
I heard about martial arts. I saw that you could get strong from doing it. At some point I
got the idea that in martial arts you could aim your life, make everything into practice,
and that as a result every moment of your life would be fruitful, so that life would not slip
by and no time, no effort, would be wasted.
I saw people practice meditation in a Zen meditation hall. It looked wonderful to me.
Serene and strong.
What martial arts and Zen had to do with each other, at first, I could not tell. In the
martial arts club I visited at my college, people were pushing one another over and
twisting each other’s arms, grimacing and rolling around. As a new comer to the club,
guys hollered at you and, with little skill or experience, it was hard for me to tell what
they wanted me to do or what they considered good.
Then, about twenty years ago I found the karate of Shoshin Nagamine. He was the
founder of Matsubayashi Shorin Ryu, a traditional Okinawan style. As Chief of Police in
Okinawa’s chaotic post-war period he was one of the pioneers of the public practice of
karate, believing it ought to be available to anyone who wanted to improve his life not
kept a secret, accessible only to an elite few. I went to see him.
In the years since, he became well known. Before his death in 1997 he was named a
Japanese national treasure, and was featured in a National Geographic article and many
other publications. At 90 years old, a pre-eminent spokesman for Okinawan lifestyle and
Okinawan karate with a worldwide pulpit, he passed away. But when I first met him he
was still practicing. In the front of his dojo in Okinawa hangs a scroll with the words Ken
Zen Ichi Nyo (“Karate and Zen as one”). I was very hopeful that he would illuminate the
relationship between how these two could be “as one”.
Zen meditation was practiced by Japanese martial artists, but it was rare on Okinawa.
Nagamine recognized how valuable the relationship between meditation and martial arts
could be. But he was a product of his culture as much as we are under the influence of
ours. His approach to Zen practice was strong but seemed to have the same one sidedness
that you encounter everywhere that martial arts and Buddhist meditation are mingled. It
seems to be as true in Asia as it is here in the west. Great martial artists and Zen
practitioners have built the foundation. We are in a position to continue their work.
The “merit” or compassion side of Bodhisattva action has been neglected. To fulfill their
mission to get out of suffering themselves and to save all beings from suffering,
Bodhisattvas must pursue two “accumulations”:merit and wisdom. Without one or the
other of these, their efforts will be incomplete and so will fail. The accumulation of merit
refers to what Bodhisattvas (or you or I) do to take care of others. The accumulation of
wisdom refers to Bodhisattvas’ deep insight, achieved through deep meditative
concentration, into the way the world works. It is this understanding that frees them from
suffering themselves, and enables them to be effective in helping others. The emphasis of
Buddhist practice in martial arts has been almost exclusively on the wisdom side.
Zen practice in martial arts dojo emphasizes the development of samadhi. Samadhi is the
ability to place one’s mind on an object of attention and leave it there, with clarity and
stability, for as long as you want. It is essential in advanced practice of martial arts. But
traditionally Bodhisattva action, the compassion side of the equation, is not a part of the
curriculum. It is important to note that Bodhisattva action is not something external to
martial arts that I would like to see added. It is actually a matter of recovering something
very much at the heart of martial arts that has been neglected.
Bodhisattva action has an important place in military life. Here are two examples. One
can be seen in the actions of the firefighters and police officers on September 11. They
ran into the buildings. They were not forced. They ran in. Ask police officers and
firefighters why they did it that day and they will tell you it’s the same reason they do it
every time, as a matter of course throughout their careers. They will say it’s what we do.
It is what they get paid for. It is what gives them meaning in their lives. It is what makes
their own lives matter, makes their own lives worth living. It makes them honorable in
their own eyes and to each other. It is extraordinary. Yet it is an attitude you find in
police and fire departments all over the country. It is Bodhisattva action, of a kind. The
ethos is conveyed in the context of the culture and training of heroic public service. It is
not added on top of their training. It is built in.
Let me give you another example, with important implications for Zen training in a
martial arts context. It is a modern take on a kind of pre-modern martial Bodhisattva. I
am using the word Bodhisattva loosely here, not in a technical, doctrinal sense, but as
someone whose life is dedicated to serving and saving beings.
In the classic film “The Seven Samurai” directed by the great Japanese filmmaker Akira
Kurosawa, there is a single scene, at the heart of the film, where Kurosawa’s
understanding of heroism and human striving is revealed. (This scene in the film is based
on a traditional Japanese folk tale. The circumstances of the action are different in the
folk tale, but the martial arts lesson is the same.) In the scene a Japanese cultural
understanding of Zen meditation’s relevance to martial arts is presented simply and
beautifully.
Poor farmers from a little village are being harassed, robbed, and humiliated by a roving
gang. The villagers will be killed if they can’t come up with some kind of payoff for the
gang. The villagers feel the only way out of this extortion is to hire some samurai,
professional soldiers, to defend them. It’s a time of civil unrest in Japan, the 16th century,
and there are many unemployed samurai available for hire. But every time the poor
villagers admit that all they have to pay is a small bag of rice, the arrogant samurai they
are trying to hire tell them to get lost.
Finally they meet one man who says he’ll take the job. He was once employed by a rich
lord, but now in light of the hard times, he is willing to work for peanuts. We can see
from the dignity in this actor’s portrayal that he understands that his sole reason for
existing in his society is to protect and serve his employer. If his employer happens to be
a bunch of poor nobodies, well, that’s life. This man is calm and strong. “Well trained”
would be the way a martial artist would describe him.
He needs to recruit some samurai to help. He will have to pick a few good men. How to
test them? He sits in a room, visible from the busy street where many unemployed
samurai are walking by. He stations his young assistant just behind the threshold,
invisible to anyone approaching the door. The young assistant holds a wooden sword, a
bokken, above his head ready to strike down on the head of anyone entering. The older
samurai sitting there gestures to a strong young guy walking by. The guy comes over and
as he enters, the young assistant brings the bokken crashing down on the entering guy.
He’s just about had his head broken – only a parry at the last second kept him in one
piece. Furious at the deception the entering guy curses these two and runs off. The older
samurai sits, still visible from the street.
Another, better dressed samurai comes walking down the street. The older samurai
gestures to this fellow to come in. The fellow approaches. As he crosses the threshold the
bokken comes slashing down toward him, but before it can hit him he deftly parries and
steps back, muttering, angry that he has to deal with this kind of affront. The older
samurai waves him away.
A minute later a third samurai comes walking down the street. His bearing is also well
trained. Calm and dignified. The older samurai catches his eye and gestures him to come
into the room. The young assistant with the bokken is standing hidden behind the
threshold, ready to strike. The samurai approaches the doorway but before he enters he
stops, sensing the presence of someone just behind it. He looks at the older samurai, and
a little smile crosses his face, as if to say hey, what’s with the guy hidden behind the
door. Seeing this reaction the older samurai seated there gets up, delighted, bows to this
third samurai, calls the young assistant away from the door and invites the third samurai
in. He has found his first qualified recruit.
The older samurai feels compassion for the poor villagers and knows his path is one of
service. The three samurai that he tested represent three levels of accomplishment in
martial samadhi (the mental clarity that permits a skilled, spontaneous response in the
moment of confrontation). The first man, the one who parries at the last second, is a good
technician and can react quickly. The second can feel the intention of the attack before it
is physically executed and can pre-empt the strike with one of his own. The third in a
state of hishiryo (beyond thought), can grasp the whole situation, not just perceiving it
from a limited subjective point of view, but globally.
Because of this he can sense the hidden potential in the moment. He is not caught in
conflict precipitated by the opponent, but foils it without opposition and without having
to act consciously. That is very advanced martial arts attainment. It represents what is
nearly the ultimate use of samadhi in martial arts.
What is often misunderstood is that it is not a Buddhist attainment, and has little to do
with Buddhism. It may be attained as a result of participating in Zen Buddhist practice.
But it only uses the tools of Buddhism – deep samadhi – to attain an objective that may
have nothing to do with the Buddhist objectives of saving beings from suffering and the
direct perception of the nature of reality.
Mahayana Buddhism – the Northern Asian Buddhist traditions of Tibet, China and Japan
that use the ideal of the Bodhisattva to define their objectives and their methods of
achieving them – requires three elements to be present in the mind stream of a
practitioner to be consistent with Buddhist goals. First, the practitioner must have
renunciation. That is an understanding of what kinds of action will be helpful and which
kinds will be harmful, and then to act on that understanding. Second they must attain
bodhicitta – the wholehearted wish to save all beings. And third, they must aim to have
correct view – undistorted insight into the nature of reality itself. These are present in
seed form in the motivations of many people who are practicing martial arts, but it never
has the profound effects on them that it could have because it is missing from almost all
martial arts training.
To understand why it is entirely natural that the ideal of Bodhisattva action would be
neglected in martial arts training, we can look at the early history of the modern Asian
martial arts, in the early 19th century in China. That was the boom time of commercial
economy in China. As goods were accumulated and stored, they needed to be guarded.
That is where the growth of public martial arts began. Before then martial arts were
closely held formulas, often the private property of feudal families. Some dedicated and
gifted individuals applied Taoist exercises to martial practices, for example directing the
flow of energy skillfully through the body by physical and mental exercises, using herbs
and other medical approaches to strengthen and unblock the body’s natural potential.
They undertook these practices in an effort to harmonize their body and mind with the
phenomenal world, for the sake of victory in battle, for longevity and health or for all
these reasons. The exceptional practices of these few adepts were the ones recorded in
stories we hear about great Asian martial artists, but these people were very rare.
Today in the United States, to give an analogy, there are about two million active duty
personnel in the military. There are two to three times that number under arms in police
and sheriff’s departments or working privately in security. Their training varies widely.
Some are given a uniform and a W-2 and poof, they’re security. Some are competently
trained at police academies. Some are in elite units with special training, highly
competitive entry requirements and big rewards for those few who make it through. That
was the way it was then too. Most martial artists were farm boys seeking to move up a
rung on the social ladder. They were tough, and they wanted to learn a few things that
would help keep them alive while they were guarding a caravan on a trade route or doing
sentry duty at a warehouse in a port filled with brave, drunk, armed strangers.
They went to the established martial arts teachers for training. Sometimes teachers were
hired by rich families to train their guards. Sometimes the young men, through family
connections, were sent to study at the home of a teacher. Often they picked up a little
here and a little there, and after a while a talented practitioner with a few years of training
in a few styles would develop his own unique approach. There were some virtuoso
practitioners. They had a following. But they were no doubt as rare then as they are now.
For example, nowadays anyone who wants to learn to play the guitar can learn to play the
guitar, in pretty much any town. Almost no one is studying with Eric Clapton (he’s a
genius guitar player, and if you’ve never heard of him you ought to check him out). Most
guitar players, as much as they’d enjoy it, don’t really need his advice. But the few who
might go out of their way to seek him out just might find him and persuade him to offer
his help. That was the way it was then, with martial artists. (It is that way now, too.)
So not all the martial artists in 19th Century China were highly cultivated or well trained
or even interested in becoming those things. It is true that some degree of samadhi is not
only an advantage in martial arts, it is a necessity. If a punch comes toward your nose and
you are distracted by how you feel about the punch, you are in trouble. If you are easily
distracted by outer stimulation, distractions, or inner events like fear, hope, hatred, or
planned technical responses, you are in trouble. If your mind seeps outside the present
moment – if you anticipate the results of your next move, if you dwell on a solid punch
you just landed, or a missed opportunity, even for a fraction of a second – you get
smashed. Samadhi is developed in training, with or without meditation, with or without
calling it samadhi.
Samadhi is a tool used in Buddhism, but it is not Buddhist necessarily. That depends on
the person’s motivation, and the results of his use of his samadhi. For example, when I
worked for the military I would see guards from time to time with unbelievably rock
solid unshakeable samadhi. On an off hour, if you crossed paths at the PX, and you made
eye contact, you could feel their look cut right through to the back of your skull. They are
not aggressive, angry, anything. It’s just military samadhi.
Back when people were making money in the stock market, I would see traders at their
screens, five or six screens in front of them, who would not look up for hours. I mean no
break, no bathroom, no look out the window, no phone calls, no nothing. Watching those
screens, hitting the occasional key on their keyboards, and then right back to this
unshakeable money samadhi. This capacity for sustained focused attention is important in
martial arts. It is associated with Buddhist training, especially because it is so highly
emphasized in meditation. Military samadhi, music samadhi, stock market samadhi are
all similar in form to Buddhist meditation training, but the motivation, action itself and
the results of its cultivation make this not necessarily Buddhist practice. It works the
same way in the case of martial samadhi.
Our style of karate, the style I learned through the efforts of Shoshin Nagamine, is called
Shorin Ryu (meaning Shaolin style). The name is intended to draw a connection to one of
the three main streams of Chinese martial arts, and trace its roots to the Shaolin Temple
in Honan province. The Shaolin Temple is associated with the Indian Buddhist
meditation master Bodhidharma. He is not only the legendary founder of our stream of
martial arts, he is the first patriarch of Chinese Zen. Why? There are many legends. These
include stories of Bodhidharma instituting martial arts practice so the monks could
defend the monastery, and some stories about him developing a chi kung/restorative
movement system that somehow was related to enabling the monks to meet the demands
of Zen practice. No one knows.
We do know that the Northern Shaolin White Crane style, the ancestor of Nagamine’s
Shorin Ryu, was predominant in Fuchow, the Chinese port frequented by Okinawan ships
making the trip to the mainland. That is where many of the Okinawans learned at least
some of their martial arts. At that time, the 1790’s to the 1870’s, empty hand martial skill
still was a requisite for commercial sailors.
Martial arts skill was urgent for them. It is no less urgent for us, but it is urgent for a
different reason. If it were simply a matter of importing a cultural artifact and imitating a
foreign way of doing things, pursuing it might be an interesting diversion. But in a truly
Buddhist practice of the martial arts, we do have a door out of the global disaster toward
which we seem to be heading. A disaster driven by desire, in which our technical skill,
deployed in the service of our desire and our frustration, is producing weak bodies, and
minds that are ripped up by anxiety, depression, meaninglessness, loss and wanting.
Perhaps this weak body and disturbed mind represents a new human disease, created by
new information age conditions. If so we need a new cure. To create a Buddhist martial
art we will have to import parts of the Buddha’s teaching that were not emphasized in
martial arts culture, but were present there in seed form. We need to create vigorous,
powerful martial artists who are dedicated to saving all beings, not just the beings on our
team, in our village, or those in our employer’s good graces.
Part of our vows in the Zen tradition are prohibitions. A number of the members of our
karate dojo and Zen meditation group have taken the vows of moral and ethical conduct
common to all Buddhists, and work with these vows daily. Partly they vow to observe to
the ten prohibitions: not killing, not stealing, not lying, not engaging in sexual
misconduct, not using intoxicants, not gossiping, not using harsh and divisive speech, not
being greedy, not being angry and not having wrong views.
These prohibitions have a particular function. They are restraints on behavior which is
ignorant, and which therefore causes us to suffer. If we take these vows seriously – not
just take them – they provide a kind of spiritual kata or form to which we can continually
compare our behavior, and which, because the vows are an enlightened form, will require
us to reform and restrain our behavior to remain congruent with the vows. That way our
life settles down and becomes free from suffering.
Following these ten prohibitions produces the cessation of disturbing thoughts. It is half
the path to Buddhahood. It gives us the peace we need to enter deep samadhi.
The other half of the Mahayana path, the side of Bodhisattva action, is also necessary for
us, not only to attain the complete fulfillment of the Bodhisattva ideal, but to have a deep,
happy, whole life, integrated in the community of beings. It’s a necessary course for the
fast track to spiritual progress. It is addressed in the first six of the 16 precepts that Zen
practitioners take. To take refuge in the Buddha, the Buddha’s teaching and the
community of fellow practitioners. That is to renounce dependence upon things that will
not support us and to turn to where we can get what we need. To do good, to avoid evil
and to do good for the sake of all beings. This is the Mahayana vow of Bodhisattva
action.
How do you do that in a karate dojo? Is a karate dojo for that? Wouldn’t this care and
helpfulness soften the practice and make it useless in self-defense? Wouldn’t the rough
vigor of martial arts practice undermine the Bodhisattva vow? No. Putting people under
pressure skillfully, incrementally, so they grow, is what a teacher does. That pressure and
demand, though not always pleasant, is kind. And it takes a more profound understanding
of kindness to impose healthy deliberate discipline and demand on people, than one that
permits irresolute license and laxity. There are many examples of this.
On one visit to Okinawa in 1995 I met and trained with Sogen Sakiyama Roshi, a Zen
Master whose temple sits next to Shuri Castle at the top of the highest hill in the area,
looking down on the Pacific Ocean far below. He was about 75 years old then and the
Zen teacher of Shoshin Nagamine. Sakiyama Roshi has been a practitioner of Goju Ryu
karate for about 50 years, and he was a direct student of one of the great karate men in the
modern era – Chojun Miyagi, the founder of Goju Ryu.
I discussed the idea of explicitly making the six Bodhisattva actions a part of the modern
martial arts curriculum. I wondered if he would find this strange, but he took it very much
to heart. He even translated my essay about it into Japanese and circulated it among the
Okinawan karate community. This was very gratifying to me, coming from one of the
few people in the world who is an accomplished master in both Zen and karate.
It seems only by this means can we create a truly Buddhist martial art, one worthy of
dedicating a whole human life to mastering and one which may hold the promise of
saving us from our unrestrained selves.
I feel I should answer one last point. Why can this program be called Zen, in any
meaningful, historically legitimate sense of the word? Here is why:In this moment of our
lives, in this moment of practice, there is nothing extra, nothing lacking, only this.
Sometimes, in the course of practice, this kind of statement can seem to fly utterly in the
face of reason and all the evidence. Nothing extra? Nothing lacking? I am insufficient in
accomplishment, I have many impediments to unhindered action, we might say, so what
are you talking about? In language, in logic, it’s this: “Nothing extra, nothing lacking,
only this” does not mean that everything is dandy, so realize it and cheer up. It means that
all the universe is your karma (your past action of body, speech and mind, and the results
of all those actions) exactly, right now, nothing added, nothing missing. If you want it to
be different, act different. If you want to be happy, be kind. If you want to be strong, act
courageously. If you want to be admired, admire. If you want to be a Buddha, strive
diligently.
Buddhism And The Martial Ideal: Part 1
By Jeff Brooks
Editor’s Note: This is the first in a two part article that discusses how Buddhism and how
historically it has been central to martial ideal.
The warrior ideal is a central metaphor in Buddhism. Although it is not recognized now
in the west, the warrior ideal and the influence of warrior culture has been central to the
practice tradition at the heart of Buddhist doctrine. The loss of this understanding here
and now is due in part to the cultural prejudice of the westerners who were first attracted
to Buddhism. As western practitioners have matured they have rediscovered this
dimension of practice.
People are skeptical of the association of Buddhism with martial arts. This is
understandable. There have been instances in which some patina of Asian culture and
spirituality have been overlaid on martial arts, in the hopes of giving a certain style or
tradition an appearance of depth.
There have been instances where powerful tools developed in the Buddhist tradition for
the purpose of bringing an end to suffering for all beings have been appropriated by
martial artists and put to distinctly non-Buddhist ends. The tools I am referring too
include the development of deep samadhi – single pointed meditation which enables the
experienced practitioner to place his or her mind on any object and keep it there with
clarity and stability for as long as they want to.
Samadhi in the Buddhist practice tradition is cultivated to permit meditators to observe
the subtle working of their mind, and escape the confusion of disturbed mental states. But
single pointed concentration is a requirement of many other highly developed activities
with no spiritual objectives at all: piloting a plane in a storm, hitting a baseball before
50,000 fans, trading stocks while watching markets move on half a dozen monitors at
once, fighting a deadly opponent, armed or unarmed – all these demand deep
concentration.
Many practitioners of martial arts have borrowed methods of mental cultivation from
Buddhist meditation. Some have misused them, or put their deep accomplishment to
harmful ends. The notorious cases of World War II-era Japanese Zen masters
participating in the war-hysteria are a good example.
So who could blame the casual observer, the first time visitor to a Buddhist conference,
or the middle-aged American dharma practitioner, for being skeptical of the validity of
the relationship between genuine dharma practice and the martial arts?
Yet when you look closely the centrality of the warrior ideal in Buddhism itself is
evident. This is significant because from this perspective we can discover how a truly
Buddhist martial art might be practiced.
The historical Buddha was born (in India, 2500 years ago) into the Kshatriya or warrior
caste. He was the son of a king, at a time when warfare was common, and military culture
was a dominant cultural mode.
Robert Thurman, professor of Buddhist Studies at Columbia University, explains:
“According to Buddhist scripture and oral tradition, many years in the future, at a time
when the human lifespan has again reached 80,000 years, the entire planet will be ruled
by a single benevolent emperor. At that time the next Buddha (in a long succession of
Buddhas that have and will continue to appear on this planet) will appear. He will be
named Maitreya. He will be born in the Brahmin caste – the religious priestly caste, not
the warrior caste like the historical of our age Buddha Shakyamuni. Maitreya will reach
enlightenment in one day, instead of the six years of effort required of Shakyamuni. And
Maitreya’s teaching mission will be much more successful than Shakyamuni’s. The
liberative techniques of the two are the same. But in that far distant future period human
beings will be much more spiritually evolved. It will not be as difficult for them to win
release from their suffering as it is for us, here on earth, in our era. Since Shakyamuni,
born in India 2500 years ago, whose teachings are still alive in the world now, was born
into a world of widespread violence and militarism, he had to turn to teaching practical
techniques of spiritual liberation which relied upon the martial qualities of toughness,
asceticism, and determination in the pursuit of the goal of enlightenment…”
The Buddhist method was discovered, mastered, supported and disseminated by people
who were, at a formative stage of their careers, great warriors. An example from ancient
India was King Ashoka who, after a long and bloody struggle for power conquered a vast
empire on the Indian subcontinent. When the period of expansion ended and the time for
consolidation and peace arose he searched for the best way to rule.
He searched India for a set of values and methods that would bring maximum happiness
to people and which in his judgment offered the best means for civil order and individual
liberation. He became the greatest proponent of Buddhism in early Indian history. His
legacy lives today in the hundreds of “Rock Edicts,” carved bas relief stone pillars he had
erected all over his vast kingdom. The carvings include written advice for personal
conduct, and advocate human values that formed the moral basis for early popular
Buddhism in ancient India.
His contribution to Buddhist monasteries and universities deepened Buddhist culture with
an influence felt from his era in the 2nd century through to the 11th, when the Moslem
armies invaded, burning the libraries and razing the monasteries, ending the Buddhist era
in India.
The second great wave of Buddhist learning spread across Asia by means of the greatest
military conquest in history. Buddhism, once again, was spread not by force, but by a
great military leader who became Buddhist, by conviction, after the military aspect of his
career, was over. In the 12th century the Mongols conquered most of the known world.
Led by Genghis Khan an army of mounted herdsmen from the steppes of central Asia
conquered by massacre, terror and intimidation an area from the Pacific Ocean, across
China, west across Europe, south into Vietnam. In two generations this had become the
Yuan Dynasty of China.
Kublai Khan, grandson of Genghis, was Emperor. He searched the known world for the
right understanding of life, the clearest way to approach the human condition, and the
best solution to the problem of human happiness. He chose Buddhism. Although his
regime made no effort to suppress the influential and competing forms of religion and
philosophy – Confucianism, Taoism and many others – it was Buddhism that became the
de facto state religion. It was his court that first bestowed the title on the emperor’s
favored dharma teacher: “Dalai Lama,” meaning Ocean of Wisdom.
To understand the significance of the conversion of these military leaders, and the
profound appeal of Buddhism to them, it is useful to understand something about their
military life. There were several factors that gave the Mongols such a huge military
advantage over the peoples they conquered. Until they began to range from central Asia
they lived as pastoral people. They herded animals, goats and sheep for food, as well as
horses for work. They were on horseback for most of their lives. It was completely
natural to them. They were used to herding animals – very similar to herding enemy
armies. They were used to working from horseback. They were used to killing. There was
not much land for them to cultivate in the high, dry land they lived on. Mostly it was just
arable enough for grass for grazing.
Killing people was not something that required a whole new skill set. They were used to
hardship. They were used to camping and moving. At a time when armies on the march
were destroyed by disease as often as enemies it was a huge advantage to have ingrained
cultural habits, minds and bodies which allowed people to stay healthy on the move. The
method Genghis used initially was effective. The Mongol army would arrive at a town
and demand submission. If it was not forthcoming, they would kill everyone. They did
this for a while, and soon word got around. After a while towns capitulated without a
fight. The armies kept advancing.
These guys were not spreading democracy. They had no interest in winning hearts and
minds. They wanted everything and would stop at nothing to take it. And the boss of this
outfit was the one who converted to Buddhism. And promoted the spread of the dharma
throughout China and southeast Asia and beyond. How do you figure that one?
After a long series of victories in war, the conduct of Genghis Khan and King Ashok
changed. Theirs represents a very different model from that of the would-be conquerors
of the modern era. And the implications for our own lives today are profound.
In both cases there was a shift from warfare, which brought them to power, to a policy of
education and harmony during their reign. Contrast this with the example of the dictators
of the last century who rose to power by means of violence. The leaders of the Soviet
Union, for example, used mass murder as a technique of conquest and used it along with
a policy of cultural repression as a means to hold on to power. Their empire collapsed.
There are numerous recent examples of this.
Even with a machiavellian motive to retain a grip on power, the use of force as a means
for doing it will fail. It will exhaust the resources of the conqueror as it destroys the
empire. From recent examples we can see that evil, in power, will destroy itself as well as
the good that it feeds on. Evil cannot survive on its own.
The need for a shift in mode from conquest to rule was well-observed through history.
The British acknowledged it in their colonial period. In the philosophy of samurai era
Japan, the principle was communicated with two kanji characters “Bun/Bu.”
On the wall of our dojo there are two pieces of calligraphy of these two characters. Each
was a gift given to me by a great modern master. One was from Sensei Ryuhei Taneya, in
1987, when he was about 80 years old. Sensei Taneya at that time was the coach of the
Japanese national Kendo (swordfighting) champion. The champion was a Tokyo
policeman, a huge and powerfully built man, a Mr. Nishiyama. Nishiyama seemed
effortlessly to defeat attack after attack, despite the fact that they were launched by a
series of highly skilled opponents – Go Dan (fifth degree black belt) and up – in an
international competition I attended. His power and speed, and his intimidating presence,
were obvious. Even at rest he radiated calm power. Yet when Sensei Taneya counseled
him, his bearing shifted, just slightly, as he leaned toward the older man half his size, and
humbly took in the insights cultivated through his teacher’s long life of practice.
It is an honor to meet people of that level of accomplishment. Even more so to see them
in action. Sensei Taneya had seen me bow on entering his training area at the beginning
of the session. He asked me, through a translator, who I was and why I bowed. I told him.
It was after that that he gave me the gift of his “Bun Bu” calligraphy that hangs now in
our dojo.
Years later, on Okinawa, I trained with Sogen Sakiyama. He was a great goju ryu karate
practitioner. When I practiced with him he was the senior Zen master on Okinawa, in his
70’s at that time. When I returned home we corresponded frequently, about issues of a
life of practice. Following our next meeting, with a group of students gathered around, he
brought out his ink and brushes, and with a dramatic Zen master’s flourish brought his
brush down on the square of paper and wrote two bold characters: Bun Bu. That was his
message to me at a critical moment in my practice life.
The mastery of both bun and bu were considered essential for the development of the
individual – and for the health of society – in samurai era Japan.
Bu means war. In this context it refers to martial arts and the arts of war-making. The
character itself includes a radical (a common component or sub-character within a larger
compound Chinese character) representing the sheathed sword, not the drawn sword.
Anyone who will have to use force in conducting his duties can confirm that implicit
strength is a better way to keep order than deployed strength. For example the deterrent
effect of a police department on crime is much greater than simply the number of arrests
made.
Predatory forces will arise inside society and appear from without. They must be dealt
with. Mastery of the arts of war, and the ability to use force skillfully when necessary, is
needed. But they are ultimately not enough. As a martial artist, for personal security or
for the security of a community or nation, the use of force is not sufficient to make life
harmonious, peaceful, prosperous or stable.
Bun represents the arts of language, philosophy and law: the means by which a civil
society is organized and regulated. Mastery of these was also considered essential for
personal cultivation and for social harmony. It seems obvious that to have a harmonious
group we ought to communicate with each other. We need to share ideas about what is
good for people to do and what is good for people to avoid. We need to be able to convey
why cooperation for the common good is in everyone’s interest, why those interests
should be balanced with personal freedom and fulfillment, and then see how we can work
together to rationalize these personal and social needs. By using convincing ideas and
creating strong boundaries – enforceable laws – within which people have great freedom
from harm and freedom to act, the greatest happiness will follow.
This is one implication of Bun and Bu. Overreliance on one or the other will lead to
collapse. Balance the mastery of the two and you can hope for a stable and happy society,
and mature and fulfilled individuals.
That is not a Buddhist idea. The two great early promulgators of Buddhism – Genghis
Khan and King Ashok – both observed their version of Bun Bu. But the Buddhist version
of the need for self-defense, personal and communal, goes deeper. It will not allow us the
self-serving error of saying: first I will conquer everything and then I will make everyone
behave nicely.
We can know that it is an error to try to remake the world according to our own utopian
vision or our own self-interest (like the great dictators of the last century) because it is
both an article of faith of Buddhism, and demonstrably true by logic, that (1) doing harm
brings harm and doing virtue brings happiness; and (2) that since our world is created by
our own actions (virtuous or non-virtuous), that we can infer that the best way to
happiness is through kindness not force.
However it won’t work just because we suddenly decide to be nice. You can’t remake
your world by wish or fantasy. It must be done via action, consistent and diligent action.
In the short term, because of the karma we have accumulated in the past, violent people
may approach us. We can and should vigorously protect ourselves and the people who
depend on us. We have to do that with the proper motivation, of course. In the long term,
through good conduct of body, speech and mind, we can transform our lives and our
world to such a degree that violent forces will no longer approach.
But we cannot fake that, or simply hope all will be well. The
transformation is possible but it will be an arduous and long process.
So the question that comes to mind is: were these two great
Buddhist emperors simply being skillful – consolidating their power
and pacifying their empire through the use of benevolent
philosophy? Or did each of them have a genuine religious
conversion later in their career, honestly feeling repelled by
violence, renouncing the use of force and deeply wanting to bestow
happiness upon all the people of their empire? It is hard to answer
that.
It is not hard to see the implication for our own choices. The
creation, for example, of strong boundaries of acceptable behavior for our own lives,
within which complete freedom is possible. The way in which we do our utmost to value
and protect our own precious lives and the lives of the people who depend on us. And
how we behave when the immediate threat is over, as we cultivate the qualities that will
assure inner peace and interpersonal harmony.
The warrior ideal is never far from the religious ideal. To neglect the connection, or to
confuse it, is perilous. To harmonize the two gives the best hope for happiness.
Holding Hands With Zen: The Martial Arts Connection
An Interview with Jeff Brooks
By Anna-Maria Goossens
Try this: Scan through the martial arts films you’ve seen, and try to remember how you
were introduced to the lead head-cracker. Chances are, he was probably meditating or
going through some Buddhist ritual. Do you believe he was sincere? Since such images
are the extent of many people’s experience with martial arts or Buddhism, it’s no surprise
that there is a lot of misinformation about how the two relate to one another. People could
reasonably wonder if they have anything to do with each other at all.
“I have heard some people with the facile idea that Zen and the martial
“Karate arts have nothing to do with each other because they suppose that one is
and Zen about peace and the other is about fighting — or, conversely, that Zen and
as one” the martial arts are related mainly in their belief that if they meditate, they
-- Shoshin can kick ass better,” summarizes Sensei Jeffrey Tesshin Brooks, Director
Nagamine of the Northampton Karate Dojo and Zendo (a hall, building or area for
Zen mediatation).
Neither view gets at the true relationship between the two, which is for
Brooks a real, complex, rewarding and key tenet of his instruction at the dojo.
 It’s obvious the minute you set foot inside the dojo. Pictures of
Bodhidharma, who brought meditative Buddhism to China, and
photos of important figures in Shorin Ryu Okinawan karate, the style he teaches, hold
equal pride of place on the dojo walls. Calligraphy about karate and Buddhism also hang
next to each other. This pairing was inspired in large part by the founder of Shorin Ryu
Karate, Shoshin Nagamine, a proponent of “Ken Zen Icho Nyo” (meaning “Karate and
Zen as one”).
Recently, Sensei Brooks and I discussed how he feels about Zen and karate being
connected.
AMG: How are Zen and karate connected?
Brooks: Zen and martial arts share the development of Samadhi: one-pointed
concentration (a state of consciousness beyond waking or sleep in which conscious
mental activity ceases so to allow total absorption with the object of concentration).
In Buddhism, it’s a tool — not an end in itself — that is applied to achieve insight into
reality. You can take that same tool and apply it to karate. It will increase your skill, but it
doesn’t necessarily help you have a better human life unless it’s done with the correct
motivation. To have deep samadhi we have to allow all mental disturbances to cease –
disturbances including anger, hatred, greed and so on.
AMG: Right — people who don’t know karate often assume you’re picturing a certain
person you’re mad at when you’re doing punches, say. And one of the things I learned
fairly quickly through my practice of karate is that using anger like that isn’t effective at
all. I get distracted and then pretty soon I’m doing the wrong technique…
Brooks: But, significantly I think, anger is what brought you in the
door. There are lots of martial arts programs that do encourage
students to use negative emotions. It hurts the students. On a personal “Spontaneity
level, they become irritable and thin skinned, and from a purely is only
performance point of view, they become stiff in their movements and possible after
they tend to burn out quickly. You may start out your martial arts you get rid of
career with negative emotions, but you don’t want to perpetuate that. hindrances
At the same time you can’t fake it -- you don’t have to banish or and become
ignore your negative emotions. You use them, and then you can let free of the
them go. Negative emotions may work like kindling. To stay warm disturbances”
for a whole winter, you can’t depend just on birch bark — but you
can’t do without it to start the fire. There is some kindling there at the
outset of a student’s training — fear or anger very often — and if a teacher leads the
student skillfully, it can ignite a deeper fire. But to perpetuate fear or anger is very
unhealthy.
AMG: So to reach the right mindset, you have to learn to drop the anger and fear, or
whatever emotion, and transform that emotion into energy you can use to refine your life
in the heat and pressure of regular practice.
Brooks: Your action in practice ought to be natural and spontaneous. Spontaneity is a
word that is closely associated with Zen and with advanced practice of martial arts. The
word was a favorite of the beat poets and Zen hipsters and Bruce Lee, but I think it’s
often misunderstood. People sometimes take it to mean impulse. In reality, spontaneity is
only possible after you get rid of hindrances [such as negative emotions and become free
of the disturbances they cause. Spontaneous action is not a matter of untrained impulse.
AMG: In other words, it’s that idea of having to know the rules to be able to go beyond
them, and not have to be thinking about them every minute.
Brooks: Yes, and not just to know them, but to make the techniques and principles of
action not something appended to you, but things that in a sense are you – they have
become deeply your own from long practice. As a student, or as a teacher, you can’t skip
steps. Masterful teaching, I think, is the ability to show people the appropriate next step
in technical development as you give them the opportunity to develop deep samadhi
(one-pointed concentration). At the same time a skillful teacher will also encourage the
students to develop healthy motivations for both. It takes experience to accomplish this,
because all three variables – technique, samadhi and motivation — are different for each
person in each moment.
You can’t hand them a formula — you can only point them in the
right direction. “The ability
In a demonstration by advanced practitioners, the newer students to not know is
know they’re seeing something breathtaking. What they don’t know an essential
is that what they’re seeing in the performance of the advanced quality in
practitioners is not only skill in movement, but also of samadhi. learning
Advanced practitioners have assimilated all the technical advice into anything”
their bodies and minds, and in a sense are now able to act
spontaneously. That’s apparent when you see someone who’s really
good.
AMG: It seems to me that one of the predictors of whether someone is going to be
successful in the practice of karate is how well they deal with the times when they’re
confused and not in control. If you're attached to the idea of always being in control, of
having to understand every new technique or training exercise immediately, and sort of
check it off, thinking, “I'm done with that” then practice becomes frustrating – there are
times when you will not be in total control. If you can apply the Buddhist idea of non-
attachment to karate practice you'll do much better.
Brooks: The ability to not know (your "negative capability") is an essential quality in
learning anything. The more secure you are, the more easily you can accept the
awkwardness that necessarily comes at the beginning of any new enterprise — a job, a
relationship, taking up a new sport — and the more quickly you can progress at every
stage. In some ways, it is easier for a teenager to be a beginner in the dojo than it is for an
adult. Adults are often used to having competence and status in their professional life,
their home life, etc. Kids are used to being new at things. In general, you could say that
success comes from handling difficulty -- even failure -- with equanimity, yet never
losing your desire to succeed. After all there is no such thing as always getting it right.
Some people learn this point of view at five, some at fifty. Some never do.
AMG: Do you ever find that people object to having Buddhist ideas brought up in karate
class? Is there a conflict for people who practice a different religion?
Brooks: I’m not presenting doctrine — I’m not asking them to believe anything contrary
to their religion. I talk about being hardworking, respectful, and generous to other people.
We have members of our dojo who are devoted to their own religious traditions, who feel
the spiritual experience they have in the dojo to be very much in harmony with their
religious beliefs.
AMG: Do you think that Buddhist elements can be combined with physical disciplines
besides karate?
Brooks: Yes. People talk about “the zone” or “flow.” The mastery of technique and unity
of body and mind are a kind of samadhi (one-pointed concentration). The difference in
sports (or dance, music, whatever) and in our karate may be the
motivation and objectives of the practitioners. If our objective is
simply to perform well, that is an athletic or personal aspiration, and
there is certainly nothing wrong with that. If the objective is to put
an end to suffering, then that is a Buddhist aspiration.
Meditation: Just Do It!
By Jeff Brooks
Editor’s Note: This is the second of a three-article series
on meditation (Zen) and the martial arts. This article
examines some of the techniques and methods of
meditation itself. Part one, “Holding Hands With Zen:
The Martial Arts Connection - An Interview With Jeff
Brooks” discusses how Zen complements the martial arts
by helping to develop total concentration without thought,
something that allows greater spontaneity of action. The
third article in this series, “Fighting Zen – How Mediation
Can Enhance Your Fighting Skills,” by Christopher Caile,
will discuss how Zen skills are actually put to use in
fighting and self-defense situations.
The traditional descriptions of meditation in the Buddhist tradition are many and varied.
But they all share some aspects. In our tradition, our practice of shikantaza, or "just
sitting," we withdraw our senses and allow our minds to settle down. We sit with legs
folded, on a round cushion (zafu) which elevates the base of the spine slightly above the
knees. We keep the spine tall, not leaning left or right, forward or back. The head is high,
not tipping over. The tip of the tongue touches the back of the top teeth. Other
alternatives for sitting are to kneel (seiza) with the aid of a short bench (seiza bench) to
elevate the hips, or to use a chair for those with physical limitations.
There are esoteric explanations for all of these elements, but they all have ordinary
practical functions. For example, the tongue position allows our swallow impulse to
subside, so we can sit more peacefully. The eyes are neither all the way open nor all the
way closed, just half-open and cast down about 45 degrees, with a relaxed gaze. The
hands are cupped, left inside the right, the thumbs touching lightly to form a small circle,
with the arms resting on the thighs.
Some people find it difficult at first, but after a while it becomes natural. This posture is
very stable, allowing you to enter a relaxed physical state without tipping over. In our
style we sit facing the wall, which minimizes visual distraction. In other styles people sit
facing one another, or in rows facing a teacher or altar.
The environment in which we meditate ought to be without too much stimulation - it
should be quiet, not too bright or too dark, not too hot and not too cold, without strong
odors or perfumes, and without the likelihood of disturbance from people or animals. We
should avoid moving - in order to scratch and itch or to relax a muscle - because the
sound of us moving may distract others, and also because it stimulates our own sense of
touch. If you let it, the urge to move will subside and you can sit very deeply.
We make an effort to withdraw the five senses of perception so that we let go of our habit
of grasping at sight, sound, smell, taste and touch. We also withdraw our mental grasping
at thought. That is: we just sit. If, when you are sitting, you notice that your mind is slack
and you begin falling asleep, don't yield to it, just sit strong and tall. If you notice you are
agitated and fantasizing, planning, remembering and so on, let it go ("open the hand of
thought") and just sit. That's it.

Members of the
Northampton Zendo come
together on Monday nights
for group meditation. The
room doubles as the
Northampton Karate Dojo,
and the important idea of
"karate and Zen as one" is
evident in the way Buddhist
calligraphy and images
shares wall space with
photos and images related to
karate.
This may sound too simple
to be profound. Many
meditation traditions teach
other methods. These other
methods are all different
from "shikantaza"
(Japanese for "just sitting")
in that they provide for an
object of attention. That is,
they give you something to
think about (focus on) or
something to do while
meditating. A mantra
(sacred phrase), a
visualization, a sound, the
breath (or counting breaths
trying not to lose focus),
various good ideas and so on
for the object of attention
during meditation practice.
The mind focuses on one of
these and in making an
effort, the person's attention
becomes more stable, clearer
and more enduring. In
shikantaza there is no object
of attention. This is
especially disconcerting and
it leads people to ask what
we are supposed to "do?"
Just sit. But what does that
mean?
Don't daydream, don't fall
asleep. That's it. But what do
you DO? Just sit. In
shikantaza the emphasis in
the explanation of the
method of practice is placed
on what you don't do. To
come face to face with the
way our minds influence and
distort our reality, we
dispense altogether with
objects. If you tell someone
what to do, what to focus on,
what to aim at, you simply
give them a new object to
hold onto. Many styles of
meditation use objects of
attention in practice. But in
our style we do without
them. This is difficult. But it
is a direct path to the
realization of the nature of
reality.
This is a subject worthy of
exploration, especially when
we realize that almost
everything else we do or
have ever done contributed
to anxiety, unhappiness,
anger or confusion. A future
article will explore the
alternatives to the samsaric
worldview more deeply. In
that article we will look
carefully at the idea of
samsara: a mistaken view of
reality which traps us in the
endless pursuit of things
which we believe will make
us happy but which bring
dissatisfaction and
disappointment instead.
The Zen Mirror - Battle and
the Ocean of Mind
By Jeff Brooks
Fish can sense light. They
can sense temperature and
turbulence. They can see
and hear well enough to
recognize their prey, and to
escape their predators. But
they never get to know
water. Water is the context
for everything they do and
perceive. But it itself is
imperceptible to them. They
are never not in it.
We are like that. There is a
critical missing link in our
training if we fail to notice
that we exist in a universe of
mind. Noticing it is critical.
It will determine the quality
of our training and the
quality of our life and death.
In training we rehearse
conflict scenarios again and
again until they root deeply,
until they are reflexive.
Because we have been
through it a thousand times
in simulation, when conflict
arises we can act
spontaneously, we execute
the procedure ingrained in
training.
As we ramp our training up
to meet the intensity of the
demands of conflict it
becomes tempting to regard
all unknowns as potential
enemies. In a war zone it is
prudent. In peace time it is
dangerous. To lose the
flexibility to scale from
kinship to total threat, we
lose our way. In some cases
it may become our duty to
do it. But if we do it
ignorantly, as a martial artist
it may defeat our purpose.
We exist in an ocean of
mind. If we allow our
practice to be fueled by fear
and rage we degrade to the
level of the enemy. (Our true
enemy, the poisonous states
of mind that cause
suffering.) It is tempting to
do it. It feels energizing. But
the energy that is a product
of fear and hate will be
subtracted from a whole
world of potentially good
human relationships. If we
lose perspective in this way
we sacrifice our human
connection to the people we
are dedicated to protect.
If we lose our commitment
to virtuous action we lose
the source of our strength,
and we squander the abilities
we have developed. When
we know what we do is right
we can be fearless and
resourceful without limit.
Friends will appear. For
those who waste their minds
in hate the entire world will,
by increments, be
transformed into enemies. It
may require an act of
profound heroism to avoid
becoming ensnared in anger.
If we fail to notice that our
mind is creating the way we
see our world then we will
get lost in procedure and
forget our true mission. As
martial artists we have a
critical social role as well as
an individual opportunity.
The context of our training
must reinforce our
dedication to our mission:
generosity to those who
need us; patience and
dignity in the face of
provocation unless the
moment to act should come;
personal conduct that is
honorable; the cultivation of
a calm, clear mind that
allows us to see clearly.
In the heat of battle it will be
impossible to cultivate this.
We will be who we are.
When the decisive moment
comes we must act; all
considerations will fall
away. But as we train, as we
live our lives, whether we
perceive it or not, we will
cultivate not only our skills,
but our heart and mind as
well. Whether we cultivate a
heart and mind of hatred or
of nobility will decide the
course of our life.
If we are motivated by the
desire to benefit others, and
we act always with courage,
although there is no
guarantee that we will win,
we will never lose.
"Every day is a good day" is
a quote from a Zen koan,
spoken by Zen Master Yun
Men, who lived and taught
in 10th century China. It is
found in one of the most
influential classics of Zen
literature, The Blue Cliff
Record, a compilation of the
sayings of many generations
of Zen Masters and
practitioners.
What Yun Men meant by
these words is an interesting
question to investigate and
study. Here is what they
mean to me:
To have the conviction that
every day is a good day
means that we are really
living our own lives. If we
discriminate based on our
own feelings of happiness or
unhappiness and say: "I
wonder if today will be
good," or "Today I am
happy so it is a good day,"
or "Today I am unhappy so
today is a bad day," or "If
something nice happens to
me today I will have the
opinion that today is a good
day," then we lose our lives.
That kind of attitude means
we are living passively, as if
life is just something that
happens to us. If we live this
way we have given up the
direction of our own lives
and we will inevitably
decline.
To understand that every
day is a good day takes
courage. Because on some
days we will suffer. Then,
when that is necessary,
when that is the reality of
our lives, it is our day to
suffer. That reality shifts, as
we all have experienced,
from day to day, even from
moment to moment. It shifts
as a result of our intention,
as a result of our karma.
Some days we will be
happy. Then it will be a
good day to be happy. Some
days we will have to
struggle. Then it will be a
good day to struggle. Some
day we will need to fight.
Then it will be a good day to
fight. Some day it will be
our day to die. Then, as
Black Elk said, it will be a
good day to die.
This attitude can seem
contradictory to our familiar
mental habits. We might
prefer it to be untrue,
because the implication of
thinking this way is that we
are responsible for our own
lives. However, in fact, we
are. And if we treat every
day as a good day to face
what we face, then our lives
begin to change.
When we learn a new kata
we are asked to move in
unfamiliar ways. At first it is
difficult and awkward. Then
our movement becomes
agile and powerful. If the
kata is well made we see
good results from our effort
to master it. The kata is
asking us to change our
physical habits in a way that
adds skill, removes
obstructions, makes us more
free.
That is the way it is with this
sense of every day is a good
day. We can work it as a
kind of philosophical kata.
By applying it, testing it,
using it frequently, it will
change our mental habits
and the quality of our life.
This philosophical kata, this
koan, will help us eliminate
the obstructions which
hinder our freedom, and
through our effort, bring us
strength and peace.
Why do we print this on
dojo mugs? A practitioner
once asked a Zen Master:
"What do you do once you
become enlightened?" The
Zen Master said: "Have a
cup of tea." Be ready.
Imagine yourself five
hundred years ago. The
Emperor has handed you a
message. It is urgent. You
need to deliver it across the
empire, half a world away.
If you succeed, he tells you,
you will receive a great
treasure. If you fail you will
die.
In this case you will take
your mission seriously.
Under this circumstance you
will do whatever it takes to
succeed. You set out. Along
the way you will encounter
all sorts of terrain. There
will be lush regions. You
will be tempted to stay, to
enjoy the comforts there, to
delay.
You will have to cross
hostile terrain. You will
come upon difficult,
dangerous regions that are
inhospitable to life. You will
be tempted to give up. To
turn back.
If your comfort is foremost
in your mind, you will never
complete your mission. All
will be lost, and you will
die. If, however, you never
lose sight of your ultimate
goal, if the urgency of your
mission is always clear in
your mind, no matter what
your outward circumstances,
you will never be distracted
by the changing scenery
around you. You will notice
your environment, of course.
It will matter. You will have
to adjust to accommodate its
demands. But the immediate
conditions will never be as
important as fulfilling your
mission.
Our lives as practitioners are
like this. There will be
attractions along our way
that may distract us, and
tempt us to wander from our
path. There will be times
when our practice will feel
barren and arid, not
satisfying, not delightful, not
even interesting. We will be
tempted to delay or to give
up.
If we recognize the ultimate
purpose of our training – the
purpose our practice serves
us daily, and the ultimate
reward that it offers us, the
complete fulfillment of our
potential and our mission as
human beings – we will
never be distracted by the
shifting scenery of our lives.
Free from those conditional
distractions, we can traverse
the paths of life freely,
energetically, firm in our
conviction that what we are
doing is right, and utterly
essential.
We wish all practitioners
complete fulfillment of their
goal.
battle. He was at the height
of his power, a master of the
arts of the sword and
strategy, an accomplished
politician and poet as well. It
was April. The cherry
blossoms fell from the trees,
and with every breeze
thousands and thousands of
the blossoms filled the air.
They were beautiful, and
fleeting. He watched them
fly from the trees. He
watched them fall. He said
to his friend, “You could
spend your entire life
searching for the perfect one
and never waste a moment.”
As a practitioner he
understood the profound
beauty of a life lived in the
endless pursuit of perfection.
Later that day he was
mortally wounded in battle.
The blood flowed from his
wounds and his life ebbed
away. He spoke again to his
friend, who now kneeled
beside him. The heavenly
storm of cherry blossoms
swirled around them, for a
moment obscuring the land
and the sky, hiding the dead
and dying soldiers around
them on the battlefield. The
samurai looked at the cherry
blossoms as if he had never
seen them before. He said,
“All perfect!”
What had changed? The
quality of the falling cherry
blossoms had not changed in
that one hour, from the
beginning of the battle to the
end of it. But that warrior’s
mind had changed. He
understood something in the
moments before his death
that he had missed all his
life, despite his power,
despite his achievements.
Having let go of his
attachment to an imagined
ideal of perfection outside
this moment, an ideal he
could no longer pursue, he
recognized for the first time
that right here, right now, all
we see, all we are, is perfect,
with nothing extra, nothing
lacking… nothing but this
moment, perfect as it is.
Author’s Note: The quotes
given in this article are from
The Last Samurai movie.
The interpretation is mine.
Perhaps this shows that
when viewed from the right
perspective not all the
garbage that flows out of
Hollywood is garbage.
There is a certain disease
that is keeping martial arts
in the dark ages and
preventing civilian martial
arts from developing and
becoming the well of
knowledge, expertise and
personal achievement that it
could be.

The disease is marketing and

the specific strain of the
disease is inclination to
continually proclaim “We
are different. We are better.”

Most martial arts schools

and styles make this claim.
It is so reflexive that when it
is pointed out that they are
doing it people usually
respond: “Yeah, well we
are.”

There is a problem there.

And it is not a problem

solved by either simple
formula: that martial arts
should be non-commercial
or that hey it’s a business,
that’s life.

There are some teachers

who are doing phenomenal
research. These teachers are
bringing the practice of
martial arts a degree of
depth and technical
accomplishment that has
been lost in the public
presentation of martial arts –
east and west – for
generations. The great
modern teachers like Evan
Pantazi and Yang Jwing-
ming – and there are many
others – all run programs, all
sell their services, and all
seek compensation for their
work. As they should.
Anyone who wants to can
benefit from their work, and
they could not do their work
if there were no
compensation for it. And
they know as well, that in a
generation or so the cat will
be out of the bag, the
information they have
laboriously gathered,
practiced, polished and
dispensed will be widely
disseminated and no one
will hold a patent on it any
more.

That is the method used in

science and it is a much
better method than what is
used mostly in martial arts.
In martial arts there is a
feeling of grudgingly
withholding information –
not because a rival tribe will
steal your secrets and defeat
your warriors – but because
you will no longer get to feel
special. In the walled-
outpost version of modern
martial arts schools teach
suspicion, jealousy and a
sense of betrayal along with
a strong punch and a low
stance.

Myths told about old

teachers may come from a
genuine appreciation for the
mastery that old teacher had.
But modern students may
not actually know what if
any achievements the old
master had. He may have
just been a sincere old guy
who practiced for a long
time. He may have been a
martial genius. But repeating
the lineage hagiography
does appeal to need of the
modern practitioner to say
my way is different, and my
way is the best.

I notice variations in the

quality of schools and
practitioners and even of
styles. But more importantly
I have noticed that there are
sincere practitioners who
train hard and really want to
develop their bodies and
minds through their arts. I
have seen them stifled and
bewildered by controlling
teachers who prevent them
from exploring in the name
of stylistic purity or “so they
don’t get confused” but who
actually are fearful that the
student will find out
something they don’t know,
or leave them for another
style. Then their egos and
their finances will be hurt.

As teachers we have to
accept the fact that some
students will be fickle and
jump around out of
insecurity or an insecure
feeling that they are missing
something going on
somewhere else. We should
let that kind of student go.
Just like having a romantic
relationship with someone
who is fickle or wants to go
off exploring. Who wants to
hang on to someone like
that? Let them go. Urge
them to go.

If the student goes off to

learn something new the
teacher might use that
perhaps painful moment to
recognize that he or she does
not know everything and
that they can continue their
own education. Or if in fact
that teacher feels that they
have a complete and
coherent and vital system
that they are teaching they
should have the confidence
to let all the people who
want them to come study
with come, and let all the
ones who want to pass them
by, pass by.
Sometimes when I give talks
to experienced martial arts
teachers, sometime s during
my talk I ask, by a show of
hands, Who here is fully
appreciated for how really
great they are?… silence…
pause… no one has ever
raised their hand. And
although it is a light hearted
moment, it seems the
recognition of the fact
touches everyone. We all
want to be appreciated and
recognized for the
contributions we are
making. Most martial arts
teachers that I know of are
sincere. Most do work hard.
And most feel that others are
not aware of it.

So to adjust their awareness

we brag. We are different.
We are better. Its on our
websites, in our phone book
ad, in our flyer, in our voice
on the answering machine.
And what effect does it
have? Some might be
persuaded. Others might be
turned off. But it does not
change the general feeling
that we are under-
recognized for our good
qualities and the good work
we do. How do you actually
fix that?

Okay, by show of hands,

how many of you praise all
the people you know who do
well, every time they do
well? How many of you
affirm the value of everyone
you meet who deserves it?
… pause… silence… no
one.

I don’t. Of course you can

get carried away with that
too. But if you do tell people
they are doing well when
they are doing well it works
to their benefit and yours…
you actually begin to take
note of the incredibly good
things that people do for
you, for each others, for
their own lives… Stuff you
have overlooked all these
years… now you are seeing
it… and the world, your
world, begins to change…
for the better…

My suggestion, tested in our

labs for over twenty years
on thousands of subjects, by
trial and error (lots of error)
is this: train hard, respect
people, dig deep, be fearless,
be tireless and generous in
your teaching (that is a key
attribute in the brilliant
teachers I mentioned above)
and recognize everyone in
your life for what they do
well.

Then you won’t have to

worry too much about
manipulating and marketing.
Good, sincere people will
find you.
There are plenty of ways to
explain the way we make
choices, and how our lives
take shape. But none is as
complete as karma. Karma
does not mean “fate”. That
is the way it is sometimes
used but it is a
misunderstanding of its
meaning. Karma means
action. It refers to what we
do, say and think, and the
way our actions condition
the way we see the world
and act in it.
Karma does not deny the
function of personal
psychology, but it does
place it in a meaningful and
more explanatory context.
Take the idea that we make
our life choices in an effort
to overcome some early
trauma. This theory of
psychological compensation
explains very little. The
reasons why certain
conditions came together to
produce the initial
difficulties in the life of this
particular person, the way
that person responds, their
ultimate triumph over it or
their failure to triumph, the
happiness or misery that
results, the effect the
example has on others, why
similar childhood conditions
work out in very different
ways in different lives --
none of that is explained by
an explanation limited to
personal psychology.
Is neuroscience more
illuminating? One glorious
Saturday afternoon in
autumn a group of divorced
soccer dads were standing
around at the sidelines
during a game. Between
plays they were discussing
their divorces, their
finances, their fiancées, and
the events that brought them
to their present state of
affairs. It was a rare
opportunity for communion.
They talked about how bad
their first wives were. Their
flaws. Their tyrannical
pettiness. The impossible
situations in which they (the
guys) were placed. The
emotional vacuum. The
unfair either/or choices they
were forced into. The
endless legal troubles. The
expense. The kids.
One fellow explained that
his troubles started with his
amygdala. “It’s primitive
and powerful, and when that
baby kicks in, forget about
it,” he said. He knew about
his amygdala. It made him
feel better and you can’t
blame the guy for clinging
to that little almond-shaped
gland while his ship sank.
But his understanding of it
was a fiction. A useful way
to explain away free will
and personal responsibility.
A convenient fantasy. Like
the great puppeteer in the
sky, the man behind the
curtain, the flat earth, or
happily ever after. Here was
the homunculus at the center
of his pre-determined
universe. By selecting
secretions as the explanation
he could take himself out of
the game of his own life,
and stand on the sidelines
for a while.
I have heard people offer
that kind of explanation for
the experience of training.
My reptile brain responds to
stress by generating signals
cueing either aggression or
flight. My neocortex censors
these impulses with
memories the results of past
aggressive action, say, and
my limbic brain is flooded
with feelings about it. We
seek a way to harness that
energy, to ameliorate the
frustration, to streamline the
mental activity so all the
parts work harmoniously,
and add a dose of serotonin
and endorphins at the same
time.
Now let’s say that this is
true, as far as it goes, and
understand that we could
create a much more detailed
description of brain
function. It still would not
explain why we do what we
do. It may go some way
toward explaining how, but
that is as far as this
explanation can go, no
matter how detailed it
becomes.
“How” is for science.
“Why” is for metaphysics.
Buddhist teacher Michael
Roach uses the example of
two people in a car that
crashes. One dies. A kid
asks why. An engineer or a
doctor can answer about the
design of the car, the surface
of the road, the angle of the
impact, the body of the
victim. Which explain how.
But why one died and the
other lived is not a question
amenable to scientific
analysis.
There are enough innocent
sufferers all over the world,
who’s actions we might
judge to be good or bad,
who are young and old, rich
and poor, black and white,
and so on, to justify putting
real effort into a search for
an answer to “Why?”
This search uncovers four
schemes that people use to
explain events: 1. The
inscrutable will of God. 2.
Meaningless chance. 3.
Mechanical determinism.
The operation of karma.
These are hard to test for
truth simply by tracing the
sequence of causes that led
to the result, because we do
not have access to the full
vast constellation of causes
for any event. However, we
can test each one of these
explanatory schemes
pragmatically. We can
examine the results a person
will get if he chooses any
one of the four as an
assumption on which to base
life choices.
The four postulates are not
equally successful in
explaining what happened,
predicting what will happen,
or in prescribing the actions
that are most advisable.
They suggest very different
ways of living.
Generally speaking, the first
leads to submission.
Programs of action include
supplicating, propitiating,
and hoping for the best.
Done in an unhealthy way,
this orientation can lead to
passivity, dread and magical
thinking. Undertaken in a
healthy way it can lead to
giving up one’s own egotism
and dedicating one’s self to
prayer and good works, for
the sake of peace in this
world, and the hope of
reward in the future.
The second (a belief that the
world is governed by
meaningless chance) leads
to pleasure seeking,
impulsiveness, and
alternating states of anxiety,
depression, yearning,
hopelessness and an
abdication of personal
responsibility. Dice hanging
from the mirror, the pedal to
the metal, asleep in the back
seat, when your number’s up
your number’s up.
The third holds the
assumption that our fates are
foreordained and there is
nothing we can do but ride
the train and see what
station we arrive at when we
get there. It takes your life
out of your hands and can
make you nervous or
pompous or passive or all of
those.
The fourth gives you both
the responsibility and the
means to take control of
your life and make of it what
you want. If you act
virtuously, you have as
happy a life as you can
possibly have. Every action,
of your body, speech and
mind, counts. Nothing is
wasted.
My karma – the actions that
I take now and the actions I
took in the past – constitute
my life. Therefore I should,
as well as I can, examine my
motivation for action, the
quality of the action itself
and the results of each thing
I do, say, or think. Then I
can tell if my action will
bring happiness or
unhappiness to me and to
others.
Our actions affect the
quality of our own lives, but
we also teach as we live. We
influence everyone we come
in contact with for good or
ill. We may never know how
far our influence may
continue.
If this were a simple matter
of our influence on others
working like a closed,
physical system, like ripples
on the surface of a pond, or
echoes in a tunnel, our
effects could be discounted
because with each new
ripple, echo, or person
influenced, a little of the
initial energy would be
dissipated. And eventually
the karmic energy will
dissipate and our effect will
be gone. But it doesn’t work
quite that way. Karma is as
likely to magnify as is to
dissipate, depending on the
conditions of the minds it
touches.
For example: You are riding
along in your car and you
accidentally cut someone
off, or they think you did,
while you are changing
lanes to exit. They become
enraged. They speed up,
tailgate you, shake their fist
at you, give you the finger,
curse at you and start
chasing you down the exit
ramp.
Their action will affect you.
You can stay cool. When the
enraged nut pulls up beside
you you raise your hands
palms out, chin elevated,
and say Sorry, sorry, I didn’t
see you. Then the guy says
Watch what you’re doing,
asshole! and drives away.
Or he chases you down the
exit ramp, you have had it
up to here, you get angry.
You get out of your car, he
gets out of his car, and fists
or chains or bullets fly, and
one guy is dead and
someone is arrested. It costs
a lot of money for the
defense, a lot of time and
emotional energy and pain,
and lots of lives are torn up.
This situation was in the
news: two women, both
young mothers, with guns in
their glove compartments, in
Florida. They got mad, one
got killed on the side of the
road, the other one is facing
life in prison or a death
sentence.
And lets say you get cut off
on the highway and it seems
like the whole thing is the
other person’s fault.
Thoughts of revenge
overtake you. Frustration,
anger grows, you’re a raw
nerve, and at the next
opportunity to have a
confrontation -- or maybe
you create an opportunity --
you shout angrily, you
behave angrily, you get
violent, and the cycle
spreads and gets worse,
gathering energy, involving
more and more people, until
eventually the killing and
misery, somehow, become
exhausted. Whole countries
live with this.
Why was the first person
able to drive away calmly,
no big deal, where the
second person felt
compelled to get into a
confrontation over it? The
same conditions were
present, with two completely
different outcomes. Luck
will not account for it. What
was the difference between
these? Which one would you
rather be?
The difference was karma.
Karma does not mean fate or
chance or conditions. It
means action, in the present
time, as well as the results of
past action, which have
accumulated as mental
seeds, formed mental habits
and predispositions and
which bloom when the
conditions are right.
We teach how to be all the
time. Whether we intend to
or not. People see us act in a
volatile manner, they will
learn from it. If we are in a
position of responsibility or
power then our actions will
more likely be noted and
taken seriously. And
imitated. And the results
will come to the person who
copied you because of the
actions you did, that they
saw, and that they copied.
So we all have a
responsibility that extends
far beyond our own lives.
We can have a wonderful
effect on people. We will
have some effect. We ought
to take that responsibility
seriously. In the karate dojo
and outside it. In the dojo
we have an opportunity to
put this idea into practice
every day.
In "John Adams" by David
McCullough, a biography of
the second president of the
United States, we get a look
at Adams' life as he
followed many paths - as
lawyer, farmer, scholar,
revolutionary, orator,
member of the First
Continental Congress and
eventually President. John
Adams lived in a world
where war and the threat of
war was a fact of life. His
way of dealing with martial
conflict 200 years ago has
lessons relevant to us, as
21st century martial artists.
In this book McCullough
writes:
One evening, watching his
granddaughters Susanna and
Abigail blowing soap
bubbles with one of his clay
pipes, Adams wondered
about the "allegorical
lesson" of the scene:
Adams wrote: "They fill the
air of the room with their
bubbles, their air balloons,
which roll and shine
reflecting the light of the fire
and candles, and which are
very beautiful. There can be
no more perfect emblem of
the physical and political
and theological scenes of
human life. Morality only is
eternal. All the rest is
balloon and bubble from the
cradle to the grave."
Adams, as a former power
broker now an old man,
reflected on the
impermanence of the
phenomena of life. When we
practice the martial arts,
even as we prepare for
conflict, or prepare
ourselves to face the
demands of ordinary life, we
ought not wait till our old
age to reflect on what it is
that will really last. We
ought to ask, “What will
really affect the quality of
our own lives and the lives
of the people we touch?” I
can say that from my point
of view, and from the point
of view of John Adams, it is
not our accumulation of
power itself, our ranks,
titles, trophies or
knowledge. Rather the
quality of the strength,
determination, care,
kindness, focus, self-
mastery, self-discipline and
decency that we embody and
pass on to those we teach
and practice with. If our
influence in these matters is
good, it will outlast us and
all those who will ever know
us, perhaps for generations.

For John Adams this was

not a matter of abstract
philosophy. He was deeply
concerned with self-defense
during his Presidency. The
political principle he
followed on a national level
reminded me of the principle
of "karate ni sente nashi"
(There is no first attack in
karate) which we follow in
karate-do.
During his presidency John
Adams' position on national
defense was opposed from
both sides of the political
spectrum. Of the two parties
who opposed him, one
group advocated heavy
spending on national
defense and going to war as
soon as possible. The other
party opposed investing in
defense and opposed going
to war. Adams had
experienced the American
Revolution first hand, and
knew what fighting meant.
He believed that, under the
circumstances, weakness
made attack inevitable. He
supported a strong national
defense while vigorously
striving to avoid war. But
Adams prevailed in his
position and was vindicated.
This is a good demonstration
of the principle, familiar to
many practitioners of
traditional Okinawan karate,
of "no first attack" -- while
training consistently and
diligently. "No first attack"
is not a matter of pacifism or
passivity. It is a practice of
martial strategy and morality
at once.
It seems clear that at age 90
John Adams' insight into the
impermanence of things and
the endurance of virtue was
possible because of the way
he lived his life. He had
been vigorous. His mind
was now peaceful. At the
end of his life he was not
nursing grudges, fearing his
waning strength, or seeking
his place in history. He
could see what mattered and
what was trivial. He had
been courageous and strong.
His mind was clear. He
could see what would last
and what would pass away.
His ability to obtain this
degree of clarity and insight
itself was a result of the way
he lived. It is difficult for us
to see the way in which our
actions, of body, speech and
mind, (the technical term,
from Sanskrit, is our
"karma") influence the
quality of our understanding.
But if we look closely we
can see that our minds
condition our choices,
condition the quality of our
lives and form the impact
we have on others.
This is why it is useful to
understand the somatic
(physical) foundation of
mind training in karate. The
idea of "mind training" in
karate involves a much
broader concept of mind
than that usually found in
the west, where mind and
body are often divided from
each other. Understanding
the somatic foundation of
mind training in karate helps
to explain the relationship
between the way our
physical training conditions
our minds, and the way this
impacts the way we make
strategic decisions in
conflict situations and
otherwise. It offers insight
into the importance of the
"No first attack" principle.
When we use the word
"mind" we may be referring
to widely differing mental
functions. Those relevant to
"mind training" in karate
include: proprioception (the
feedback loop between our
senses, mind and muscles),
sensation, categorization,
concept formation,
cognition, calculation,
reflection, perception,
discrimination, awareness,
understanding, emotion,
apperception (our awareness
of our own mental activity),
mental stability, clarity,
sense of self, philosophical
orientation, knowledge, will,
intention, mind-beyond-
thought and insight into
reality... and all often
lumped together in the one
term "mind."
All of these aspects of mind
have a physical foundation,
and all are susceptible to
positive change through the
skillful use of the body. This
is only logical since in
reality the body is not
separate from the mind.
They are integrated - they
act as a whole.
Thus, in the practice of
martial arts neither the
"search for knowledge" nor
mechanical repetition of
movements will suffice to
make your defensive skills
effective, or your
development as a human
being very deep.
In karate practice we have to
know what we are after,
acquire the means that will
take us forward, and go. We
must be patient and
consistent in our application
of effort. We must
continually be scrupulous in
examining our motivation,
our methods and the results
we are achieving. We must
refuse to be sidetracked,
intimidated or encumbered.
Then we can hope to finish
our work before our time
runs out. This is mind
training as well as physical
training.
With this high degree of
tenacity and attention we
will discover the purpose of
karate. Then we can use it
with the urgency our
circumstances demand - in
strategic approach, like
Adams' or our own "no first
attack" doctrine.
If the purpose of martial arts
training was mainly to kill,
you could skip the work and
get some TNT. If it was
mainly to be safe, you could
get a bunker and a Kevlar
suit. If it was primarily to
keep alive the art the
Okinawans practiced
centuries ago, we would
carry knives in our sashes
and face Javanese pirates in
the Straights of Malucca
standing on the rails of our
ships.
On a national level John
Adams' thoughts about
national defense were right
for his time. On a personal
level proficiency in self-
defense helps us to fulfill
our obligations to ourselves,
our families and our
communities. Freeing
ourselves and others from
fear, from suffering and
from death is a great
obligation, an urgent and
difficult task. It requires us
to put our bodies and minds
under cultivation, and to
practice to the limit of our
capacity. It requires us to
transform our ordinary body
and mind into something
profoundly and completely
human. And we do not have
the luxury of time. We have
been handed the tools.
Sometimes they seem
mundane. Sometimes they
seem so exalted as to be out
of reach. But we have them,
as practitioners. Let's use
them well.
Each stage is important.
None can be skipped. (a)
Get strong, flexible and
healthy. (b) Regulate your
body and breath. (c)
Stabilize and clarify your
mind. (d) Build generous
relationships. (e) Serve the
people who need you. (f) Be
an expert in self-defense.
Then you will be fearless.
Then you can know what
self you are defending. Then
you can know how best to
defend it. Then you can put
your kindness and strength
to good use. Then you can
be strong without being
militaristic, and peaceful
without being passive.
By the way, like a strong,
peaceful President, or many
a serious practitioner, it may
happen that you will not be
appreciated fully for your
sacrifices and good qualities.
It will happen that people
will stand in your way and
create difficulties for you.
You may feel alone. If you
are provoked to anger, don't
get angry. Just persevere in
doing what is right. Then at
the end of the day, at the end
of life, you will see that
what you have done is good
and will last.
Kobun Chino could split a
blade of grass at 25 yards.
His students had seen him
do it many times.
He and one of his students
were driving along the
Pacific Coast Highway one
day in the spring. He pulled
the car over to the side of
the road, opened the trunk,
and pulled out a 6-foot long
Japanese bow and a quiver
of hand carved arrows.
They walked across the road
to the cliff overlooking the
surging surf and the infinite
Pacific stretching to the
horizon. Had he looked up
the student would have seen
the equally infinite blue and
cloudless Pacific sky, but his
gaze was fixed on the hands
of his teacher, masterfully
nocking the arrow onto the
bow string and, with a subtle
intake of breath, drawing the
string back to its limit, his
own arms and back a part of
the bow, his focus as razor
sharp as the head of the
arrow.
The world froze for a
moment, and then over the
sound of the surf came the
sound of the arrow released,
the matsu kaze, the pine
wind, as the bow string
returned to rest.
The arrow flew in a high,
gigantic arc out over the
ocean.
Kobun Chino was a Zen
monk. He taught at a small
Zen practice center down the
Peninsula from the San
Francisco Zen Center. He
had been invited to come to
the US from Japan by
Suzuki Roshi who started
and led the San Francisco
center. But Kobun decided
against becoming too
involved with administering
a large institution. He
wanted to live a simple life
and sit in meditation. It was
at his small village Zendo
that Suzuki Roshi came and
spoke each Wednesday
evening for a while in the
late 60’s. The talks he gave
there later were published
under the title “Zen Mind
Beginner’s Mind,” one of
the most influential books in
the early years of the
American Zen movement.
The arrow disappeared for a
moment before the student’s
eyes, against the brilliance
of the California sky. It
reappeared, a dash against
the blue, hovered, and began
its long descent, gracefully
disappearing into the water.
Then the men returned the
bow and the empty quiver to
the trunk of their car and
drove away.
Recently, on a winter night
in New England, by
candlelight, in our own
small Zendo, that student,
now in his 60’s, told the
story of that day with his
teacher, 35 years ago.
Had a stranger or a beginner
seen this young Japanese
monk shoot arrows into the
sea, he may have believed
that the man was wasting
arrows. But this student had
seen Kobun split a blade of
grass at 25 yards. This
student knew Kobun as a
light-hearted but profoundly
serious man. And both knew
that teachers teach. Even if
they do not share a common
spoken language, students
and teachers do share their
human life. And their close
karmic connection can
sometimes bridge the divide
between lives better than
any spoken language.
What did Kobun teach that
day?
Could we say this was a
koan that Kobun presented
his student? A koan is
literally a public case, an
event reported and put up
for public scrutiny and
consideration. In the
Chinese legal tradition, it
was a term used to refer to a
legal precedent, used for
public consideration of a
question of law.
In the Zen tradition, a koan
is a public case on the
subject of enlightenment, on
the subject of the nature of
reality. They are used not as
a matter of metaphysical
speculation. In Buddhism it
is made clear that direct
insight into the nature of
reality is the only way we
can be free, permanently and
completely, from suffering.
Was he saying “Only this
moment”? Was he saying to
his student, a dedicated
practitioner: “Be concerned
only with the process, not
the target”?
Or was he saying that, in
practice as in life, there is no
particular target. That no
matter how perfect our aim,
our thought’s trajectory goes
into the infinite, our life’s
trajectory goes into the
infinite; that what we have is
only the point on the path
we are on right now; the
only action we can take is
the action we take right now.
That once our lives begin,
we go. Once we act, think or
speak, our actions or our
words take us directly,
unimpeded, into the heart of
vast reality?
Was he saying, “It’s fun to
shoot arrows into the sky
and the ocean”?
Kobun Chino died recently.
Having been awarded a
prestigious chair in
Religious Studies at Naropa
University, he was off on a
brief vacation with his
young family in
Switzerland. His five-year-
old daughter was swimming.
She went under the water
and did not come up. Kobun
went in after her to save her,
but they both drowned.
This marks the passing of
one of the great Zen teachers
to come to the west. And
yet, reflecting on what he
taught in that one moment
years ago, his action
inspiring our practice here
and now, it seems as if his
life continues to fly through
space and time.
How are you doing?
Busy. Real busy.
We hear responses like this
all the time.
Seeing someone we have not
seen in a while we take a
quick, breathless pause from
the pace of our life, and
greet our old friend with a
statement like this.
For a lot of us it is the first
thing that comes to mind.
Sometimes it is a statement
of pride. The implication is
that we are busy because we
are important, in demand,
engaged in the activities of
life.
Sometimes it is a complaint:
We are overtaxed,
overscheduled, tired.
Sometimes it is just a report
of our condition. On the run.
In our modern world we
have lost the idea that the
cultivation of a simple life
has value; that a simple life
is something to be sought
for its own sake.
Nowadays the phrase “a
simple life” resonates with
Paris Hilton and reality TV.
It is a corruption of the
phrase, a phrase that now
indicates not simplicity at
all, but rather a reduction in
status, lack of sophistication
and tedium.
But my teacher’s teacher
emphasized, as one of his
precepts of behavior for his
students, that they should
“Live a simple life.” He was
a great figure in the modern
martial arts, Chojun Miyagi,
founder of Goju Ryu karate.
If he recommended this we
ought to at least check it out,
and see why he felt it was so
important.
I can’t answer for him. But I
have an answer.
In our culture, from the
earliest age, children are
asked what they like and
what they dislike. What
flavor, what color, what
subject, what activity… In
the world of media our
children inhabit they are
relentlessly enticed by
appealing things – food,
toys, experiences – and
repelled by awful things –
like the bad guy in the
cartoon, or not having what
you want.
They (and us) are taught to
define ourselves by what we
like and dislike. And to act
on that basis to please
ourselves, pursuing
pleasurable things and
eradicating non-pleasurable
ones. It makes sense. It also
puts people on an endless
treadmill of dissatisfaction
and distraction. Inclining us
to do harm to get what we
want and destroy what we
don’t. Producing discord and
suffering. Setting us on a
course of action that will not
bring fulfillment or
happiness. But what it will
do is make us busy. The
more you buy into it the
busier you get.
What if there was a better
basis on which to make
choices in our lives? What if
we understood simplicity
itself as a valuable thing?
Is simplicity for
unmotivated losers who
won’t or can’t compete? Is
simplicity boring? There are
people who would like you
to think so.
As practitioners of martial
arts we need to understand
the value of the cultivation
of simplicity. If we fail to
recognize it we will get lost
in the superficial, in rank
and ego, in posturing, the
endless need for approval
and acknowledgement that
disturbs people and, when it
goes on too long, keeps
modern martial arts practice
shallow and hollow and
irrelevant to the genuine
issues that need to be faced
squarely. Without
understanding the
importance of simplicity in
the life of a warrior or
practitioner, we will fail to
penetrate the critical issues
of how to do effective self-
defense and of how to live
as a human being in the
modern world.
What does it mean to
cultivate simplicity? For one
thing we need to remember
that we are talking about
something you practice,
something you cultivate. It
is not a lifestyle choice, an
aesthetic, a design
sensibility or a slogan.
The cultivation of simplicity
is a habitual way of
addressing the constant flow
of disturbing emotions that
arise in our heart and mind,
that create distraction and
encumbrances in our
schedule and our
relationships, and obstruct
our breathing, posture and
the flow of energy in our
bodies.
What do we do with the
disturbing emotions that
arise in our mind? People
impelled to act on every
desire, every irritation,
appear unstable and
undisciplined. They remain
unaccomplished and
unhappy. Their condition
leads not to fulfillment but
exhaustion.
But engaging in deep
disciplined practice, putting
an end to the disturbances in
the mind and eliminating the
obstructions in the energy
flow of the breath and body,
has a different result.
Consistent practice of
martial arts and of
meditation for example –
consistent and sincere
practice, done daily, with the
right technique and the right
motivation – has a very
different effect on our lives;
very different from
attempting to find happiness
“out there” somewhere.
It creates conditions through
which we feel peaceful, and
alive. It protects us from
squandering our energy on
useless hurry. It frees us to
dedicate our energy and
attention to the benefit and
protection of the people who
depend on us. It allows us to
cultivate the skills of body
and mind that will take us
forward with decency,
nobility, purpose and the
calm, vigorous clarity that
you can see in the unusual
life of a Zen master or a
genuine warrior.
Such people do exist. They
are rare. You can be one. To
be strong and free is only
possible if you have a heart
free from greed and hatred.
To act spontaneously is only
possible for a person who is
well trained, and free from
distraction.
That will not happen by
chance. It will not happen if
we permit ourselves to be
encumbered with the endless
concerns proposed to us by
the cluttered cultural
environment in which we
modern people find
ourselves.
It will only be possible if we
take seriously Miyagi
Sensei’s admonition to live
with simplicity. It will only
be possible by the daily
cultivation of simplicity.
There is no one formula by
which to proceed. It is up to
each of us to find our way.
Taoism is a system of
Chinese belief based on the
teachings of Lao-Tsu (Tao
Te Ching) and others,
notably Chung Tzu, dating
from the 6th Century B.C. It
was originally a
philosophical system that
viewed the world in terms of
actions (not things as in the
West): Tao is the origin and
working principle of the
universe from which
developed powerful and
pervasive forces known as
Yin and Yang (negative and
positive), forces that in that
governed everything in their
interplay and functioning.
Balance between them was
natural and sought after, a
way of perfection. But,
almost contradictory to
Western readers, the path to
this balance is seen as one of
non-resistance. Principles
include non-opposition and
non-involvement in current
society and return to the
simple state of primitive
society. Perfection (Tao) is
seen as a way of simplicity,
harmony and cooperation
which suggests accepting
life as it is and fitting into its
flow while maintaining a
calm, serene demeanor.
Eventually within China
Taoism adopted the
trappings of religion,
although it did not become
an official religion until 165
A.D. when it started
adopting deities and later
concepts of heaven and hell
to compete with Buddhism
that was sweeping the
country. Taoism also
influenced the development
of Indian meditative
Buddhism in China at the
Shaolin Monastery into hsin
tsung, which was later
known as Zen in Japan.

Strategy: Lao Tsu wrote,

"There is nothing in the
world more soft and weak
than water, yet for attacking
things that are hard and
strong there is nothing that
surpasses it ... the soft
overcomes the hard; the
weak overcomes the strong."
This Taoism concept of
yielding has been adopted as
the operational strategy by
many Chinese and other
fighting systems and is the
basis of the Japanese
concepts of "Ju" or softness
and "Ai" (as in Aiki) or
blending and harmony that
serves as the conceptual
strategic principle in judo,
aikido, aiki-juitsu.

Esoteric Aspects: Later

stages of Taoist
development involved
religious based practices
involving special forms of
internal alchemy, practices
to build, centralize and
control internal forms of
energy (generally referred
together as Qi gong also
spelled Chi kung, (Kiko in
Japanese) to prolong life,
protect and build health and
eventually lead to
immortality. Many of these
practices used for health and
healing have recently
become known in the West
under the term Chi Kung, or
Qi gong, Kiko in Japanese
(that paralleled many similar
Yoga practices and
concepts, include that of
energy or Prana) and have
been incorporated as a
branch (Medical Chi Kung)
of Traditional Chinese
Medicine (others including
Acupuncture and Herbal
Medicine). Many practices
were also adopted by
branches of Buddhism
(including Japanese
Shingon) as well the internal
systems of Chinese martial
disciplines (building internal
Chi) as well as external
systems (as building Iron
Body). Through Shingon or
otherwise energy (Chi or Ki)
practices that developed in
China were later practiced
by many professional
warriors in Japan (bushi or
samurai) for a variety of
purposes, including healing.
Fudo Myo-o is a Japanese
deity (also know as Acala),
the God of Fire, a
manifestation of the central
sun (Vairocana), a fierce
God of Indian origin
although neither a Buddha
or Bodhisattva. A male, he
is usually portrayed as livid
blue in color with a terrible
facial expression sitting on a
rock surrounded by flames,
gripping a sword in the right
hand, a rope in the left, teeth
bared and with angry eyes.
The deity symbolizes the
mind that does not move, or
the body that is not unsettled
even when surrounded by
danger. The deity was
popular with the Japanese
warriors (bushi or samurai)
who saw themselves as
guardians of order in a
nation besieged with
disorder. See: Fudo, Fudo
Shin, Mushin.
Confucius was called Chung
Mi in his boyhood and is
also known as Kuang Fu
Tsu. A famous Chinese
philosopher, and frustrated
administrator and advisor to
various feudal lords within
the Federation of the Chow
(that followed Sung)
dynasty. His Chinese name
Kong-zi (or, Kong fu zi) has
been Romanticized into
western name of Confucius
(551-473 B.C.). Some
authorities say he was a
contemporary of Lao-Tsu.
Although he never wrote
down his teachings, his
disciples (who followed his
travels throughout the
Federation), upon his death
gathered his sayings and
beliefs they had memorized
into a book known as the
Analects of Confucius. The
book served as the basis of
his philosophy which had a
profound and pervasive
effect on people in later
generations when every
school pupil was required to
memorize his teachings and
educated adults were
expected to be well versed
in his philosophy. Based on
a belief in the inherent
goodness of man, Confucius
philosophy taught
(obligation) devotion to
family, loyalty to the
constituted authority
(personal loyalty to
immediate superiors and to
those above) as well as
ethical behavior, a ridged
code of honor and courtesy -
conduct based on good
example and higher
principles - which he
believed were the most
effective means of control
over personal action.
Confucius believed that law
failed on two fronts: It could
be circumvented and it could
not evoke a sense of shame
(a powerful self regulator)
over those who it sought to
control. He was a teacher of
ethics and morals as well as
an proponent of ancient
rites, ceremonies and songs.
His own life served as an
example to those who
followed. He lived in a time
of political and military
anarchy during which
central authority had been
eroded by political efforts to
usurp power and control
within the Federation (which
now comprises the
provinces of Shantung,
Honen and Shensei in
modern day China). The
distress of the Federation
was not seen as a result of
the political structure or
doctrines, but the faulty
functioning of people - the
loss of principles, ethics and
standards of behavior. Thus
his teachings stressed the
inculcation of gentlemanly
conduct, morals, sets of
obligations and ethics within
the population to set a
standard for conduct. His
general rule of conduct was,
"Do not unto others what
you would not have others
do unto you." His teachings
were propagated by his
grandson, who wrote The
Doctrine of The Mean.
Ch'an is a Chinese term for a
sect of meditative Buddhist
(later called Zen in Japan)
traced to an Indian monk,
Bodhidharma, of the
dhyana, or Pure Medication
sect (Buddhist) who as the
first Patriarch of the Shaolin
Monastery in China's Honen
province is credited as the
founder of Ch'an. Ch'an
traces its beginning to
Buddha himself who
according to legend
transmitted his doctrine to
his pupil Ksashyapa not by
words but by merely holding
up a flower and smiling. But
Bodhidharma was not the
only voice of meditative
Buddhism in China. The
doctrine of sudden
enlightenment had been
advocated by Tao-sheng as
early (434 B.C.), and Shih
kao (c. 150 A.D.) had also
practiced and taught the
meditative doctrine. By the
time of the sixth Patriarch,
Hui-neng at the end of the
Ming dynasty (1368-1644
AD) Ch'an became the
leading form of Buddhism in
Japan. Some maintain that
Hui-neng (others say his
pupil Shen hui) ultimately
perfected, or changed the
doctrine of Ch'an into a new
form. The former practices
of logic and use of logical
language and methods of
meditation were abandond.
Instead the new Ch'an
adopted doctrines of
"absence of thought" and
"seeing one's original
nature" and also used
illogical question and
answer methods - all aimed
at developing intuition,
intuition itself seen as the
true source of wisdom
(prajna), not rational
thought. In Japan Cha'an
became Zen, also known as
hsin tsung, or Mind
Doctrine.
Buddhism is the doctrine
preached by Buddha and its
later developments that hold
that suffering is inseparable
from existence, but that
extinction of worldly desire
and self leads to
enlightenment which
transcends existence and
suffering. Many sects of
Buddhism have evolved that
profess many forms of
doctrinal interpretation and
observance. In Japan both
Zen (meditative) and
Shingon (esoteric) Buddhist
sects profoundly affected the
development and teaching of
the martial arts (bujitsu) and
ways (Budo).
Buddha was(563-483 B.C.)
an Indian mystic named
Guatama Siddhartha who
founded Buddhism after
leaving his noble life as son
of a Prince in the Skaya clan
(Northern India) at age 29 to
search for truth. After
studying yoga, he devoted
himself to fasting and
asceticism before turning to
meditation. At the age of 35
he was enlightened at Buddh
Gaya thereby becoming the
first Buddha. He then
traveled throughout India
lecturing and preaching his
insights (Buddhism)
accompanied by five
disciples until his death
when he was cremated and
his ashes distributed to
Buddhist communities who
enshrined them. (2) One
who has attained spiritual
enlightenment in Buddhism.
At a minimum he was a
remarkable man. He was but
one of hundreds, if not
thousands, who ventured far
distances from India and
elsewhere to China to teach.
And while virtually ignored
historically in that country,
now after almost 1500 years
he is venerated in Japan, as
the great religious figure -
part mystic and part guru -
that originated Zen
Buddhism.

Bodhidharma's life has

become the stuff of fables
and legends - of mysterious
sightings and life after
death. It was reported that he
crossed a river floating on a
reed. And long after his
death he was seen walking
along a road wearing only
one sandal. The mystery
deepened when his tomb
was later opened and found
empty - save for a single
sandal.

These and other stories have

been immortalized over the
centuries in legends and in
paintings, on scrolls and
wood block prints. His
image is easily recognized -
a thick rounded body,
swaddled in robes, heavy
jowls, with thick bushy
eyebrows and beard that
frame large round eyes that
captivate. One Chinese
official reported after
meeting him and witnessing
his penetrating, intense stare
that Bodhidharma was the
most intimidating person he
had ever met.

In Japan today his likeness

is most popularly found in
homes and businesses
characterized in the form of
a round red "Dharma" doll,
comprised of a large face,
shoulders pushed down into
the trunk and without a neck
or body. The doll is
weighted at the bottom so if
pushed over, it ever rights
itself, symbolizing
perseverance through life.
The story goes that
Bodhidharma meditated
cross-legged facing a wall so
long that he lost his legs,
thus the doll's shape. To
keep from sleeping he also
cut off his eyelids and threw
them to he ground, from
which grew China's first tea
plants. And that's why, it is
said, Zen monks even to
today drink tea to keep
themselves awake during
meditation.
When purchased Dharma dolls have blank
eyes. It is customary to paint in one eye to
symbolize the beginning of a project or
challenge and to paint the second eye upon
completion.

But what is historical fact

and what is mystical legend?
What made this hermit
adventurer, this fierce,
enigmatic bareheaded and
scowling monk so
remarkable? It was his
revolutionary, crazy wisdom
that forever changed
Buddhism in China and
produced what the world
now calls Zen, a religion and
way of perception that
became central to the
Samurai warrior tradition
and later martial arts. He is
also credited with inspiring
the martial arts in China and
creating mystical teachings
of health and longevity (chi
Kung). In this multi-part
series we will examine
Bodhidharma and his
association with the
legendary Chinese Shaolin
temple, and delve into the
truth about his association
with the martial arts and
healing arts. The truth is, as
with many ancient Chinese
legends, both contradictory
and surprising.