Bob Hubbard
01-02-2006, 01:39 AM
Beyond Violence: An Analysis of Gandhi’s Relevance for the Martial Arts
By Peter Leman
Introduction
At first glance, some may consider Gandhi an unlikely source for insight into the martial arts. A small man who took to wearing the peasant, homespun clothes of his native India in later life, Gandhi was thin, timid, and even afraid early in his career of speaking in public—hardly the picture of the “perfect warrior” many have come to idealize in the martial arts. He did not train in any martial art. He was never a soldier or fighter in the traditional sense that limits such terms to people wielding guns, swords, and heavy fists. However, Gandhi did have something in common with martial artists. He was concerned with violence. He was concerned with injustice, and he labored tirelessly to combat the injustices he experienced and witnessed in his day. In that sense, Gandhi was a fighter, but his weapon was not one of bullets or blades or devastation—his weapon, ironically, was non-violence.
Martial artists are also concerned with violence, but to defend themselves against it, they train in techniques of violence. Such training is often governed by a moral code of some sort that precludes them from using their skills indiscriminately to do deliberate harm, but they learn violent techniques nonetheless—whether or not they become violent individuals.
This article intends to compare the respective approaches to violence offered by Gandhi and the martial arts. There are similarities but also differences, and both offer enlightening possibilities to an understanding of the nature of violence and the role of philosophy in the martial arts. Furthermore, by a certain perspective, inasmuch as the martial arts can be considered a journey, a path, or a “way”—as most are—toward self and societal improvement, Gandhi’s philosophy allows for the martial artist’s approach to violence to a certain point; but he offers a way to go beyond that point. If a martial artist’s objective—and this is arguable—is to achieve spiritual and physical excellence and to resist violence and injustice, then by understanding and integrating Gandhi’s philosophy, he or she may accomplish those objectives in a way unprecedented in the martial arts.
Background
Before fully comparing the philosophies of Gandhi and the martial arts, it may first be useful to briefly introduce Gandhi as a person. For while his name is revered in American, Indian, and other cultures and synonymous with peaceful endeavors, the details of his life are not always known. Being aware of the experiences that led to the development of Gandhi’s character will aid us in understanding his philosophy.
Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi was born in Porbunder, Kathiawar, India, on October 2, 1869. He was the youngest of three sons and, after attending school in his native country, he traveled to London to study law. Gandhi was said to have struggled “with insecurities and personal shortcomings,” and even after returning to India to practice law, he was painfully afraid of speaking in public. After a failed effort during his first court appearance, Gandhi’s law practice “fizzled out,” and he decided to follow an offer for legal work in South Africa (Gruzalski, 2001: 1).
While in South Africa, Gandhi experienced “for the first time, the racism that Indians in South Africa suffered as part of their daily life” (Gruzalski, 2001: 2). One experience in particular began to open Gandhi’s eyes to inequalities and injustices and began to set in motion many of the ideas and sensitivities that would later influence his philosophy. Not long after arriving in South Africa, Gandhi boarded a train from Durban to Pretoria where the case he was working on was to be tried. Dressed in some of his best clothes, Gandhi bought a first class ticket and embarked on the journey. At one of the stops, a white man entered Gandhi’s compartment, paused, and hurriedly left. Soon after, the man returned with two train officials who told Gandhi, “You’ll have to go to the baggage car where you belong.” Gandhi replied, “But I have a first class ticket.” The white officials were not impressed, and after continued argument, police came and threw Gandhi onto the station platform with his luggage. He watched as the train pulled away (Kytle, 1969: 47).
Shaken and alone, with no means of immediately continuing his journey, Gandhi remained all night in the railway station where he was dumped. “Nobody knows quite what happened to him that night,” Calvin Kytle (1969) comments (p. 48). “One can only know for certain that he was in a state of crisis and that he came out of it surer, calmer, wiser, and much, much older” (p. 49). Though he was deeply upset and considered returning to India, Gandhi resolved to stay. Kytle continues, “Thus, at some moment between midnight and dawn, Mohandas Gandhi learned that he could live in the world only if he committed himself to a lifelong effort to reform it.”
Gandhi became deeply involved in politics in South Africa, overcoming his insecurities and fears and lobbying with great power for the fair treatment of his people. He later returned to India where he continued to labor against oppression and tyranny. It would take much time and space to present many more specifics about Gandhi’s life, but since his philosophy is our primary concern, suffice it to say that he changed the course of history for a nation. And he did so through non-violent means. His efforts were not, as some might perceive, characterized by passive resistance. “Passive” is a highly inaccurate description. Active nonviolent resistance is far more apt. This type of resistance, indeed a way of life for him, Gandhi (2002) called satyagraha—the force of truth (p. 49). Before going into additional detail on this matter, however, let us first examine some of the philosophies of the martial arts to see where they can take martial artists in their understanding of violence and moral duties.
Martial Arts Philosophy
According to a certain interpretation of Gandhi’s philosophy, possible reactions to violence can be plotted on an ascending continuum according to the motivation underlying the action and, therefore, also according to the action’s moral acceptability. At the bottom, and the least acceptable, is passive reaction (submission or flight) motivated by fear. Next is violence motivated by courage and bravery (self defense), and finally, nonviolence motivated by courage, bravery, and love. The second of these, often called justified violence, typifies martial arts philosophy. For while most martial systems maintain that a peaceful outcome is ideal (as when Sun Tzu declared, “To win one hundred victories in one hundred battles is not the highest skill. To subdue the enemy without fighting is the highest skill” [qtd. in Hyams, 1982: 134]), martial artists would not train in techniques of self defense if they did not think that one day, in the “right” circumstances, it would be necessary to fight, to use violence in combating an unyielding and immoral threat of violence. As students in Hwang’s Martial Arts Academy recite at the end of each class, one must “Never attack without reason.” But the right reason can justify an attack.
At this level on the scale described above, one can achieve greater development as a person, success as a martial artist, and a more refined moral sensibility than on the lower levels where fear drives one’s behavior. The philosophy of justified violence in the martial arts maintains that misuse of one’s abilities is unacceptable. Without this philosophy, the martial arts would likely do little more than produce blindly violent people. In fact, Patrick McCarthy, a martial arts expert and well-known authority in the history of Okinawan fighting traditions, says, “Karatedo cannot exist without a body of moral philosophy to govern the behavior of those who embrace its empowering practice. Learning karatedo without its corresponding philosophy creates a terrible imbalance which is usually reflected in attitude, character, and behavior” (Wiley, 2000: 14). But learning karatedo with its philosophy leads, ideally, to a positive attitude, moral character, and behavior reflecting a balanced perspective of the world and the purpose and appropriate uses of one’s skills. This is a state worth striving for, indeed.
Another account that beautifully expresses the moral philosophy of the martial arts comes from an eighteenth-century sword master. He said:
The perfect swordsman avoids quarreling or fighting. Fighting means killing.
How can one human being bring himself to kill another human being? We are all
meant to love one another and not to kill. It is abhorrent that one should be thinking all the time of fighting and coming out victorious. We are moral beings, we are not to lower ourselves to the status of animals. What is the use of becoming a fine swordsman if one loses one’s human dignity? The best thing is to be a victor without fighting. (qtd. in Reid and Croucher, 1983: 11)
Again, the ideal is to achieve harmony and peace. The “best thing” is to avoid conflict altogether and, when faced with conflict, resolve it without having to fight. In many ways, this is very close to Gandhi’s philosophy of non-violence. Killing is wrong. Love is paramount. And the resolution of conflict by peaceful means is best. But one may ask, if winning without fighting is the most moral outcome, then why learn to fight at all? Why learn to kill if killing is wrong? Most answers to this question reference justified violence: at times, though it is less desirable, it is necessary to fight. Those are the times for which most martial artists prepare.
Gandhi himself preferred justified violence to cowardly actions motivated by fear. Gandhi tells the story of a group of villagers whose homes were looted (qtd. in Gruzalski, 2001: 14). The men of the village fled from the looters, leaving their wives, children, and belongings. When Gandhi met these men, he proceeded to “rebuke them for their cowardice in thus neglecting their charge….” The men “shamelessly” pled nonviolence. Gandhi continues:
I publicly denounced their conduct and said that my non-violence fully
accommodated violence offered by those who did not feel non-violence and who had in their keeping the honour of their womenfolk and little children. Non-violence is not a cover for cowardice, but it is the supreme virtue of the brave. Exercise of non-violence requires far greater bravery than that of swordsmanship. Cowardice is wholly inconsistent with non-violence. (p. 15)
Gandhi clearly preferred violence done in self defense and defense of one’s family to cowardly flight. The villagers who claimed to have been practicing non-violence misunderstood one of its fundamental principles—one must be exceptionally brave to accomplish true non-violence. And perhaps on the path to non-violence, developing bravery may necessarily include a period of education in justified violence, as in the martial arts. Gandhi recognized that not everyone could “feel non-violence,” or that not everyone was at a spiritual level to be committed to true non-violence. Better then to be brave and fight—or prepare to fight—an opponent if necessary than to be a coward and flee, leaving the helpless and innocent at harm’s edge.
Gandhi also believed, however, that if one was truly committed to a brave disposition of justified violence, then the step to true non-violence was within reach. “Translation,” he says, “from swordsmanship to non-violence is possible and, at times, even an easy stage” (qtd. in Gruzalski, 2001: p. 15).
Gandhi’s Philosophy
One of the primary problems with justified violence is that even though one may act in self-defense, the violent nature of the attacker is stopped only temporarily (assuming the attacker lives, which is not to say killing one’s attacker is the answer since that would, obviously, present entirely new problems). The “enemy” has not been changed in his or her desire to use violence and may even be encouraged. Also, in the marital arts, the objective is to win, to subdue the enemy, preferably by peaceful means—but thought is not often given to uplifting the attacker, only bringing him or her into submission. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule, but generally victory is the goal in a confrontation, with or without fighting.
For Gandhi, the goal is not so much victory in a conflict as it is perfection of the self and transformation of the wrongdoer. Though many goals in his philosophy could be identified, the idea of non-violence, or satyagraha, as a transforming power provides a fascinating point of comparison to the martial arts. Gandhi says, “It is never the intention of the satyagrahi [or follower of non-violence] to embarrass the wrongdoer. The appeal is never to his fear; it is, must be, always to his heart. The satyagrahi’s object is to convert, not to coerce, the wrongdoers” (qtd. in Gruzalski, 2001: 6). Stopping a violent act is only a temporary solution. Preventing a crime, blocking a punch or kick—these are mere heads cut off the Hydra that will eventually grow back. Unless the heart of the violence is penetrated, the pattern of behavior will not likely change. “All true change comes from within,” Gandhi said. “Any change brought about by pressure is worthless” (p. 7).
Gandhi believed that converting the wrongdoer was possible through developing love, patience, and, most interestingly, the capacity to suffer. Using the example of thieves, Gandhi said, “By enduring them we realize that thieves are not different from ourselves, they are our brethren, our friends, and may not be punished” (p. 7). Our duty, he continued, must be to help them see their relationship to us and realize the harm they do by their crimes. “[We] must take pains to devise ways and means of winning them over,” he said. “It may entail continuous suffering and the cultivating of endless patience. Given these two conditions, the thief is bound in the end to turn away from his evil ways.” By suffering the actions of the thief—not with passive submission, but genuine patience—one can prepare to aid the thief, or attacker, in seeing his or her mistakes. And helping thieves to understand their relationship to those being hurt would, according to Gandhi, change their behavior in a more permanent way.
A further element of this principle in Gandhi’s system is even more interesting as a point of comparison to the martial arts. According to Bart Gruzalski (2001):
[Gandhi] warned that the way of the satyagrahi (practitioner of satyagraha) would never be easy; indeed, he or she required the courage to accept death if necessary. Cowardice was never an option. Just as one must learn the art of killing in the training for violence, Gandhi averred, satyagrahis ‘must learn the art of dying in the training for nonviolence.’ (p. 8; emphasis added)
Martial artists learn the art of killing and doing harm. The great paradox of the martial arts is that peace is achieved through this training because it is governed by a moral code and requires discipline, patience, and self-control. But if this kind of personal excellence is achieved through training in the ‘art of killing’ and the ideal outcome of this art is peaceful resolution of conflict, then what great things can be accomplished by training in the ‘art of dying’ and becoming committed to non-violence? The answer is embodied in Gandhi’s message to the world, and, as he said, “My life is my message” (qtd. in Ruhe, 2001: 1).
The Practicality of Non-violence
Gandhi’s life declares that non-violence does work. But for it to work, the commitment must be complete. One must be prepared and willing to suffer and die if necessary. One must have the perspective that “every murder or injury, no matter for what cause, committed or inflicted on another is a crime against humanity” (Gandhi, 2002: 37). Gandhi considered himself a practical person. He believed that it was possible to exercise non-violence in any situation, great or small. “For Gandhi,” Gruzalski (2001) observes, non-violence “was not only the way to behave in a large-scale action against those who would exploit us, but also the way to confront aggressors even in our own homes” (p. 7). In a one-on-one fight, as in a nation-wide struggle against an oppressive government, non-violence can work. History proves this is true.
Some of the best-known, and most illustrative, examples of successful non-violent action represent this philosophy’s large-scale accomplishments. Foremost among them are Gandhi’s efforts in helping to win India’s independence from Great Britain. While many oppressed peoples have tried warfare as a means for gaining independence—at the cost of countless lives—Gandhi and his followers initiated a non-violent revolution on their part. Numerous individuals still lost their lives because of a government that did not want to yield initially, but many of these died at peace, knowing they followed the path of non-violence and sacrificed their lives for a just cause. The cause, furthermore, was a success—India gained its independence. Gruzalski (2001) points out other instances of successful non-violent campaigns throughout the world:
It worked in local struggles with the Nazis in Scandinavia, in the civil rights
movement in the United States, in persuading the U.S. government to end the
Vietnamese War, in the Philippines, in liberating Poland from the U.S.S.R., in
bringing down the Berlin Wall, in ending apartheid in South Africa, and most recently in Yugoslavia. (p. 10)
To list the many small-scale instances of non-violent success would be difficult and perhaps unnecessary. These larger examples demonstrate just how powerful the way of satyagraha can be. In the years since Gandhi’s death, many have experimented with the virtue of non-violence and found it an effective and commanding means of dealing with violence and conflict.
Conclusion
People practice the martial arts for a variety of reasons. They enjoy the competition, they enjoy the exercise, they want to be capable of defending themselves. But as expressed in its corresponding philosophies, the martial arts provide a means of achieving excellence in life and in society. “A mind tempered in the tradition of karatedo,” Patrick McCarthy says, “will remain impervious to worldly delusion and illuminate the darkness of selfishness and ignorance” (Wiley, 2000: 29). But the fact is that martial artists still strive to develop techniques that, if used, could harm or kill. This is not meant to be a criticism, but an observation of this particular view of violence, i.e., that it is acceptable to learn lethal techniques as long as they are not used in inappropriate situations.
Gandhi’s view accommodated this perspective, but also held that it was possible to go beyond it—to go beyond violence to a state of encompassing peace and love. Each is left to decide whether or not Gandhi’s philosophy would be useful to learn and integrate into martial arts training, but it is undeniable that his approach can work in resisting violence. It may be a leap for some, but for martial artists in particular, it would constitute a great spiritual achievement, which Gandhi maintained was possible. It achieves the ideal of the martial arts—to resolve conflict without fighting—but goes beyond that ideal by developing the capacity to suffer, expressing compassion, and offering opponents the opportunity to change and do away with violence for good. Nelson Mandela said, “Gandhi’s spirit … might be the key for human survival in the twenty-first century” (qtd. in Ruhe, 2001: 11). Whether or not this is true is up to each individual to decide. But Gandhi’s message—his life—demonstrated that human survival in a violent world is possible through the way of the satyagrahi, through the higher way of non-violence.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Gandhi, M.K. (2002). Truth is God: Gleanings from the writings of Mahatma Gandhi
bearing on God, God-Realization and the Godly way. Ahmedabad, India:
Navajivan Publishing House.
Gruzalski, B. (2001). On Gandhi. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth.
Hyams, J. (1979). Zen in the Martial Arts. New York, NY: Bantam.
Kytle, C. (1969). Gandhi, Soldier of Nonviolence: His Effect on India and the World
Today. New York: Grosset & Dunlap.
Reid, H. & Croucher, M. (1983). The Way of the Warrior: The Paradox of the Martial
Arts. Woodstock, NY: The Overlook Press.
Ruhe, P. (2001). Gandhi. New York, NY: Phaidon.
Wiley, M. (2000). Martial Arts Talk: Conversations with Leading Authorities on the
Martial Arts. Boston, MA: Tuttle Publishing.
By Peter Leman
Introduction
At first glance, some may consider Gandhi an unlikely source for insight into the martial arts. A small man who took to wearing the peasant, homespun clothes of his native India in later life, Gandhi was thin, timid, and even afraid early in his career of speaking in public—hardly the picture of the “perfect warrior” many have come to idealize in the martial arts. He did not train in any martial art. He was never a soldier or fighter in the traditional sense that limits such terms to people wielding guns, swords, and heavy fists. However, Gandhi did have something in common with martial artists. He was concerned with violence. He was concerned with injustice, and he labored tirelessly to combat the injustices he experienced and witnessed in his day. In that sense, Gandhi was a fighter, but his weapon was not one of bullets or blades or devastation—his weapon, ironically, was non-violence.
Martial artists are also concerned with violence, but to defend themselves against it, they train in techniques of violence. Such training is often governed by a moral code of some sort that precludes them from using their skills indiscriminately to do deliberate harm, but they learn violent techniques nonetheless—whether or not they become violent individuals.
This article intends to compare the respective approaches to violence offered by Gandhi and the martial arts. There are similarities but also differences, and both offer enlightening possibilities to an understanding of the nature of violence and the role of philosophy in the martial arts. Furthermore, by a certain perspective, inasmuch as the martial arts can be considered a journey, a path, or a “way”—as most are—toward self and societal improvement, Gandhi’s philosophy allows for the martial artist’s approach to violence to a certain point; but he offers a way to go beyond that point. If a martial artist’s objective—and this is arguable—is to achieve spiritual and physical excellence and to resist violence and injustice, then by understanding and integrating Gandhi’s philosophy, he or she may accomplish those objectives in a way unprecedented in the martial arts.
Background
Before fully comparing the philosophies of Gandhi and the martial arts, it may first be useful to briefly introduce Gandhi as a person. For while his name is revered in American, Indian, and other cultures and synonymous with peaceful endeavors, the details of his life are not always known. Being aware of the experiences that led to the development of Gandhi’s character will aid us in understanding his philosophy.
Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi was born in Porbunder, Kathiawar, India, on October 2, 1869. He was the youngest of three sons and, after attending school in his native country, he traveled to London to study law. Gandhi was said to have struggled “with insecurities and personal shortcomings,” and even after returning to India to practice law, he was painfully afraid of speaking in public. After a failed effort during his first court appearance, Gandhi’s law practice “fizzled out,” and he decided to follow an offer for legal work in South Africa (Gruzalski, 2001: 1).
While in South Africa, Gandhi experienced “for the first time, the racism that Indians in South Africa suffered as part of their daily life” (Gruzalski, 2001: 2). One experience in particular began to open Gandhi’s eyes to inequalities and injustices and began to set in motion many of the ideas and sensitivities that would later influence his philosophy. Not long after arriving in South Africa, Gandhi boarded a train from Durban to Pretoria where the case he was working on was to be tried. Dressed in some of his best clothes, Gandhi bought a first class ticket and embarked on the journey. At one of the stops, a white man entered Gandhi’s compartment, paused, and hurriedly left. Soon after, the man returned with two train officials who told Gandhi, “You’ll have to go to the baggage car where you belong.” Gandhi replied, “But I have a first class ticket.” The white officials were not impressed, and after continued argument, police came and threw Gandhi onto the station platform with his luggage. He watched as the train pulled away (Kytle, 1969: 47).
Shaken and alone, with no means of immediately continuing his journey, Gandhi remained all night in the railway station where he was dumped. “Nobody knows quite what happened to him that night,” Calvin Kytle (1969) comments (p. 48). “One can only know for certain that he was in a state of crisis and that he came out of it surer, calmer, wiser, and much, much older” (p. 49). Though he was deeply upset and considered returning to India, Gandhi resolved to stay. Kytle continues, “Thus, at some moment between midnight and dawn, Mohandas Gandhi learned that he could live in the world only if he committed himself to a lifelong effort to reform it.”
Gandhi became deeply involved in politics in South Africa, overcoming his insecurities and fears and lobbying with great power for the fair treatment of his people. He later returned to India where he continued to labor against oppression and tyranny. It would take much time and space to present many more specifics about Gandhi’s life, but since his philosophy is our primary concern, suffice it to say that he changed the course of history for a nation. And he did so through non-violent means. His efforts were not, as some might perceive, characterized by passive resistance. “Passive” is a highly inaccurate description. Active nonviolent resistance is far more apt. This type of resistance, indeed a way of life for him, Gandhi (2002) called satyagraha—the force of truth (p. 49). Before going into additional detail on this matter, however, let us first examine some of the philosophies of the martial arts to see where they can take martial artists in their understanding of violence and moral duties.
Martial Arts Philosophy
According to a certain interpretation of Gandhi’s philosophy, possible reactions to violence can be plotted on an ascending continuum according to the motivation underlying the action and, therefore, also according to the action’s moral acceptability. At the bottom, and the least acceptable, is passive reaction (submission or flight) motivated by fear. Next is violence motivated by courage and bravery (self defense), and finally, nonviolence motivated by courage, bravery, and love. The second of these, often called justified violence, typifies martial arts philosophy. For while most martial systems maintain that a peaceful outcome is ideal (as when Sun Tzu declared, “To win one hundred victories in one hundred battles is not the highest skill. To subdue the enemy without fighting is the highest skill” [qtd. in Hyams, 1982: 134]), martial artists would not train in techniques of self defense if they did not think that one day, in the “right” circumstances, it would be necessary to fight, to use violence in combating an unyielding and immoral threat of violence. As students in Hwang’s Martial Arts Academy recite at the end of each class, one must “Never attack without reason.” But the right reason can justify an attack.
At this level on the scale described above, one can achieve greater development as a person, success as a martial artist, and a more refined moral sensibility than on the lower levels where fear drives one’s behavior. The philosophy of justified violence in the martial arts maintains that misuse of one’s abilities is unacceptable. Without this philosophy, the martial arts would likely do little more than produce blindly violent people. In fact, Patrick McCarthy, a martial arts expert and well-known authority in the history of Okinawan fighting traditions, says, “Karatedo cannot exist without a body of moral philosophy to govern the behavior of those who embrace its empowering practice. Learning karatedo without its corresponding philosophy creates a terrible imbalance which is usually reflected in attitude, character, and behavior” (Wiley, 2000: 14). But learning karatedo with its philosophy leads, ideally, to a positive attitude, moral character, and behavior reflecting a balanced perspective of the world and the purpose and appropriate uses of one’s skills. This is a state worth striving for, indeed.
Another account that beautifully expresses the moral philosophy of the martial arts comes from an eighteenth-century sword master. He said:
The perfect swordsman avoids quarreling or fighting. Fighting means killing.
How can one human being bring himself to kill another human being? We are all
meant to love one another and not to kill. It is abhorrent that one should be thinking all the time of fighting and coming out victorious. We are moral beings, we are not to lower ourselves to the status of animals. What is the use of becoming a fine swordsman if one loses one’s human dignity? The best thing is to be a victor without fighting. (qtd. in Reid and Croucher, 1983: 11)
Again, the ideal is to achieve harmony and peace. The “best thing” is to avoid conflict altogether and, when faced with conflict, resolve it without having to fight. In many ways, this is very close to Gandhi’s philosophy of non-violence. Killing is wrong. Love is paramount. And the resolution of conflict by peaceful means is best. But one may ask, if winning without fighting is the most moral outcome, then why learn to fight at all? Why learn to kill if killing is wrong? Most answers to this question reference justified violence: at times, though it is less desirable, it is necessary to fight. Those are the times for which most martial artists prepare.
Gandhi himself preferred justified violence to cowardly actions motivated by fear. Gandhi tells the story of a group of villagers whose homes were looted (qtd. in Gruzalski, 2001: 14). The men of the village fled from the looters, leaving their wives, children, and belongings. When Gandhi met these men, he proceeded to “rebuke them for their cowardice in thus neglecting their charge….” The men “shamelessly” pled nonviolence. Gandhi continues:
I publicly denounced their conduct and said that my non-violence fully
accommodated violence offered by those who did not feel non-violence and who had in their keeping the honour of their womenfolk and little children. Non-violence is not a cover for cowardice, but it is the supreme virtue of the brave. Exercise of non-violence requires far greater bravery than that of swordsmanship. Cowardice is wholly inconsistent with non-violence. (p. 15)
Gandhi clearly preferred violence done in self defense and defense of one’s family to cowardly flight. The villagers who claimed to have been practicing non-violence misunderstood one of its fundamental principles—one must be exceptionally brave to accomplish true non-violence. And perhaps on the path to non-violence, developing bravery may necessarily include a period of education in justified violence, as in the martial arts. Gandhi recognized that not everyone could “feel non-violence,” or that not everyone was at a spiritual level to be committed to true non-violence. Better then to be brave and fight—or prepare to fight—an opponent if necessary than to be a coward and flee, leaving the helpless and innocent at harm’s edge.
Gandhi also believed, however, that if one was truly committed to a brave disposition of justified violence, then the step to true non-violence was within reach. “Translation,” he says, “from swordsmanship to non-violence is possible and, at times, even an easy stage” (qtd. in Gruzalski, 2001: p. 15).
Gandhi’s Philosophy
One of the primary problems with justified violence is that even though one may act in self-defense, the violent nature of the attacker is stopped only temporarily (assuming the attacker lives, which is not to say killing one’s attacker is the answer since that would, obviously, present entirely new problems). The “enemy” has not been changed in his or her desire to use violence and may even be encouraged. Also, in the marital arts, the objective is to win, to subdue the enemy, preferably by peaceful means—but thought is not often given to uplifting the attacker, only bringing him or her into submission. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule, but generally victory is the goal in a confrontation, with or without fighting.
For Gandhi, the goal is not so much victory in a conflict as it is perfection of the self and transformation of the wrongdoer. Though many goals in his philosophy could be identified, the idea of non-violence, or satyagraha, as a transforming power provides a fascinating point of comparison to the martial arts. Gandhi says, “It is never the intention of the satyagrahi [or follower of non-violence] to embarrass the wrongdoer. The appeal is never to his fear; it is, must be, always to his heart. The satyagrahi’s object is to convert, not to coerce, the wrongdoers” (qtd. in Gruzalski, 2001: 6). Stopping a violent act is only a temporary solution. Preventing a crime, blocking a punch or kick—these are mere heads cut off the Hydra that will eventually grow back. Unless the heart of the violence is penetrated, the pattern of behavior will not likely change. “All true change comes from within,” Gandhi said. “Any change brought about by pressure is worthless” (p. 7).
Gandhi believed that converting the wrongdoer was possible through developing love, patience, and, most interestingly, the capacity to suffer. Using the example of thieves, Gandhi said, “By enduring them we realize that thieves are not different from ourselves, they are our brethren, our friends, and may not be punished” (p. 7). Our duty, he continued, must be to help them see their relationship to us and realize the harm they do by their crimes. “[We] must take pains to devise ways and means of winning them over,” he said. “It may entail continuous suffering and the cultivating of endless patience. Given these two conditions, the thief is bound in the end to turn away from his evil ways.” By suffering the actions of the thief—not with passive submission, but genuine patience—one can prepare to aid the thief, or attacker, in seeing his or her mistakes. And helping thieves to understand their relationship to those being hurt would, according to Gandhi, change their behavior in a more permanent way.
A further element of this principle in Gandhi’s system is even more interesting as a point of comparison to the martial arts. According to Bart Gruzalski (2001):
[Gandhi] warned that the way of the satyagrahi (practitioner of satyagraha) would never be easy; indeed, he or she required the courage to accept death if necessary. Cowardice was never an option. Just as one must learn the art of killing in the training for violence, Gandhi averred, satyagrahis ‘must learn the art of dying in the training for nonviolence.’ (p. 8; emphasis added)
Martial artists learn the art of killing and doing harm. The great paradox of the martial arts is that peace is achieved through this training because it is governed by a moral code and requires discipline, patience, and self-control. But if this kind of personal excellence is achieved through training in the ‘art of killing’ and the ideal outcome of this art is peaceful resolution of conflict, then what great things can be accomplished by training in the ‘art of dying’ and becoming committed to non-violence? The answer is embodied in Gandhi’s message to the world, and, as he said, “My life is my message” (qtd. in Ruhe, 2001: 1).
The Practicality of Non-violence
Gandhi’s life declares that non-violence does work. But for it to work, the commitment must be complete. One must be prepared and willing to suffer and die if necessary. One must have the perspective that “every murder or injury, no matter for what cause, committed or inflicted on another is a crime against humanity” (Gandhi, 2002: 37). Gandhi considered himself a practical person. He believed that it was possible to exercise non-violence in any situation, great or small. “For Gandhi,” Gruzalski (2001) observes, non-violence “was not only the way to behave in a large-scale action against those who would exploit us, but also the way to confront aggressors even in our own homes” (p. 7). In a one-on-one fight, as in a nation-wide struggle against an oppressive government, non-violence can work. History proves this is true.
Some of the best-known, and most illustrative, examples of successful non-violent action represent this philosophy’s large-scale accomplishments. Foremost among them are Gandhi’s efforts in helping to win India’s independence from Great Britain. While many oppressed peoples have tried warfare as a means for gaining independence—at the cost of countless lives—Gandhi and his followers initiated a non-violent revolution on their part. Numerous individuals still lost their lives because of a government that did not want to yield initially, but many of these died at peace, knowing they followed the path of non-violence and sacrificed their lives for a just cause. The cause, furthermore, was a success—India gained its independence. Gruzalski (2001) points out other instances of successful non-violent campaigns throughout the world:
It worked in local struggles with the Nazis in Scandinavia, in the civil rights
movement in the United States, in persuading the U.S. government to end the
Vietnamese War, in the Philippines, in liberating Poland from the U.S.S.R., in
bringing down the Berlin Wall, in ending apartheid in South Africa, and most recently in Yugoslavia. (p. 10)
To list the many small-scale instances of non-violent success would be difficult and perhaps unnecessary. These larger examples demonstrate just how powerful the way of satyagraha can be. In the years since Gandhi’s death, many have experimented with the virtue of non-violence and found it an effective and commanding means of dealing with violence and conflict.
Conclusion
People practice the martial arts for a variety of reasons. They enjoy the competition, they enjoy the exercise, they want to be capable of defending themselves. But as expressed in its corresponding philosophies, the martial arts provide a means of achieving excellence in life and in society. “A mind tempered in the tradition of karatedo,” Patrick McCarthy says, “will remain impervious to worldly delusion and illuminate the darkness of selfishness and ignorance” (Wiley, 2000: 29). But the fact is that martial artists still strive to develop techniques that, if used, could harm or kill. This is not meant to be a criticism, but an observation of this particular view of violence, i.e., that it is acceptable to learn lethal techniques as long as they are not used in inappropriate situations.
Gandhi’s view accommodated this perspective, but also held that it was possible to go beyond it—to go beyond violence to a state of encompassing peace and love. Each is left to decide whether or not Gandhi’s philosophy would be useful to learn and integrate into martial arts training, but it is undeniable that his approach can work in resisting violence. It may be a leap for some, but for martial artists in particular, it would constitute a great spiritual achievement, which Gandhi maintained was possible. It achieves the ideal of the martial arts—to resolve conflict without fighting—but goes beyond that ideal by developing the capacity to suffer, expressing compassion, and offering opponents the opportunity to change and do away with violence for good. Nelson Mandela said, “Gandhi’s spirit … might be the key for human survival in the twenty-first century” (qtd. in Ruhe, 2001: 11). Whether or not this is true is up to each individual to decide. But Gandhi’s message—his life—demonstrated that human survival in a violent world is possible through the way of the satyagrahi, through the higher way of non-violence.
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