Budo and the Barbell

 Eastern Martial Arts Philosophy for Western Lifters and Bodybuilders

     In the past, I’ve written various “philosophy for lifters” pieces, but I haven’t done so in some time.  (In fact, I wrote a series called “Epictetus Pumps Iron” if you’re interested in the intersection of Greek, and later Roman, Stoic philosophy and training.)  I do write some budo pieces on occasion that deal with, primarily, the intersection of Japanese philosophy and the traditional Japanese martial ways.  However, since I get way more views for my classic bodybuilding and old-school strength training pieces, I thought it might be a good idea to write an essay on how lifters (bodybuilders, powerlifters, Crossfit athletes, et al) can benefit from the philosophy of budo.

     If you’re not familiar with budo, it’s a Japanese term that, literally translated, means “martial way” or “military way.”  The word is a compound of the word bu, meaning military, and do, meaning “the way.”  Do in Japanese would be essentially the same as the word tao (or, alternatively, dao) from the Chinese, signifying a path or a way of life.  (In the philosophy cum religion of Taoism, for instance, tao is also the underlying ultimate principle of reality, which I point out so that you will understand that do/way in this usage is more philosophical and all-encompassing than “way” in its typically Western parlance.)

     What follows are some philosophical concepts of budo that I think will be of help to lifters.

Maintain a Beginner’s Mind

     This is the one concept here that I also mentioned in my recent “stealing good ideas” essay.  I will go into a little more depth in this article.

     The term is often associated with—and for good reason—the Zen Buddhist master Shunryu Suzuki, who was instrumental in bringing Zen to America (along with the scholar of no relation, D.T. Suzuki).  In fact, his book “Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind,” introduced this very concept to the American public.  Beginner’s mind is a rough translation of the Japanese word shoshin.  Here is Suzuki in more detail on the concept:

     “In Japan we have the phrase shoshin, which means “beginner’s mind.” The goal of practice is always to keep our beginner’s mind. Suppose you recite the Prajna Paramita Sutra only once. It might be a very good recitation. But what would happen to you if you recited it twice, three times, four times, or more? You might easily lose your original attitude towards it. The same thing will happen in your other Zen practices. For a while you will keep your beginner’s mind, but if you continue to practice one, two, three years or more, although you may improve some, you are liable to lose the limitless meaning of original mind. 

     “For Zen students the most important thing is not to be dualistic. Our ‘original mind’ includes everything within itself. It is always rich and sufficient within itself. You should not lose your self-sufficient state of mind. This does not mean a closed mind, but actually an empty mind and a ready mind. If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything; it is open to everything. In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities; in the expert’s mind there are few.”

     You can see, without much in the way of imagination, how this would apply to lifting.  First, we must maintain a beginner’s mind in order to do our workouts day in and day out, week after week, month after month, and, yes, year after year without getting burned out.  Real lifters know this.  Lifting heavy weights isn’t something that you just “take up” to get big or strong, and then quit when you feel as if you’re big enough or strong enough.  But for this to happen—for our lifting to really, truly become a lifelong pursuit—we must do our best to approach each workout as if it’s new and fresh, the same way we did when we were beginners and first starting on our lifting journey.  (If you’re new to lifting right now, then try your best to keep this state of mind consistently as you progress.)

     This is also the reason that I believe it’s so important to continually learn all you can about training, and to try—and implement—new training plans, concepts, and methods on a fairly regular basis.  I’m not, of course, telling you to constantly try new, random things.  You must be systematic about this.  But since most training plans seem to only really work for about six weeks, it makes sense to constantly research new training methods that you can implement at least every few months.  This is also the reason that I still enjoy training so much.  I enjoy the constant learning of new methods, not just their application in the weight room.  And I believe that to also be important: you need to enjoy learning about training almost as much as the training itself.

     Second, keeping a beginner’s mind allows you to never think that you know more than you do, or it keeps you from believing that you already know pretty much everything there is about training.  Trust me, there is always more to learn.  Now, if I’m honest—and I don’t believe this to be arrogance but simply the truth—I do know a lot about lifting.  I’ve been lifting for 35 years, and along the way I’ve trained a lot of lifters, and I’ve competed in things as varied as powerlifting (for well over a decade), full-contact Kyokushin karate tournaments, and arm wrestling, which means that I’ve taken in more than my fair share of information about how to train, but I’m still learning.

     Along these lines, there is a popular story from Zen—but used in budo regularly, as well—that also applies here.  This story is so well-known and popular—maybe even “cliche” is the best word—that I remember hearing/seeing this story in the ‘80s when it was adapted as part of the story in the low-budget, straight-to-video martial arts movie No Retreat, No Surrender.  This movie has become something of a “cult” favorite (there is even a “Rifftrax” version of it).   The main character played by Kurt McKinney even learns his “empty your cup” lesson from the ghost of Bruce Lee, who is training him to take on the big baddie Jean Claude Van Damme (which should give you an idea of just what kind of movie we’re talking about here).  But the story as I originally read it goes something like this (there are some slightly different versions in books, and probably on the internet): 

     An American professor of Eastern Religions goes to Japan so that he can meet, and learn from, a well-known Zen master.  Finally, after much traveling, he arrives at the home of the Zen master, who is expecting him.  The master is serving tea.  He gestures toward an empty chair in front of him, and the professor takes a seat.  As soon as the professor is seated, he begins to go on and on about Zen this and Zen that.  But finally, he does manage to tell the master that he would really like to practice with him, and attain enlightenment.  The master says nothing, but pours their tea.  He pours the professor’s cup full, and keeps on pouring, the tea spilling onto the table, the floor, and even the professor.  “Stop! Stop!  My cup is full!” the professor screams.  “Then empty your cup,” the master says.

     The bottom line: constantly keep a beginner’s mind, and when you notice your mind has moved into the realm of “expert,” learn to empty your cup.  By doing both of these things, you’ll constantly progress, in the gym and in this thing called life.

Do Not, Under Any Circumstance, Depend on a Partial Feeling

     This is a saying that comes directly from the pen of (arguably) Japan’s greatest samurai, Miyamato Musashi.  Musashi lived in the 17th century, at the start of the Tokugawa Shogunate (the Edo period) when the country finally recovered from a series—and, honestly, from centuries—of civil wars.  With the country at (relative) peace, samurai looked for other ways to hone their skills… and to keep the true spirit of budo alive.  It was at this point that budo developed a philosophy closely linked to the country’s popular religions, such as Shinto, Confucianism, and different varieties of Buddhism (the 3 major religions of Edo-era Japan).

     Toward the end of his life, around the “ripe old age” of 60 (which, honestly, wasn’t young for a samurai that had fought in many duels to the death), Musashi penned his final work, “The Dokkodo,” which is a series of 21 aphorisms, or sayings, on how a budo practitioner should live.  The 3rd saying in his final work is, “do not, under any circumstance, depend on a partial feeling.”  

     We rarely make poor decisions—in life, in the gym when going for a PR, or in competition—when we are decisive.  Even then, if our decisive actions do fail, we will not regret what has been done.  For in holding nothing back, we have nothing to regret!

     Roshi Richard Collins (abbot of the New Orleans Zen Temple) has this to say about partial feelings and regret: "I have made some big mistakes in my life by acting on what I thought were wholehearted feelings, but most of my mistakes (at least the ones I have regretted) were decisions I made upon partial feelings.  Beginning Zen was not one of them.  Zen requires that we throw ourselves into the practice with a whole heart.  It is just as important to act this way in anything we do, with urgency and complete devotion, 'as though our hair is on fire.'  If we love our children in this way, choose our profession in this way, buy houses in this way, marry in this way—we may still make mistakes, but we are unlikely to suffer regrets, since there is nothing else we could have done, and we will not be haunted by the road not taken even if the road taken was not all it was cracked up to be."

     Always keep this in mind: In battle—even if the "battle" is going for a new personal record on one of the three powerlifts or entering a physique competition—a partial feeling will only lead to failure.  True success occurs when one makes the "correct" choice and acts wholeheartedly and decisively.

     To act wholeheartedly and decisively is to act without reservation.  Roshi Collins, in the quote above, says that Zen requires that we must throw ourselves wholeheartedly into practice.  That is true.  But anything that we wish to perfect—powerlifting, Olympic lifting, Crossfit, or just a goal to look good naked—requires the same commitment to wholehearted practice.

     With this in mind, let me add something that many people miss.  (Or, at the least, don’t exploit to the best of their benefit.)  To give yourself wholeheartedly to practice, to ensure that you are not dependent upon a partial feeling, you must not spread out your energy over multiple domains.  You need to be focused, and one-pointed in your goal.  If you spread your energy over multiple domains—if you want to be a world-class powerlifter, while also starting a new business that you expect to be successful, while also attempting to be a champion bodybuilder, while also creating a successful YouTube channel—then I can guarantee that you won’t succeed.  Even if you try your hardest for these multiple dreams to come true, and even if you have the talent in each area that would lead to your success, it simply won’t happen.  Each effort will end up being a partial effort, not a wholehearted one.  Pick one thing, and one thing only, in which you want to be successful, and give your absolute all to that one thing.

     Partial feelings, partial goals, and partial efforts disperse your energy over too many domains to succeed.  Along these same lines, you want to make sure you don’t do anything else that might disperse your energy and lead to a partial effort, even if you have honed in on one goal, and one goal only.  For instance, many people undermine their goal by talking about their goal.  As an author, for instance, I have met many people who never get around to writing the book they want to write because they talk about it all the damn time!  When you talk about your project, or the work you plan on putting into your goal, you are dispersing that energy needed for actually attaining the goal, and, subconsciously, at least, your mind has decided that you have already achieved that goal, so you no longer have the desired energy—you now have a partial energy—to pursue it to fruition.  So if your goal is to be a world-champion powerlifter or to have the best physique of anyone you personally know, do NOT go around talking about your goal.  You must simply, but wholeheartedly and unreservedly, give yourself over to the achievement of that one desire.

The Path is the Goal

     To be successful at any form of budo—be it judo, karate-do, kendo, or even modern MMA—you must love the training more than any results that you hope to achieve from it.  I believe it to be the same with lifting.  To really excel at any lifting—and I don’t care if it’s powerlifting, Olympic lifting, strongman, or bodybuilding—you must, essentially, lift just to lift.  In other words, the path itself (lifting) must be the goal.  If you love training, and look forward to each-and-every time that you head off to the gym, then you’re well on your way of embodying this concept.

     Don’t get me wrong.  If you’re new to training, then you have to, at the very least, simply love the results you are getting from the training, whether it’s your newfound strength or your better-looking physique.  But if you’re going to stick with it for the long term, for your lifetime, then you must fall in love with the training itself more than anything else.  And I think for most lifters who continue to train for years on end, this is true.

     One of the best ways to accomplish this love of lifting just to lift is to learn to be present during your workout session.  I have often thought of lifting as nothing more than an extension of my budo practice.  For me, there’s little difference between stepping through the doors of the dojo and stepping through the doors of a gym.  (Right now, they are literally one and the same for me, as both my gym and my dojo are in my garage—although I do, I must admit, train at a Korean dojang in town, as well.)  I write this because one of the things you must learn to do if you’re going to excel at budo is to be present in the dojo in both your mind AND your body.  The more that you can be present, the more that you can give yourself over to your training.  And I think one of the best ways to be present in your training is to do a limited number of movements while lifting.  Lifting as budo becomes even more true when performing only one or two exercises at each workout for multiple sets each.  A lot of lifters who train in both martial arts and Olympic lifting or powerlifting understand this the best—martial arts training (particularly Japanese budo) and Olympic/power lifting allow one to lose thought of self—what my karate sensei in the 1980s would often refer to as “mushin,” or no mind.

     I don’t think this can really be explained adequately in a relatively short essay such as this one, so I’m not going to even try to do so.  As my sensei was also fond of saying throughout the course of a training session: “Fight without fighting and think without thinking.”  He never attempted to explain this to anyone.  If you didn’t “get it”, or if it didn’t dawn on you at some point during your training, I doubt he thought there would be much point.

     The only way to understand this or to experience this directly is to train.  Training is the path.  The path is the goal.

SOURCES:

“Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind” by Shunryu Suzuki

“No Fear Zen” by Roshi Richard Collins