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Violence It seems to me that all things are relative, not just in a grand cosmic cornucopia, but in matched, usually opposite, pairs. Would day be as bright without the contrasting night? Would ice be as blue-cold without knowledge of fire? Would life be as precious without the grim stillness of death? Certainly not. In all areas of physical perception, we can find pairs of opposites that define the outside limits of a particular phenomenon. With most opposite pairs we can easily identify a midpoint, the middle-of-the-road reference mark they define. Dawn and dusk cleave night from day. Water separates ice from fire. Male and female meet at androgyny. There are examples of easily identified midpoints. But where is the mid-point between life and death, between virginity and its reciprocal, between peace and violence? Or, where is the midpoint between something and nothing? How can we discuss or even consider nothing? The mere attempt to define nothing turns it into something. One of the most baffling koans (Zen riddles that must be solved with instinct rather than logic, e.g., the sound of one hand clapping) I've encountered is this question of defining nothing. A key idea in Zen thought is "mu" or nothing -- complete void. This helps make Zen difficult if not completely impossible to define. The second we begin to outline nothing, we have transformed it into something and we must, at once, be wrong or at least hopelessly incomplete. This is why no definitive texts on Zen exist. It appears to be impossible to put on paper a complete survey of Zen. On any other subject I've ever developed interest in, I've been able to go to the library and find enough to satisfy curiosity. But the library's shelves were disappointingly empty on Zen. There were a few interesting small books on various personal experiences, but no single source masterwork. Even these books had an air of apology about them as though the authors knew the futility of their task. Once, in the company of two Zen men, my teacher George Anderson and the noted instructor Hidi Ochi from Binghamtom, N.Y., I bemoaned my failure to learn anything about Zen from books. They answered me with gales of laughter. I finally understood that Zen must be learned by personal experience, usually with some guidance. Not an ABC book of Zen, but a guide showing us the way down a road, one of, no doubt, many roads leading to the same destination. With Zen, there is simply the self seeking the self and then the found self seeking an understanding of nothing. Of course this definition must -- by definition -- be wrong! The particular road I travel with my teacher's guidance is martial arts. I'm sure there are many other avenues to self-knowledge, but this is the one I know. But how can a discipline that trains us to be efficient in violence possibly lead to self-knowledge? Seeking the self is Zen and one of the primary principles of Zen is peaceful nature: strive to never harm anything. How many times have I been asked how training in violence can create peaceful nature? An understandable paradox to a non-practitioner. Returning to the earlier idea of relativity, violence and peacefulness are a contrasting pair. To be truly peaceful we must understand something of violence. We cannot learn to properly defend against a sword unless we first learn how a sword is used. A true martial artist knows peaceful nature through possessing an understanding of violence and the ability to employ violence efficiently. To know violence but choosing not to employ it, this is the secret to self-knowledge through martial arts: to never bloody the sword is the finest victory. But wouldn't complete, intuitive knowledge of violence lead to an even more intense peaceful nature? Yes -- no question. For right-thinking people, personal, close experience with violence will eventually lead to intense gentleness. Violence is obscene. It is the most heinous of activities, the destruction of life. No matter what the circumstances, violence should be avoided. I did not say that violence should never be used, I said avoided. There is a difference. I do not condone pacifism. The natural instinct to survive is too strong to ignore. When we are faced with life-threatening circumstances, violence should be avoided vigorously. But if no other means will effect survival, use violence. A good natural law is: Never kill anything without reason. This can also be restated: If you have a reason, kill it. But be prepared to pay the price for your violence. You lose your peaceful nature forever. Just as virginity is irrevocable, peaceful nature, once abandoned, cannot be totally regained. There is an idea in Zen thought called "own." It is a kind of sacred obligation. If someone does a favor for us, we are duty bound to repay it. This repayment need not be made to the originator of the favor but can be fulfilled in other ways. For instance, if I am taught karate by my Sensei, I incur the obligation to practice and teach exactly as I was taught. (How then can martial arts ever change? Another koan.) What has this to do with violence? Everything. Can you imagine a stronger obligation to carry than the taking of a life? How can this ever possibly be repaid? You may spend your life helping others to be peaceful. You may spend your life regretting your violence. You may try to enjoy life to an intensity equal to the sum of lives you've ended. But no matter what efforts you put forth, you cannot discharge this "own." Their ghosts will follow you forever, a grim and relentless parade. This is the price you must be willing to pay if you employ violence. Personal experience with violence will intensify peaceful nature but is it worth the price? But remember, the survivors write the katas, don't they?
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