The ultimate aim of budo Japan's martial arts, such as jujitsu, kenjutsu, jojutsu (the art of using a cane as a weapon) and aikido, is not to win, but to erase the subject who wants to win. Herein lies a paradox: if one pursues to rigorously clear all the technical demands for effectively killing or injuring the enemy in the act of self-defense, it will inevitably lead to self-denial, which would enable one's body to act without giving the enemy any clues of possible action.
This sense of self-denial is an often-overlooked aspect of the martial arts and is the fundamental conceptual and technical basis of budo that developed in Japan under the strong influence of ancient Chinese philosophy. Laotzu, the ancient Chinese philosopher who founded Taoism, wrote in The Books of Laotzu: "Armed might involves the use of sinister methods. Noble men should not use them. Victory is not honorable. Those who rejoice in their victory take pleasure in killing people." The world has too many ways to kill or harm, but only a few embody the teachings of Laotzu in theory or in practice.
The martial arts that make up budo are among the few exceptions. Since budo does employ some "sinister methods," which should not exist in the first place, budo is often cast in a negative light. And because "victory is not honorable," those who practice budo go to considerable physical and spiritual effort to develop a sense of self that does not "rejoice in victory."
The obvious question is what physical skills are required to develop a fighting self that does not "rejoice in victory." First, budo is not a "pacifist" means of physical training. It is a system of skills designed exclusively to address a very real challenge: to effectively avoid an attack and to kill or disable the enemy. It has nothing to do with the sophistical self-justification of "fighting for peace." But exercising the technical efforts to achieve "victory" is meant to achieve "self-denial that does not seek victory."
This apparent paradox can be explained in terms of itsuki (fixation), a technical problem in budo Literally, itsuki is a state of physical immobility in which the feet are fixed as if the soles are glued to the floor. More generally, it refers to an extreme deterioration of physical functions due to psychological stress. Itsuki can be caused by a variety of psychological factors, the most serious of which is fear.
In plain language, itsuki is an extreme case of stage fright-nervousness felt when speaking to or performing before an audience. At such a time the person on the stage is not well aware of what he or she is saying or doing. just anticipating a "failure" can visibly weaken his or her physical functions.In budo itsuki occurs when the possibility of being killed or injured is very real.More specifically, fear grips the whole body when the "anticipation of danger" how the opponent will attack and what should be done to avoid the attack occupies the mind. In such a situation it is extremely difficult to move the body smoothly.
Thus, excessive concern for physical safety arouses anxiety and restricts body movement. The result is to increase the risk of death or injury. This vicious cycle involves itsuki.
Yagyau Munenori (1571-1646), the master swordsman who instructed the Toku gawa shoguns in swordsmanship, describes itsuki as an "illness" in Heiho Kadensho (Secret Family Book on Swordsmanship), written in 1632. In it, he writes: "Thinking solely of winning is an illness. Thinking solely of using tricks is also an illness. Thinking solely of using all the skills acquired is an illness, too. Thinking solely of taking advantage of the other side is an illness. Thinking solely of waiting for the other side to act is an illness. Worrying not to worry about these things is likewise an illness. Fixing your mind on one thing, whatever it is, is regarded as an illness" (ibid., Tokyo: Iwanami Shotan, Publishers, 1985, 51).
In budo in short, the "fixation" is the illness. It manifests itself in physical symptoms when attention is riveted on one and the same thing. Fixation not only hampers smooth body movement; it also means that information on your men- and physical conditions leaks out to your adversary through those symptoms. In an act of hostility it is almost suicidal to let the enemy know about your current mental and physical state or your next move.In
Takuan SW (1573-1645), the famous Zen monk, discusses the problem of fixation in Fudochi Sbinmyoroku, a book of swordsmanship, which he wrote for Yagyu Munenori to explain the secret of budo from a religious standpoint. In the book, Takuan writes: "The act of 'halting' means fixing your mind on something, whatever it is. In the case of budo, the moment you try to attack your adversary in reaction to the forward thrust of his sword, your attention is fixed on his sword. Thereupon, the adversary becomes aware of your next move and will slash you before you slash him. This is 'halting'. " (ibid., in Nihon Tetsugaku Shiso Zensho [Collection of Japanese Philosophical Thought], Tokyo: Heibonsha Ltd., Publishers. 1957, vol. 15, I3).
Such explanations should make it clear that revealing your consciousness through bodily symptoms is anathema to budoA variety of approaches can be taken to overcome the technical problem of itsuki. The question is what should be clone to prevent one's consciousness from being revealed in bodily symptoms. First, it is necessary to answer another question: that of how one's consciousness reveals itself through bodily symptoms.The answer is that the consciousness what you think or feel- itself through symptoms as a thought or feel ing is transmitted to parts of the body through the nervous system.
A conscious physical movement nor mally follows this sequence: Motive information received by the senses is transmitted along the central nervous system; the brain's nerve center issues an order in response to the stimulus transmitted; the order is then conveyed to the motor nerves, which trigger movement in the relevant muscles.Given this circumferential-central scheme of body movement, a specific thought or feeling inevitably manifests itself in bodily symptoms. Since information is processed from the top down through the central nervous system, Such information is also distributed to other parts of the body that relate to that particular move.Given In budo, this is called okori (preliminary move). It refers to a physical condi tion in which a thought or feeling manifests itself in preliminary physical symp toms as information is transmitted through the nervous system. In other words, when a part of the body is about to move in response to a stimulus, other related parts of the body begin to make preliminary moves slightly before that particular part actually moves.
For instance, when you are about to catch something in your hand, your eyes focus on the object first, then the shoulder supporting the catching arm stiffens slightly. Eye movement and shoulder stiffening are the most commonly observed forms of okori just before the arm moves. From these subtle physical signs a budoka can easily anticipate the adversary's next move. According to philoso pher Watsuji Tetsuro's essay, "Bunrakuza no Ningyo-Shibai" (Puppet Plays at Bunraku Theater, 1935), in a noh play the performer is required to completely erase his eye and shoulder moves. In a kabuki play, however, eye and shoulder moves are exaggerated. Considering that noh was once peformed at ceremonies held by the warrior class, it seems only natural that "okori-free movement" is considered ideal in a noh dance. In the catching example, okori can be "erased" by preventing metsuke (eye focus) or shoulder stiffening. Under the "center-to-periphery" tree-to-branch com inand system, however, it is impossible to prevent motive information from being spread to other parts of the body and thereby "leaked" to the adversary.In theory, the only way to erase okori is to move your hands and feet without an instruction from the central nervous system. To do so, the body must process instructions directly, without intervention of the nerve center.
Takuan describes this noncerebral body movement as sekka no ki (the moment of a flint spark). The term refers to a mental and physical state that enables the body to respond instantly, or unconsciously, to a given physical stimulus. In Fudochi Sbinmyoroku, the Zen master writes: "There is the word 'sekka no ki.' It refers to the fact that a flint sparks when it is struck, with no interval of time between striking and sparking. This illustrates that when something happens instantly there is no time to fix the mind on it. ... Suppose a certain Uemon is called by name. If he instantly replies 'yes,' he is in fudoshin' (mentally unmoved). If he wonders why he was called and asks 'What can I do for you?' then he is perturbed" (ibid., 18-19). Thus, when the name is called, a reply is made immediately without taking a mental detour through the nerve center-that is, without thinking at all why the name has been called. What exists here is only a call and a reply. The function of questioning the meaning of the call-the cerebral, conscious "me"-does not exist here.
Ideal Body Movement
Takuan's ideal for body movement is that one should move without thinking. By this analogy, one should only reply "yes" without wondering why he has been called. The body that moves without thought, or the body that reacts with out the involvement of the nerve center-that is, without the thought of a given stimulus-may be called the noncerebral body. The noncerebral body is not a body that moves quickly, but a body Without a nerve center that integrates sensory information and issues integral instructions to the entire body. It is an "anarchic" body, or what French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan described as le corps morcele-"a fragmented body"-a concept of the body a baby has before developing a sense of self as a unified, separate whole.
Probably the easiest way to understand this concept of the noncerebral body is to use the model of a puppet. A puppet is fragmented, with each of its sepa rate parts, such as hands and feet, moving with the pull of a single string. For example, moving an arm only requires movement of the arm. It is not necessary for a puppet-as distinct from a human being-to move its head and focus its eyes or to provide a point of support in the shoulder. The puppet stands sud denly, halts suddenly, changes direction suddenly, or collapses suddenly-all without issuing any signal in advance.
How will a man and a puppet, standing side by side, react physically to the same signal? It is easy to imagine which move will appear more "unexpected." The puppet's move will look more abrupt than that of the human. This is because a human being, no matter how -hard he may try, cannot completely erase preliminary moves, or okori. The puppet moves without okori. From the perspective of budo, it moves very quickly. in fact, books on budo often cite the puppet as an example of the noncerebral body. Yagyu Munenori describes the ideal budo-trained body this way: "After repeat ed training you lose a desire to use your skills fast and well. When doing some thing, whatever it is, you cease to think. Both the act of thinking and the object of thinking disappear. You come to feel as if you are a doll in a puppet show" (Heiho Kadensho, 58).
Takuan cites the scarecrow as the ideal model of the budo-trained body. He writes: "When you have mastered budo your body knows what to do, so that you do not have to think... . When your body moves, your mind is not fixed anywhere, so that it is impossible to know from the outside what your mind is aiming for. As the object of thinking and the act of thinking disappear, you feel like a scarecrow in a paddy" (Fudochi Sbinmyoroku, 16). From the common-sense perspective, a puppet or scarecrow seems far removed from the quickness or strength of movement. Yet ancient books of budo cite them as examples of the ideal body. One reason is that a puppet or scarecrow offers a technically ideal model for okori-free movement.
Move Like a Puppet
In my practice sessions of aikido (an art of self-defense derived from jujitsu), I say, "Move the body like a puppet," since it is a very effective metaphor for grasping the proper image of body movement. Consider foot movement (unsoku), for example. If you are aware that "I am moving my foot forward on instructions from the 'me' that controls the body," you are moving cerebrally. In other words, you make a series of conscious moves. First, you provide a point of support in one of your feet and transfer your weight to it. Next, while hold ing that foot steady, you move the other foot forward.
To help novices understand how to move the body properly, like a puppet, I tell them to imagine a real puppet. Let me use myself as an example. My body is manipulated externally by strings-by someone else. When a string tied to one of the shoulders is suddenly pulled, my body loses balance and leans forward abruptly. At the same time, one of my feet steps forward. In this case, the point of support for foot movement does not exist within the body. The point of sup port is provided by the imaginary puppet master that exists outside my body. Such a move is noncerebral. In cerebral foot movement, the point of support is provided by the foot serv ing as the axis for the other foot. that moves forward. The weight applied to the axis foot manifests itself as okori. in noncerebral foot movement, however, the other foot moves instantly without any preparatory movement.
Such a puppet-like movement is made when one gets a step closer to the adversary. The puppet analogy can also be used to explain other acts, such as kiri (slashing the enemy with a sword). This cerebral act-when the movement of the sword is centrally controlled by the conscious "me"-causes a hinge motion in the shoulder joint. This motion is similar to that of the arm of a windshield wiper, which moves within a given radius from a fixed center. Likewise, the human arm can move only within a given radius from the shoulder joint. Since the center and radius of its circular movement are fixed, it is readily predictable how far the point of the sword will move. From budo's point of view, such swordplay has almost no effect. For the act of kiri to be effective, the sword must be manipulated so the adversary cannot anticipate where and how far its point will move. in other words, the sword's point must move along a circle whose center keeps shifting and whose radius keeps changing. It is difficult to move the sword in such a complex way if the arms are used consciously. But if the "me" is erased momentarily, the sword's point of support will shift to the imaginary point of support "outside of me," and the sword will begin to move smoothly.
Imagine, for instance, that you are a puppet samurai moving a sword from middle-guard to overhead position. Do not try to move the sword with your arms.instead, allow the swordpoint to move together with your arms as if they are being lifted simultaneously by strings pulled by the puppet master above your head. Then the sword's point will reach overhead in an almost linear orbit (actually a part of the circumference of a circle whose radius keeps extending), instead of following a circular motion similar to that of the hinge. When the sword moves in reverse (imagine that the string holding the sword's point has suddenly snapped), an act of kiri from the overhead position is accomplished. The sword goes into free fall and reaches middle-guard position in the shortest possible distance and time and with the least possible energy.
This is the basic pattern of kiri. In both unsoku and kiri, the technical challenge is to strip the self completely of its consciousness and place the body in a puppet-like state by creating an imaginary manipulator of body movement outside the self and shifting the point of support and okori. Such a move does not reveal okori, thus making it extremely difficult for the adversary to anticipate the next move. It represents the ideal body movement in budo. Moreover, the absence of an internal center does not only relate to the physical level; paradoxically, it also relates directly to the functions of the self. The Books of Chuangtzu, by another ancient Chinese philosopher, cites the parable of a "wooden rooster" to explain the noncerebal self, or the noncognitive "me."
In the story, a man tries to train a fighting cock for the king, but it does not follow the trainer's orders. For many days the rooster remains combative, always looking for an enemy. However, some 40 days later, the cock is "finished," or fully trained. The man tells the king, "Seen from a distance, it looks like a wooden sculpture of a fighting cock. It seems to have a power all its own. Other roosters will not dare to confront it but will flee from it."
No Self to Protect
The moral is this: As long as the rooster tries to threaten its enemy and to make itself strong, it is "unfinished" as a fighting cock. When it forgets the enemy and forgets itself, the rooster becomes truly strong. A person in the state of a wooden rooster has no self to protect and no cerebral self. A person in this state moves perfectly, without showing any okori symptom. He moves in a noncerebral way. Moreover, being free from the desire to protect himself, the person in the state of a wooden rooster undergoes no itsuki when fighting, because he does not experience any anxiety or stress resulting from the anticipation of danger.The wooden rooster in The Books of Chuangtzu represents the ideal state of budo. That is why it is cited repeatedly in various books on budo. including Neko no Myojutsu (The Nimble Tactics of a Cat), a book on budo written in the Edo period.
The paradox in Chuangtzu's theory is that the strongest body movement can be achieved only when the concept of self-protection is abandoned. The desire to "protect me" from an attack always manifests itself in bodily symptoms. These physical manifestations weaken bodily abilities in the form of itsuki and leak out mental and physical information in the form of okori. To prevent these, one must learn to make noncerebral moves. And learning to make these moves inevitably demands that the very concept of self-protection be erased completely. Put another way, to win you must give up the desire to win. To protect your self, you must give up the desire to protect yourself. Naturally, when you are free from the desire to beat your enemy, you have no enemy to beat. Once you for get about yourself, there is no self to protect.
To attain technical perfection in budo you must first forsake the initial motive of protecting yourself and of effectively killing or harming your enemy. Only by doing so can you exceed the technical limits of movement. Technical perfection in budo demands the erasion of the very self that desires to win. This is the meaning of self- in budo Indeed, self-denial has been the hallmark of budo since it was branded at its inception as a system of "sinister methods."Budo has little or no use as a practical means of fighting in the contemporary world, because no one thinks of war as something that can be waged with swords, canes or bare hands. Even so, many people are fascinated by budo Why? Perhaps because they find a certain wisdom in budo's paradox.