The Method of the Dao

"What your servant loves is the method of the Dao, something in advance of any art."

Image Source

The following story from Zhuangzi (Inner Chapters: "Nourishing the Lord of Life") describes an account that all traditional martial artists who have walked the martial arts path for some time, and all students of the Dao, understand and strive for. You can see different translations of the story of "The Dexterous Butcher" here. The version below is from the Chinese Text Project. 

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His cook was cutting up an ox for the ruler Wen Hui. Whenever he applied his hand, leaned forward with his shoulder, planted his foot, and employed the pressure of his knee, in the audible ripping off of the skin, and slicing operation of the knife, the sounds were all in regular cadence. Movements and sounds proceeded as in the dance of 'the Mulberry Forest' and the blended notes of the King Shou.' 

The ruler said, 'Ah! Admirable! That your art should have become so perfect!' 

Having finished his operation, the cook laid down his knife, and replied to the remark, 'What your servant loves is the method of the Dao, something in advance of any art. When I first began to cut up an ox, I saw nothing but the (entire) carcase. After three years I ceased to see it as a whole. Now I deal with it in a spirit-like manner, and do not look at it with my eyes. The use of my senses is discarded, and my spirit acts as it wills. Observing the natural lines, (my knife) slips through the great crevices and slides through the great cavities, taking advantage of the facilities thus presented. My art avoids the membranous ligatures, and much more the great bones. A good cook changes his knife every year; (it may have been injured) in cutting - an ordinary cook changes his every month - (it may have been) broken. Now my knife has been in use for nineteen years; it has cut up several thousand oxen, and yet its edge is as sharp as if it had newly come from the whetstone. There are the interstices of the joints, and the edge of the knife has no (appreciable) thickness; when that which is so thin enters where the interstice is, how easily it moves along! The blade has more than room enough. Nevertheless, whenever I come to a complicated joint, and see that there will be some difficulty, I proceed anxiously and with caution, not allowing my eyes to wander from the place, and moving my hand slowly. Then by a very slight movement of the knife, the part is quickly separated, and drops like (a clod of) earth to the ground. Then standing up with the knife in my hand, I look all round, and in a leisurely manner, with an air of satisfaction, wipe it clean, and put it in its sheath.' 

The ruler Wen Hui said, 'Excellent! I have heard the words of my cook, and learned from them the nourishment of (our) life.'

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This account is, of course, foremost a lesson about #efficacy, but there are much more to be learned from this Daoist anecdote that may be "nourishment" for our lives.

#orientalphilosophy #dao #tao #martialarts #philosophy

The Martial Arts as a Discipline and When It's Time to Stop Doing It

A while back I posted the following on 'The Way Martial Arts' -- Facebook page:

There is nothing wrong with practicing martial arts simply as a hobby and recreation. However, there is definitely a difference between those that practice the martial arts as a recreation and hobby, and those for whom it is a 'Way of Life.' When the martial arts become a 'Way', a 'Discipline', it becomes a wonderful journey of self-discovery and growth that transcends simply kicking and punching.

It made me think of my journey in the martial arts, which is in its 21st year currently. During this time I've trained with hundreds if not thousands of people, most of whom are not active in the martial arts anymore. The Taekwon-Do group I started with as a colour belt consisted of several dojang that had about 300 students. Of those 300, less than ten are still active in the martial arts that I know of. (The martial arts community is not that big, so it is not too difficult to keep track of the people that have been practicing for many years.)

My brother and I started our martial art journey together. Unfortunately circumstances have caused him to simply not have the time to devote to martial art practice. For me it was a little different in that when life threw its hardest curve balls at me, the martial arts provided a form of escape, a way to feel normal, a way to deal with the stress. When I went to the dojang, I could forget about not having money to pay my rent, or I could vent my anger through hard training, or I could alleviate depression through the endorphins released from exercise, or I could escape from my isolation through the interaction with fellow martial artists, or conversely sometimes when I wanted to get away from the people I lived with (I used to live in a commune) or the people I worked with, I could go to the dojang. The dojang became a sanctuary of sorts that helped with many problems. But, not all people find such comfort and support from martial arts training. For them it might be found in something else--another activity.

After my 2nd Dan promotion, the examiner gave a little speech to all the candidates. I still remember it, even after so many years has passed. He said that in life priorities will change. Some people, when they get married and have children, or might relocate, start a new job, or something else, and they might choose to give up the martial arts, and that is okay. I agree with him. The martial arts need not be a life long pursuit. For some people it is just a hobby.

However, it might be much more too. It might be a discipline. What the Koreans call "suhaeng" 수행. This is a type of practise, generally a physical practise aimed at mental discipline. For Koreans calligraphy, flower arrangement, or the tea ceremony, and of course many forms of martial arts, may be suhaeng. In Japan, nearly any activity can be considered such a discipline. The idea is to practise and practise and practise a particular activity until it becomes so ingrained, so natural, that it reflects the natural Do, the Tao. When you have mastered your craft to such a level, it has become much more than simply kicking and punching, pouring tea, arranging flowers, or painting characters on rice paper. It becomes a symbol for life itself. A type of meditation and a means to enlightenment.

Often times, when it was a long week, or I'm over worked, I might not feel like going to the dojang--to go kick and punch, to repeat patterns, to practise rolls and break falls, to do the same old basic motions that I have done thousands of times. Not to mention the hour long one way commute it takes me to get to the dojang: the fifteen minute walk to the bus stop, the bus ride, the train ride. After a long day at work that is not something I look forward to. Nevertheless, I go. I go because it has become part of me. I've been practising martial arts regularly for the greater portion of my life. It is a integral part of my life. It has shown me the value of discipline, of starting something and keeping at it, of not quitting even though I might feel like it. Recently one of my students who now joined the military posted the following on his Facebook feed.

The Army had me suffering from Taekwon-Do withdrawals. I miss the intensity, the spirit and perseverance of training in South Korea. In retrospect I can honestly say that Taekwon-Do has helped me tremendously to overcome and excel the physical and mental challenges that Army training has thrown at me this far. Every time I feel demotivated I turn my CTA or drill pad into a 'dojang'. When I run I turn my two mile into 'dojang'. When I shoot I turn it into 'dojang'. When I have to stand at attention I turn those 30 plus or 15 minutes into 'dojang'. When I have to control my emotions I think about those time I got kicked in the face, concussions, back pains, and kicked in the stomach while controlling my emotions in 'dojang'. I always talk about Taekwon-Do at every opportunity and training alone is not as fun. But this is one habit I never want to lose. Thank you Sahbumnim Kim Hoon and Soo-Shim Kwan for helping me achieve this.

He too had found the value in suhaeng. I won't be so brash to say one cannot find such lessons in other disciplines too, but the martial arts do present unique moments for growth. Having to control one's emotions after being kicked in the face is probably quite different from being pricked by a thorn while doing flower arrangement.

The martial arts is a unique journey. It is not for everyone, but keeping at it can definitely be rewarding. Priorities change and if that is the case for you, then be at peace with that. It is okay. Find your passion. One of my friends with whom I used to practise Hapkido, had a long struggle between Hapkido and his music (he is in a band). He couldn't find a balance between the two and eventually had to choose. He chose music. I'm happy for him, and although I know that he misses martial arts, the rewards he gets from following his music passion outweighs his lack in martial arts training. For him it is music that is his true suhaeng. Some people can find that sweet balance between multiple priorities. That is wonderful; but if you can't, it might be better to choose. It is better to follow the Pareto Principle, and focus on the few things that bring the greatest result.

Tao / 'Do' and War

This year I'll be starting my dissertation in martial arts philosophy as part of my doctoral program requirements. I'm planning to write on some of the paradoxes in martial arts and the Oriental philosophies they borrow from. Hence I'm starting to reread some of my notes. This reminded me of an article I wrote for the March 2012 issue of Totally Tae Kwon Do (Issue #34). The article was loosely based on some notes I made while traveling in Hong Kong in January of that year, but I never posted the whole article here, so I decided to do so now.

...ooOoo...

'Do' and War

By Sanko Lewis

Taoism, sometimes also written in English as Daoism, is one of the chief Oriental philosophies. The Tao or 'Do', as it is referred to in Korean, is the essence or natural order of things. 'Do' is often translated as “Way” (i.e. the Way of Nature and Heaven), or “Principle” (i.e. the Law of the Universe). Adherents of Taoism attempt to live in harmony with Nature and Heaven; in other words, according to the correct 'Way'.

The Chinese pictogram denoting the Tao / Do.

Principles of Taoism are also found in the Oriental martial arts. Consider how many martial arts actually contain “Do” as part of their name: Aikido, Hapkido, Jeet Kune Do, Judo, Tang Soo Do, and of course Taekwon-Do, to name just the obvious ones. This “Do”-suffix is a rather recent phenomenon in the names of martial arts. Although a recent practise, it does not take away from the fact that principles of the 'Do' are central to Oriental martial arts. Interestingly, while many martial arts, i.e. the study of war arts, are philosophically based on Taoism, Taoism looks with disfavour on war, and by implication looks with disfavour upon fighting. It is therefore well worth it to look into the Taoist view of fighting, battle and warfare and thereby consider if current views of fighting in styles like Taekwon-Do is in harmony with its underlying 'Do'-philosophy.

A painting of the Chinese philosopher
Laozi / Lao Tzu riding an ox,
who according to legend is the
author of the Tao Te Ching.
(Image Source)

The chief Taoist text is the Tao Te Ching, also known as the Laozi. According to the Laozi, war is brought on by human desire. Chapter 46 of the Laozi teaches:

There is no crime greater than having too many desires; There is no disaster greater than not being content; There is no misfortune greater than being covetous.

It is desire—not being satisfied—that causes war. Such desire is equated by the Laozi as cause for disasters and calamities. Hans-Goerg Moeller, in his introduction to the philosophy of the Tao Te Ching explains: “The Laozi does not make any rhetorical attempts to adorn warfare at all . . . war is primarily seen as a social disaster and, consequently, there are two very simple and practical attitudes that it advises. First: Avoid it. Second, if you cannot avoid it, win it with the least possible damage to yourself” (84).

War, and even victory in war, is not viewed favourably in Taoist thinking. If one were to follow the 'Do', one would avoid war at all cost, for war is a sign of failure to stay within the 'Do'. When a society has moved from a state of harmony, tranquility, and being in the will of “Nature and Heaven”, to a state of war, turmoil, and against “Nature and Heaven,” it has already failed to practise 'Do'. Within Taoist thought war is equated with disharmony—things being out of control, the orderly becoming disorderly, messy. War then, is a reactive attempt to clean up the mess. The ideal is not winning the war; the ideal is not having the situation get out of control—“messy”—in the first place. In Chapter 31 the Laozi says:

When victorious in war, one should observe the rites of mourning. 

Unlike other world views that may see war as a conflict between the righteous and unrighteous, the good guys versus the bad guys, the Laozi makes no such distinction. War is something to be mourned.  War is a disaster: “As a social disaster, war in the Laozi is also not a matter of collective pride,” (Moeller, 84) as is often the case in Western or Modern views of war. War, and by association fighting—even if you win, is nothing to be proud of. There is therefore no “heroism” in the 'Do'. Chapter 31 of the Laozi says:

There is no glory in victory, and to glorify it despite this is to exult the killing of men. One who exults in the killing of men will never have his way in the empire.

However, Taoist thought is not pacifistic. The legendary text on war strategy, The Art of War by Sun Tzu, is after all considered to be based on Taoist strategies. War, like other disasters, do occur, so the Laozi states in Chapter 80:

Let there be militia and weapons, but people do not use them. 

Taoist thought thus allows for the preparation for war, for having a defence force, but will try at all cost not to use them. The Laozi explains in Chapter 31:

Arms [weapons] are the instruments of ill omen, not of gentlemen. When one is compelled to use them, it is best to do so without relish.

When war is unavoidable the Taoist will engage in defensive, and level-headed, warfare. Chapter 68 says:

One who excels as a warrior does not appear formidable; One who excels in fighting is never roused in anger; One who excels in defeating his enemy does not join issue [do not engage the enemies].

Traditional martial arts often highlight the importance of avoiding conflict, of not getting into a fight; i.e. they “do not engage the enemies.” Chapter 69 teaches:

The strategists have a saying: “I dare not play the host but play the guest; I dare not advance an inch but retreat a foot instead.” . . . There is no disaster greater than taking on an enemy to easily. 

This may seem paradoxical as the thing practised, namely the art of fighting (martial arts), is avoided. A professional musician would not practise a musical instrument with the aim of never doing a musical recital; similarly, an artist would not practise painting with no ambition of one day having an art exhibit. Yet the traditional martial arts seem to suggest just this—the martial artist is told to practise, practise diligently, but to try and avoid fighting at all cost, to avoid the thing practised for. From a Western world view this is quite nonsensical. Not so, when viewed from a Taoist world view. The way of the 'Do' is the way of harmony. Going to war is viewed as something that occurs when things have gone wrong. For the 'Do', disharmony is a flaw in the system, a mistake in what ought to be a harmonious system.

"Paramedics do not train in their discipline with the
hope that people will get injured"
(Image Source)

Practise in the martial arts, is therefore, similar to practise in paramedics. Paramedics do not train in their discipline with the hope that people will get injured, but when an injury occurs they try to return the injured person to a state of healing. Studying paramedics is not a wish for injury, but a preparedness for when an injury occurs. In a similar way, the traditional martial artist do not practise martial arts with the hope of fighting, but when violent disharmony occurs, the martial artist attempts a form of rapid “damage control.” War, and by implication fighting, is always viewed as “social disaster,” as something that needs to be urgently remedied, cleaned up; the aim is not winning, but fixing the problem—returning society to a state of harmony with each other and with “Nature and Heaven.” Fighting is therefore avoided where possible. The Taoist martial artist “wins by mastering the 'efficacy of not fighting'” (Moeller, 80).

This does not mean that the Taoist view is against winning in battle. While fighting is to be avoided, the 'Do' has little praise for failure. To be in the 'Do', means to be effective. Efficacy is achieved when one acts in harmony with the 'Do', which is at the core of Taoist thought. Fighting and even winning a fight is not praised in Taoist thinking, but if you are going to fight, win, since winning is efficient and efficacy is part of the 'Do'.

Now compare the negative view of Taoist thought regarding war and fighting with the current prevalent view espoused by sport combat, be it Taekwon-Do tournaments, MMA competitions and UFC, or the wars going on in the world at present. Although sport, and by implication tournaments, may have some benefits, they more often than not cultivate desire [to have victory and win over someone else]; such desire is contrary to the Taoist aim for harmony, rather than disharmony. Martial arts that claim to be based on principles of the 'Do' may need to take inventory from time to time, to see if what they are teaching are still principles of ultimately achieving harmony; in order to, as the Taekwon-Do Oath proclaims, “build a more peaceful world.” Undoubtedly, world leaders that promulgate war may also benefit from a study in ancient philosophies. As for strategy, the 'Do' is all about achieving harmony—engaging the enemy is avoided as far as possible; however, when conflict cannot be avoided, swift and effective victory is advocated. This, too, is something that ought to be studied by students of martial arts based on the 'Do'.

References: 

Hans-George Moeller, 2006. The Philosophy of the Daodejing. Columbia University Press.
Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching.

Philosophical Congruence of the Sine Wave Motion

I have taken great pains to put ITF Taekwon-Do's sine wave motion within it's proper context, showing that it is not the be-all-and-end-all of ITF Taekwon-Do—the sine wave motion is definitely not an ever present feature in the sense that we are expected to make every technique conform to an artificial down-up-down template. And while it is a conspicuous part of ITF Taekwon-Do, it the not the most important feature of ITF Taekwon-Do. The technical principles of ITF Taekwon-Do, the Theory of Power and Training Secrets, refer to the sine wave motion peripherally. The sine wave motion is not itself a separate principle listed in the Theory of Power or Training Secrets.

Rather, the sine wave motion is merely one manifestation of a greater principle found in many martial arts—the Wave / Circle Principle, which is extrapolated from the Taoist concept of yin and yang as depicted in the Taijitu 太極圖 (yin-yang symbol, known in Korean as the Taegeukdo 태극도). In this post I want to show how the sine wave motion is in fact consistent with the Taoist philosophy that underscores the Oriental martial arts, and is furthermore in line with the Korean expression thereof. The sine wave motion firstly manifests the Taoist idea of the Taegeukdo, commonly understood as the forces of Yin and Yang (In Korean: Eum 음and Yang 양); and secondly, it corresponds with the Korean concept of Sam-Taegeuk 삼태극.

What ever may be said about the actual practicality of the sine wave motion for combat purposes aside, I believe that the application and inclusion of the sine wave motion in this Korean martial art is philosophically congruent with Korean traditional philosophy.

"Approach it [Tao] and there is no beginning; follow it and there is no end." -- Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching

Tao / 도

There are many martial arts that are based on ideas from the Tao 道. Many modern martial arts (martial arts that developed in the early 1900s) have the concept of Tao (aka "Do" 도) embedded in their names, consider for instance Taekwondo, Hapkido, Aikido, Judo, Tang Soo Do, and so on. Even older martial arts, particularly the Wudang styles (Chinese internal martial arts) are known for their Taoist connection. Unlike the Shaolin styles that have clearer Buddhist links (Shoalin kung fu was historically practised by Shaolin Buddhist monks in Buddhist monastaries), Wudang monks trained in Taoist monasteries. It is not surprising that strong elements of Taoism are to be found in the three primary Wudang styles: Taichi Chuan, Baqua Zang, and Xing-yi Chuan. For instance Taichi Chuan bases much of its movements on the oscillating hard and soft flow, the turns and inverted turns, of the Taijitu, similarly Xing-Yi Chuan's techniques are based on an oscillation of hard (Yang) and soft (Yin), albeit in a more linear fashion, while Baqua Zang's circular stepping mimics the Taoist concept of the I-Ching 易經. For the Wudang styles Taoist ideals form the basis of both their philosophy and their techniques.

The more modern martial arts (those with the "Do"-suffix in their names), may not always clearly illustrate Taoism at a technical level, but they do embrace Taoist principles such as the interplay of Ying (Eum) and Yang at a philosophical level.

ITF Taekwon-Do has, however, evolved towards a more technical embodiment of Taoist ideas in a way that makes the contemporary manifestation of ITF Taekwon-Do much more akin to Wudang styles than to its earlier way of moving that resembled linear Shotokan Karate. The way Taoist movement manifests in ITF Taekwon-Do is in its oscillation between emphasized moments of extreme relaxation, followed by momentary tension. ITF Taekwon-Do seems to be riding a wave of tranquility and explosive movement, of soft and hard, of base and vertex, of continual change. I've written elsewhere similarities I observe between ITF Taekwon-Do and such Chinese styles as Taichi Chuan and Xing-Yi Chuan.

Taijitu / 太極圖

As one would expect, such a Taiji / Taegeuk concept of soft and hard, of yielding and pushing, is hardly unique to Taekwondo. Many martial arts accept this as a foundational premise and some styles such as Judo is completely based on this notion of the interplay between soft (yielding) and hard (pushing or pulling). However, while we do see these concepts of soft and hard at work in Korean styles like ITF Taekwon-Do as well, we also see something else in the Korean art.

In a manner of speaking, the originally Chinese Taijitu 太極圖, which was also adopted into Japan, present a dualistic (two-dimensional) cosmology of two equal, but opposite forces working in harmony. The same is not exactly true for ancient Korean philosophy where the Taijitu was conformed to the Korean cosmology. First the Taiji(tu) became the Taegeuk(do) 태극(도) in the Korean paradigm.

Taegeukdo / 태극도

Superficially the Taijitu and the Taegeukdo may seem the same, but in fact the Taegeukdo is deliberately coloured. One of the forces is presented in red, and the other in blue. These colours have symbolic meanings, referring to "heaven" and "earth" respectively. Furthermore, the Korean Taegeuk generally do not have two dots as present in the Chinese Taiji. In Chinese cosmology the dots show how that the two opposite forces are connected with each other, the one already impregnated with the essence of the other. In Korean cosmology, however, the thing that connects the two forces is a third, different element, not an aspect of the opposite force. Korean philosophy proposes an amended Taegeuk that doesn't merely consist of two forces, but actually of three interacting forces, known as the Sam-Taegeuk 三太極. ("Sam" means three.)

Sam-Taegeuk / 三太極

The Sam-Taegeuk is a uniquely Korean expression of the Taegeuk. Where the normal Taijitu / Taegeuk consists of only two opposite forces / phases that are in continual change, the Sam-Taegeuk embraces three harmonious forces. The third, yellow force symbolizes man ("humanity"). This idea is traditionally known as Sam-Jae 삼재, but is now more commonly referred to as Sam-Yoso 삼요소, which directly translated means “three elements” or “triple essence”. The Sam-Taegeuk symbolizes the harmonious interplay between the forces of heaven (한을 / 천국), earth (토 / 지구), and man (사람 / 인간). In physical terms we might interpret these as a rising force, a lowering force, and a connecting or normalizing force.

What we find in ITF Taekwon-Do is not a pure adherence to the Taiji in the Chinese tradition that functions on a binary paradigm of two opposing forces working in harmony. Instead, ITF Taekwon-Do functions within a traditional Korean philosophical paradigm of the Sam-Taegeuk or Sam-Yoso. In Korean culture we most noticeably recognize the idea of “three” in the typical three-beat rhythm used for much of Korean traditional music. The same rhythm can be recognized in Korean martial arts. ITF Taekwon-Do, like Taekkyeon—Korea's folk martial art—follows Korea's traditional three beat rhythm, explained by Grandmaster Kimm He-Young: “Japanese [martial arts] have a two beat movement, 'block, punch', 'block, punch'. But the Korean body rhythm has 3 beats . . . one two three, one two three.” (I quoted Grandmaster Kimm before in a previous post dealing with a similar topic.) The three phased sine wave motion matches the “Korean body rhythm” and is in congruence with the Korean concept of Sam-Taegeuk. Or to phrase it differently, there is a harmony between ITF Taekwon-Do's sine wave motion and traditional Korean cosmology. Deeper inquiry into the Sam-Taegeuk and how this influence the Korean psyche and Korean kinaesthetics may be an interesting and possibly insightful endeavor.

Note that with this essay I did not attempt to argue in favour of the sine wave motion on technical grounds. I have done that elsewhere on this blog. My aim was merely to show that it is consistent with traditional Korean cosmology symbolized by the Sam-Taegeuk and reflected in the three beat Korean “body rhythm” as is also evident in Taekkyeon, Korea's folk martial art. In other words, it is reasonable to say that ITF Taekown-Do, like Taekkyeon, moves in a certain way because they are Korean martial arts that reflect Korean kinesthetics based on Korean philosophy and cosmology.

Related Posts:

• A Philosophical Look at Chon-Ji 
• The Wave / Circle Principle
• Balgyeong in ITF Taekwon-Do and the Taekkyeon Connection
• From Hard Style Karate to Soft Style Tai Chi

The Do: The Principle of Full and Empty Space

The following is an excerpt from the book Taekwondo: The Spirit of Korea (2000) by Steven D. Carpener, Jae Sik Suh and Edward H. Kim, from the chapter "The Technical Philosophy of Taekwondo" (p. 23-25). I'm sharing this excerpt as it very effectively explains the very important Princple of Full and Empty Space.  Interestingly, while this book was published by Korea's Ministry of Culture and Tourism as a type of glossy coffee table book rather than an official reference book, this is one of the few English sources that so succinctly explains this core principle in Taekwondo. 

. . .

Taekwondo's Taoist philosophy is expressed in the Tao (or Do in Korean) character found in taekwondo's name. The Do is generally understood as a way, path, or process one follows in anything one attempts. Do, as an Eastern philosophical concept is difficult to express in words. However, in describing taekwondo training it is possible to demonstrate how the Do elevates taekwondo from merely a spirited combat sport or self-defense technique to a way of expressing harmony between one's mental and physical states, and with one's environment.

The way the Do operates in taekwondo training must be understood in Asian philosophical terms. The general understanding of the Do is that it is a proper way to do something. In physical terms, this means when the body moves there is a proper way or path which that movement should follow to be most efficient, graceful, or appropriate. In taekwondo training, especially in sparring, this means that there is one most correct way to execute techniques in any given situation. This is the stage of skill. When one teaches a point where the body moves naturally according to the proper way or path, we say that one has mastered a particular skill. In taekwondo sparring, when one's movements are performed correctly according to the demands of the situation, one has experienced a moment of harmony between oneself and the opponent.

One of the key principles of the Do that makes this harmony possible is the principle of empty and full space. According to this principle, when two bodies interacts, the relative positions of those bodies in space and time create a continuous flowing exchange of full and empty space. Due to the limited number of ways the legs and arms can be used within the restrictions (rules) of sparring there are a fixed number of possible techniques. The result of this is that for every attack there are one or more perfectly complimentary counterattacks. And for every counterattack, there are one or more perfectly complimentary re-counterattacks. This means that each person knows what the likely responses to any given attack or counterattack will be. Therefore, the superior player is the one who can take advantage of the empty space created in the opponent's position by using speed, timing, and strategy.

The strategic aspect of taekwondo is especially fascinating. No other martial art uses kicking techniques with such finesse and accuracy. The superior player's body is able to predict or sense the moment when his or her opponent will surrender an instant of empty space which, if “filled” with the appropriate technique, results in a scoring strike that has the symmetry of two perfectly meshing gears. This moment, when a point is achieved by manipulating the principle of full and empty space, is not only the goal of sparring and competition, but can also be a moment of physical and mental harmony: the harmony of one's own spirit and body resulting in right action, and the harmony of one's fullness with the opponent's emptiness.

When approached in this way, taekwondo sparring is ripe with the potential for philosophical (educational) value. The moment of right action is very important not only in the sense that one's technique and spirit are correct but also because this is the instant when one has entered the level of the Do. It is the ultimate moment when one's body has found the way to fill the opponent's emptiness in the midst of fierce resistance. When one repeatedly experiences this harmony, the doors to higher understanding can be flung open. In fact, it may seem as if the secrets of the universe are being revealed through these quick, precise movements. The taekwondo practitioner then comes to see the opponent not as an adversary but rather, as the potential medium for creating a work of art, much as the sculptor does not merely see a piece of stone but, rather the creation waiting to be liberated.

Just as there is a technical or physical aesthetic in taekwondo, so also is there a spiritual aesthetic. In order to teach the level where one's techniques and movements approach the ideal, a great deal of training is needed. This training is a process which brings about mental and spiritual change.

. . .

The authentic practitioner understands that taekwondo is a way, a process, and not just a means to an end such as fighting skill or medals. This is the paradox of the Do; the authentic practitioner who values the internal process of development more than external rewards usually develops the best skills.

"Do and War" Q & A

My recent article in Totally Tae Kwon Do magazine regarding Daoism's disdain of war (and by implication all forms of fighting), garnered a response and interesting question from a reader. You can read the original question and response on the Totally Tae Kwon Do-forum, but for your convenience I've also posted it here, below:

Response & Question:

I enjoyed Sanko Lewis' article. It helps put the moral culture sections of the encyclopedias into context, so thanks Mr Lewis.


I understand that the Daoist idea is to return to the basic nature, and also that humans should avoid war at all costs. Don't those two goals contradict one another? Conflict is part of human nature and of [big N] Nature - apparently other primates have wars too. Perhaps Daoism needs to adjust to new knowledge like this?

Reply & Answer:

I'm glad you liked the article. 


The Moral Culture section [in the ITF Encyclopaedia] is indeed influenced by Daoism, but also very much by Confucianism and Buddhism. These three world views form the foundation for most moral ethics in Oriental thought. (Another Oriental philosophy contemplating war is Mohism which acts as a counterpoint to Confucianism and is therefore also worth looking into once we start thinking about Oriental moral issues, particularly those related to war and fighting. Then there is also the indigenous shamanistic culture of Korea that may also have had an influence on Taekwon-Do's Moral Culture.) My focus was on Daoism in particular, because it seems to be the philosophy most overtly alluded to by Oriental martial arts.


Regarding your thoughts on the seeming contradiction in human nature and Nature that seem to inherently include conflict: It looks like Daoism does not recognise conflict as the "Natural Way". Conflict is probably viewed in the same way as natural disasters, which is something that goes wrong when the natural balance is disturbed. That Nature itself could demonstrate such conflict ("natural disasters") does not seem to prove within the Daoist world view that such conflict is a natural part of Nature. Instead, within the Daoist world view such disasters / conflicts indicate something abnormal. The wars among primates, like the wars among humans, like natural disasters, all indicate an imbalance, an abnormality in Nature -- indicating being out of sync with the Way. 


On a side note regarding whether man is fundamentally evil or fundamentally good: there were two chief Oriental (Confucian) philosophers, Xunzi and Mencius, that were in direct opposition with each other on this very point. Your suggestion that conflict is natural to man, is in line with Xunzi. Interestingly the Christian world view seems to be a syncretism of the two, suggestion that man was originally innately good, but then became innately evil (aka "the Fall of Man"), but I'm not sure if such a view would have reconciled Xunzi and Mencius. 


If modern Daoists will attempt to "adjust to new knowledge" based on the Modern Scientific World View, is difficult to say. I'm not too familiar with modern Daoist teachings. I'm guessing, however, that such "adjustment to new knowledge" may alter the world view too much, in which case it may not properly be described as "Daoism" anymore.


In the end, all world views are based on a priori assumptions -- even the Modern Scientific World View is based on some assumptions. They are all different glasses used to look at the world through. It is impossible not to have such "glasses". The important thing is to know that you are functioning within a specific world view and to identify the possible limitations of one's world view. The limitations of Daoism may be that it does not recognise the "fallen" (conflict prone) state of mankind / Nature as innate; while the limitation of the Modern Scientific World View could be that it does not recognise the "Way", a sense of ultimate transcended Truth or Purpose.


Regards,
SL

The 'Do'-view on War and the Difference Between Traditional Martial Arts and Modern Combat Systems

While travelling I often read. One of the books I'm currently reading is on the 'Do' (aka Dao or Tao). Principles from the Daoist philosophy are quite prominent in Far Eastern martial arts; just think of the many martial arts that have 'Do' as part of their name: Aikido, Hapkido, Jeet Kune Do, Judo, Taekwon-Do, Tang Soo Do, etc. This 'Do'-suffix is actually a farely recent phenomenon, but it does not take a way from the fact that principles of the 'Do' are central to Oriental martial arts -- one can hardly see the taegeukdo (the yin-yang symbol) which is probably the most iconic of Daoist symbolism, without thinking of Oriental martial arts.

An interesting aspect of Daoist philosophy is how it views battle and war. War, and victory in war, is not viewed particularly favourfully. When a society has moved from a state of harmony, tranquility, and being in the will of "heaven", to a state of war, turmoil and against "heaven", it has already failed. War, then, may be a meens of getting back on course, but it is in itself a sign of failure. Within the Daoist philosophy war is seen as an act of cleaning up the mess. The ideal is not winning the war; the ideal is not having the situation get out of control, "messy" in the first place.

Hans-Georg Moeller, in his The Philosophy of the Daodejing, describe it this way: "The [Daodejing -- the main text on the 'Do'] does not make any rhetorical attempts to adorn warfare at all. In this text, war is primarily seen as a social disaster and, consequently, there are two very simple and practical attitudes that it advises. First: avoid it. Second, if you cannot avoid it, win it with the least possible damage to yourself."

Traditional martial arts often highlights the importance of avoiding conflict, of not getting into a fight. This may seem paradoxical as the thing practised, namely the art of fighting (martial arts), is avoided. One would not practise a musical instrument with the aim of never doing a recital, or practise sculpture or painting without hoping to one day have an exhibition of one's art work. Yet, the traditional martial arts seem to suggest just this -- the martial artists is told to practise, practise diligently, but to try and avoid fighting, avoid the thing practised for. From a Western philosophical standpoint this is quite nonsensical. Not so, when viewed from the Daodejing. The way of 'Do' is the way of harmony. Going to war is viewed as something that occurs when things have gone wrong. For the 'Do', disharmony is a flaw in the system, a mistake in what ought to be a harmonious system. Practise in the martial arts is similar as practise in paramedics. The paramedics do not train their discipline with the hope that people will get injured, but when an injury occurs they try to return the injured person to a state of healing, keeping in mind the erroneous circumstances. Similarly, the martial artists do not practise martial arts with the hope of fighting, but when violent disharmony occurs, the martial artists attempt a form of rappid "damage control". War is always viewed as "social disaster", as something that has gone wrong, as something that needs to be urgently remedied, cleaned up; the aim is not winning, but fixing the problem -- returning society to a state of harmony, with each other and with "heaven".

Now compare this view with the current prevelant view espoused by sport combat, be it Taekwon-Do tournaments, MMA fights / UFC championships, or the wars going on in the world at present.

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My Hapkido "Way"

Last night, 23 June 2011, I received my 2^nd Dan Hapkido Certificate. Ironically, it was exactly one year ago that I officially “quit” formal training at a hapkidojang and wrote the post below on one of my other blogs.

23 June 2010

Myself and one of the instructors at my previous hapkidojang.

Earlier this evening I went to see the Head of the Hapkido gym where I have been training since I came to Korea the first time. I went to tell him that I am discontinuing my regular training at his school and that I will instead continue my training in Hapkido on occasion with instructors irregularly, most likely over weekends. After explaining it to him, getting my black belt from where it hung between the other black belts, bowing to him and the other members in the dojang, and giving my final salute, I left the gym; feeling overwhelmingly sad. I have “outgrown” that school and the only way for me to progress is to leave it.

It is not that I have learned everything that that school and the master can teach me—far from it! There is still much I can learn. It is just that the ratio between what I am learning (and the rate at which I’m learning it) to the time, effort, and money I'm investing is not worth it for me at the present moment. I guess the language barrier has become a big contributing factor towards my decision. There is only so much one can learn via the monkey-see-monkey-do method. I've long passed that level in my martial art career. I am truly sad about leaving. This dojang was my very first and longest lasting martial art “home” in Korea. To tell my instructor that I’m leaving home is similar to a young bird leaving its nest. It is frightening. But it is also necessary because only outside the nest can the bird really mature. I’m not cutting all ties with the dojang; I will still visit there every so often; but for now, the bird has left the nest.

The moment I stepped out of the dojang, knowing that I’ve chosen a new path for my Hapkido-journey, I felt immediately homesick. I walked to a restaurant to have dinner, but had lost my appetite. When my food arrived I let it stand—pretending to let it cool off—for probably a quarter of an hour before I started to eat. While the decision caused melancholy, I am not regretting it. Another Hapkido instructor (and also a close friend) explained to me that there comes a time in every Hapkido practitioner’s journey that he has to find his own Do – “Way.”

When I arrived home tonight and read my emails, I saw a notice from a bookshop informing me that a Hapkido book I ordered had arrived. I’ll go pick it up tomorrow.

And now a year later. My Hapkido journey did not end. Although I have been studying Hapkido mostly informally since last year, there has nevertheless been growth. I've been reading books, watching instructional videos, applying principles, practised and even taught some Hapkido at The Way dojang.

I've learned so much from Hapkido. Ironically, I've learned so much about ITF Taekwon-Do from my study of other martial arts, especially Hapkido. I remember clearly before I came to Korea in 2006 the frustration I felt because I could see the Wave / Circle principle in ITF Taekwon-Do, I could intuit it, but I had no functional cognitive entry point to truly understand it, nor its application. I knew that I had to study a martial art that focusses on this principle and was eager to start studying Hapkido once I came to Korea. And as providence would have it, not only did I find a nice dojang to train at, but one of the instructors was also a 4^th Dan in ITF Taekwon-Do and we could discuss Hapkido using our common ITF Taekwon-Do language. I am convinced that both my Taekwon-Do and Hapkido training were enhanced by this. I also gained a great friend in the proses.

I've been eligible (time-wise) to test for 2^nd Dan probably since early 2009, but only got to it earlier this year. Honestly, it wasn't really something I actively thought about until Master Bae (7^th Dan) mentioned to me last year that I ought to do it. Because of my suspension of formal training last year I did not think about it again until a few months ago. 

I feel that now a new phase in my Hapkido journey has started once again. Part of it is to once more find the next part of my Do (“Way”). Will it involve the path I'm on at present? Will it involve seeking out new teachers and a new dojang? Will it involve more actively teaching Hapkido?

Moosool (무술), Mooye (무예) and Moodo (무도)

When I first came to Korea I was surprised to learn that in Korean there are three different expressions for “martial arts”: moosool (alternative Romanization: musul) 무술, mooye (muye) 무예, and moodo (mudo) 무도. Upon learning the meanings of these three expressions, I quickly understood the philosophical implications and this was confirmed in conversations with other martial artists.

You will notice that all three words have at its base the syllable moo- 무; it is therefore worth it to contemplate this root word. Moo / 무 is based on the Chinese character 武 and is usually used to express concepts of military, martial, or warlike. However, a closer look at the character 武 reveals a slightly different meaning. 武 is made up of two characters 戈 and 止. The former means “spear” and the latter “stop”; together they denote stopping a weapon or stopping violence. Although it would not be incorrect to translate moo / 武 / 무 as military, martial or warlike, it is noteworthy that the precise meaning contains the idea of stopping violence. It is therefore a defensive concept, rather than an offensive one.

Moosool / 무술 / 武術

The first term, and often the most common expression for martial arts in Korea is moosool / 무술. Sool / 술 / 術 literally means skill or technique. A better translation for moosool would be martial skill or martial technique – or even fighting techniques. Remember in kung-fu movies when a person would tell his opponent that “You're kung-fu is good,” well this is what he was expressing; i.e. “your skill / technique” is good. Moosool / 무술 refers specifically to the individual fighting techniques. Someone with beautiful, precise, power movements is said to have good skill or good technique.

A person enrolled into a martial art school will learn a variety of fighting techniques (moosool / 무술), and through lots of dedicated practise will get good at it. This term is focussed primarily on physical ability.

Mooye / 무예 / 武藝

The term -ye / 예 / 藝 means art, talent or craft. It is mooye / 무예 that is the expression we use in English, namely “martial art.” Art suggests a creative use of the techniques. Almost anyone can learn some skill, but not everyone has made it such a part of themselves, that they can use it artfully, where you can use it in an improvised way.

Before you can achieve this level where you can truly apply the skills you have learned in a creative, intuitive way, you have to have mastered your discipline. Such mastery takes about 10, 000 hours. Daniel Levitin in his book This Is Your Brain on Music: The Science of a Human Obsession explains:

“The emerging scientific picture is that 10,000 hours of practice is required to achieve the level of mastery associated with being a world-class expert in anything. In study after study, of composers, basketball players, fiction writers, ice skaters, concert pianists, chess players, master criminals, and what have you, this number comes up again and again.”

Ten thousand hours is about three hours of training per day for ten years.

Usually, after about ten years of training you would be a fourth degree black belt in ITF Taekwon-Do and considered a full instructor. Some other Korean martial arts like WTF Taekwon-Do, Tang Soo Do, and Hapkido actually use the term “master” for someone with a fourth degree black belt.

To call someone a martial artist is to suggest that this person has spent many years of time and energy in honing his martial art skills to such a level that he can adapt those skills in an improvised, creative way to different situations.

Moodo / 무도 / 武道

Image Source

The final way to express martial art in Korean is moodo / 무도. The term Do / 도 / 道 literally means path or way, but has a much deeper meaning in the Orient. It is the same character on which the philosophy of Taoism is based. Actually, the character for Tao is 道, and is pronounced do / 도 in Korean. So pertinent is the idea of the Do / 도 / 道, that it makes up part of the names of many martial arts, for instance Taekwon-Do (태권도 / 跆拳道), Tang Soo Do, Hapkido, Judo, and Aikido.

The scope of this post does not allow me to go much into the concept of the Do / 도 / 道as it a very complicated idea that has been the topic of philosophical, religious and moral conversations for centuries. In short, the Do / 도 / 道 is understood in Taoism as the “essential principle underlying existence,” in other words, “ultimate reality.” In Korean (Confucian) thinking, the Do / 도 / 道 is the way of the universe—natural way or true path—that one ought to follow.

Directly translated, Moodo / 무도 / 武道 means “martial way.” From Korean to English it is also sometimes translated as chivalry or knighthood. Koreans speak about moodo-in / 무도인; that is, “martial way person.” In Japanese the term for moodo / 무도 is budo, which is closes related to the concept of bushido / 武士道; i.e. the way of the warrior.

Moodo / 무도 not merely suggests learning fighting techniques, or even mastery of the art (mooye / 무예), but rather a way / Do / 도 of life. One's practise in the discipline has transcended skill and art (aesthetics) into ascetics. Your practise has become a spiritual discipline, a path towards enlightenment.

...ooOoo...

In summary, there are three ways to talk about the discipline of fighting in Korean: moosool / 무술, mooye / 무예 and moodo / 무도. All three contain the root word moo / 무, based on the Chinese character 武, which means to stop a weapon or stop violence and is usually translated as military, martial or warlike. Moosool / 무술 refers to the specific fighting techniques one learns. Mooye / 무예 suggests that after years of practise, the techniques have become such a part of you that you can use it in a creative, improvised way. It evokes a level of mastery. Finally, moodo / 무도 pertains to the martial arts as a way of life, an ascetic discipline. Each of these suggests a different phase in the growth of the martial artist. First he learns techniques. After years of dedicated practise his discipline becomes so ingrained that it manifests in the intuitive, improvised creativity that is a testimony to his mastery of the techniques. Finally, he becomes his practise—it is a way of life, that reveals to him something of the natural order of things, of the way of the universe.

The Wave / Circle Principle

In my previous post I emphasized the importance of differentiating between the sine wave motion and the wave principle. While I spent some time explaining what the sine wave motion is, I did not go into that much detail regarding the wave principle.

The wave principle is a much more abstract concept and therefore harder to define. To begin with, not all martial arts refer to it as the “wave” principle; it is often referred to as the circle principle or the Law of Change; that is, the Taegeuk (Tai-Chi in Chinese), i.e. the concept of Yin-Yang.

Image Source

To understand the relationship between a wave and a circle, it is important to know that a wave is basically the rotation of a point on a circle plotted over a path in time. The video below (similar to the image above) illustrates how a circle and a sine wave are related.




(See this video for a more detailed mathematical explanation of the relationship between a sine wave and the unit circle.)

Were you to change the perspective of this sine wave and view it in 3D you may see a helix (spiral) or a circle or even the Taegeuk. The animation below effectively demonstrates this.



So when one speaks of the wave principle, one is also meaning the circle principle or meaning the Taegeuk, which of course includes notions of hard and soft, offensive and defensive, firm/push and yield, and so on. It would be appropriate either way to speak of the wave principle or circle principle or Taekgeuk principle. They are all essentially the same thing, each just emphasizing a different aspect. When we discuss the circle principle we are probably stressing the rotation aspect. When we discuss the wave principle we are probably stressing the movement over a specific distance. When we discuss the Taegeuk we are probably stressing the interplay and oscillation of opposites: up and down, hard and soft, pushing and yielding. For the sake of simplicity I mostly just refer to it as the wave principle because it is so conspicuous in ITF Taekwon-Do’s sine wave movement; although it is present in many more ways throughout ITF Taekwon-Do and easily recognizable to anybody who understands how this principle can be expressed.

The wave principle encapsulates everything that is true of a circle. There are no sharp edges or rigid corners. Since there are no corners, a change in direction occurs smoothly via curves. When doing the sine wave motion, the practitioner is admonished to keep the wave smooth and natural; jerky motions are to be avoided.

The idea of a wave brings to mind rolling valleys and hills, ocean waves rising and dropping. The wave principle, as embodied in the Taegeuk, forms part of the Do ("Tao," in Chinese) meaning the natural Way of the universe. A martial artist wants herself to move as part of the Way, but try to get her opponent to move against the Way. She can achieve this through different means. She could uproot him, an approach often used in Tai Chi Chuan which involves breaking his balance. In Judo, the Judoka may actually lift her opponent of the ground to uproot him and so break his connection with the earth, placing him contrary to the Way. In Taekwon-Do one might employ a rising technique or unbalance the opponent with Taekwon-Do’s many (and highly underused) sweeping, checking and pushing techniques, in order to break his connection with the earth or the Way. Or she could do the opposite and instead of uprooting him, press him “into” the earth. According to one Taekwon-Do commentary, when hitting your opponent you should become part of the earth so that “your power amounts to that of the earth’s crash against him” (Philosophical Principle of Taekwon-Do, Chapter 34). You can do this by dropping your technique into the earth, moving and working with gravitational force -- many of Taekwon-Do’s techniques works on this principle; after the Judoka has uprooted her opponent she then crashes him, i.e. throws him, against the earth. However, to move “down” one has to have been “up” first.

It is my opinion that if they were to recognize the sine wave motion for what it is, a manifestation of the wave principle as found in many other martial arts like Tai Chi Chuan, Aikido or Systema, a greater degree of understanding and maybe even an appreciation of the sine wave motion would follow.