The Practicality of the Martial Arts
When I tell people that I practice kendo—Japanese fencing—invariably I get a comment that it isn’t “very practical.” True we no longer live in an age when men armed with swords are strolling down the street ready to fight at a moment’s notice. But that doesn’t mean that it is an impractical activity.
In a society that worships sports, I find it ironic that a practical pursuit like kendo is disparaged, while an impractical sport like baseball, basketball, football, and, for that matter, boxing are considered “professions.” None of these activities have a practicality off the field or out of the ring. They are highly ritualized activities with set rules and parameters that have no historic application in the outside world.The argument for the value of traditional American sporting activities is that they promote good health, comradeship, sportsmanship, and a natural outlet for aggression. So does kendo. So why does kendo (or any martial art) get slammed with the practicality argument when sports don’t?
I think the simplest explanation is that most people don’t get the point of the martial arts. Other than a handful of people participating in things such as “mixed martial arts” (which, in my opinion, is a bastardization of the martial ethos) you can’t make money pursuing it. Glory is limited to the Olympics (for arts such as judo) and local or national tournaments. And there is little societal status to be gained from holding an advanced degree (at least in the United States). So what’s the point?
Sure you get in good shape, your reflexes speed up, you can handle yourself in tight situations (as a female judo team demonstrated a few years ago when they foiled a carjacking), and your confidence level increases.
But that’s not why I continue to follow the way of the sword—which is one of the toughest martial paths to tread. I continue because it demands so much of me; because it’s difficult. Kendo is brutal—full contact is the rule of engagement (there’s no pulling strikes; as a matter of fact Japanese kenshi complain that Americans don’t hit solidly or hard enough), the equipment is heavy, the physical demands are punishing, and perfection is not attained it is pursued. The demand to be your very best at every moment in every fiber of your being—body and soul together—is the greatest appeal for me. The goal is the pursuit, the doing, the learning, the perfecting. Scoring a point, being better than a fellow kenshi, attaining rank and status in the dojo is secondary at best (or worst as the case may be).
In the process of all the endless drills, the sweaty grueling fights, the winless tournaments, I think (I hope) I’ve become a better person—more centered, generous, better able to meet a challenge, and able to see what’s really important in one’s life (good health, family, friends). And if I haven’t or if I falter, it’s possible to improve another day. And if I attain the best in myself, I have to remember that I have to work to remain that way.
The key thing to remember is that kendo and all the other budo (warrior ways) are arts. They are a set of skills acquired by a particular means—in my case by the way of the sword—these are not some rarified, esoteric magic powers or knowledge. These are the skills for living. And this is something that I think many martial artists of today miss—they consider their art the same they would football or basketball as something that is separate from the rest of their lives; something that can’t or shouldn’t be integrated into their character. That’s missing the point. Being a martial artist means living a martial life—and that doesn’t mean following a path of carnage—quite the contrary. It means acquiring the skills to face life no matter what it throws at you.
