Further meditation on Huo Yuanjia

Here in California it is still January 18, and I am still continuing the direction of thought from the previous post honoring Huo Yuanjia.  

Huo Yuanjia's achievement in founding the Jingwu Athletic Association in 1909 cannot be underestimated.  In their 2010 book Jingwu: The School That Transformed Kung Fu, authors Brian Kennedy and Elizabeth Guo demonstrate that the establishment of this school marked a significant change in the way that kung fu was taught, one that would reverberate to this day, and one with very important implications.

They write:

The first public martial arts school where one could just walk in the door, pay a fee, and sign up was the Jingwu Association, which opened in 1909 and ushered in a new era in Chinese martial arts training.  The Jingwu's most influential time ran from 1909 to 1924.  The founding of the Jingwu Association, with its focus on "walk in, sign up, and learn Chinese martial arts as a form of exercise and recreation" marks the single most important turning point in Chinese martial arts -- the transition from being a manual trade associated with the military, militias and bodyguards to being a form of cultural recreation.

In fairness, it should be mentioned that there were other privately funded martial arts groups in China who were doing the same things that the Jingwu Association was doing.  But these other groups, for whatever variety of reasons, were all short-lived and not particularly influential.  3.

Earlier in the book (page x), they noted the other significant "firsts" that the Jingwu Association should be credited with:

• The first public Chinese martial arts training facility.
• The first to teach Chinese martial arts as a sport or recreation.
• The first to place women's programs on an equal footing with men's programs.
• The first to use books, magazines and movies to promote Chinese martial arts.

In other words, Huo Yuanjia's vision (and by all accounts he was central in the founding of the Jingwu Association) in large part created the transition to the way we think of martial arts training today, a vision that clearly established four aspects still very much present in the landscape around the world to this day.

In short, I believe it is no great stretch to deduce that Huo Yuanjia and his fellow founders of this new association believed that martial arts are an important aspect of life, one that goes along with other forms of learning.  In fact, as Brian Kennedy and Elizabeth Guo inform us, the Jingwu Association was not only devoted to training its members in the martial arts, but in providing other forms of learning, including "cerebral activities" including playing chess and learning from books (xi).  In other words, its founders clearly saw a connection between the mental and physical disciplines and the importance of each.

If you study the martial arts, it may be of some interest to think that Huo Yuanjia seems to have wanted you to be able to have the opportunity to do so, and to have believed that such an opportunity is as important to human development as any other form of learning.

In any event, it is also noteworthy that the movie Fearless (2006), which features Jet Li as Huo Yuanjia, takes its name from a line in the Tao Teh Ching of Lao Tzu (33): 

Mastering others is strength --

Mastering yourself makes you fearless.

Master Po on nonviolence

Readers of the previous post entitled "Reflections on Simone Weil's 'The Iliad, or the Poem of Force' and the Question of Consciousness" may be asking themselves, "How does this have anything to do with my life, since -- unlike Achilles or Ajax in the Iliad -- I am never faced with the question of using lethal force against another person?"

That is a good question.  

However, even if we (unlike Achilles, Ajax, Hektor, and the rest) are not engaged in daily life-or-death struggles around the walls of Ilium, this does not mean we do not encounter other human beings every day.  If we do, then we undoubtedly wrestle with the problem presented by Simone Weil's definition of force (or violence): that which turns a person into a thing.

As the interesting little segment above from the classic early 1970s television series Kung Fu tries to convey to its viewers, it is possible to be filled with a form of violence, even without doing physical violence.  In the flashback to the Shaolin Temple, Master Po (perhaps the most well-known and beloved character in the series) explains:

In a heart that is one with nature, though the body contends, there is no violence.
And in the heart that is not one with nature, though the body be at rest, there is always violence.

The essay by Simone Weil cited in the previous post opens an interesting perspective onto this seemingly contradictory pair of declarations.

If violence (as she believes) is that which turns another person into a thing, then our hearts can be filled with constant violence without our body ever raising an actual finger in physical contention with another.  To select a simple and unfortunately familiar example, we can in our minds (and our words) treat other drivers on the road as things and not as other people as we drive along the highways and roads during our day-to-day errands and commutes (and we can sometimes perceive others doing the same to us).  We may even refer to another driver as a "stupid pick-up truck" or some other phrase, showing that we are reducing that person in our minds to an object.

This may seem to be a bit of a stretch -- the reader may think, "well, I am not really confusing the human being in the vehicle with the mechanical object that he is driving."  However, if we are honest with ourselves, we may reflect on times that we have done the exact same thing by reducing the spiritual being in front of us to the physical aspects of the body that they are inhabiting at the moment!

This brings to mind the powerful monologue delivered by the late great Israel Kamakawiwo'ole at the beginning of his stunning performance of "Kaleohano" in May, 1996 when he said of the human body (as opposed to the eternal soul): "It's only a facade, brah.  It's a thin curtain.  It's only temporary.  Us guys is forever" (see the 2:15 mark in this video of the event itself).

To return to the assertion of Master Po from the clip above, then, we can apply Simone Weil's definition of violence as that which seeks to turn a person into a thing and agree with the Shaolin monk that it is possible for one who does not physically contend with others to nevertheless be filled with violence, and that it is also possible for one who does not wish to physically contend with another to find himself or herself in a situation where he or she must physically contend with another, while yet seeing the adversary as completely human and refusing to treat him as anything less (though this is very difficult).

It is noteworthy that Master Po precedes each of his statements with the qualifying statement "the heart that is one with nature" (or, in the second case, "the heart that is not one with nature").  We have seen that Simone Weil (and the Iliad) both provide overwhelming arguments that to reduce a person to a thing is contrary to nature.  It is unnatural, and it is wrong.

It is also worth noting that Simone Weil argues, perhaps contrary to Master Po although not necessarily, that it is almost impossible to use force without being "turned to stone" oneself -- that employing force not only reduces one's adversary to a "thing," but that it threatens to reduce the one who uses it to a "thing" as well.  The previous post cited her assertion that:

[. . .] the conquering soldier is like a scourge of nature.  Possessed by war, he, like the slave, becomes a thing, though his manner of doing so is different -- over him, too, words are as powerless as over matter itself.  And both, at the touch of force, experience its inevitable effects: they become deaf and dumb.  

Such is the nature of force.  Its power of converting a man into a thing is a double one, and in its application double-edged.  To the same degree, though in different fashions, those who use it and those who endure it are turned to stone.  22.

It is extremely interesting that at the legendary Shaolin Temple (which was in fact a real institution, and which historians agree was instrumental in the development of the incredible martial arts of China) took such care to inculcate in those who trained in these methods of combat an abiding focus on compassion and humanity.  It is as if they knew that handling such methods of violence could easily turn the martial artist into "a thing," and they wanted to avoid that dangerous possibility.  Rather than walking through life seeing others as targets to be attacked or objects to be subdued, the masters of the Shaolin Temple stressed the opposite: affirming the subjectivity and humanity of everyone, even those who have for whatever unfortunate and unnatural reason become an adversary.  

Recent scientific studies of brainwave patterns appear to confirm the conclusion that the kinds of thoughts that we dwell on for thousands of hours actually create physical changes within our brains and our brainwave patterns as well, as discussed in this post from last October.

In light of all this, it would seem that this is a subject of great importance to all of us in our daily lives, whether we are involved in actual "combat situations" like those immortalized in the Iliad or not.  We might want to consider Master Po's advice to young Kwai Chang Caine, and seek to avoid reducing other people to the status of things, even if we are only doing it inside our minds.

Tao Teh Ching 61. Tao Teh Ching 22.

A great country is like the lower regions of a river:
A place where all the streams of the world unite.
She is the mother of the world.
The peaceful and feminine
always overpowers the masculine.
Being peaceable, one takes the lower position.

Tao Teh Ching, 61. Translation by Hua-Ching Ni.



The yielding are preserved whole.
The crooked become straight.
The empty become filled.
The depleted are renewed.
What has little will gain.
What has much will become confused.

[. . .]

Indeed, the ancient teaching that
"the yielding are preserved whole" is no empty saying.

Tao Teh Ching, 22. Translation by Hua-Ching Ni.

The Pythagorean "3" in Egypt and Lao Tzu

The universal subtle essence gave birth to One.
One gave birth to Two.
Two gave birth to Three.
Three gave birth to the Myriad Things.
All lives have their backs to the yin and embrace the yang.

There is nothing more loathed by people
          than to be orphaned, desolate, and hapless.
Yet the wise ancient kings, princes, and barons
          used such titles to refer to themselves.
A thing is sometimes benefitted by being humbled,
          and diminished by being expanded.
What the ancients have taught, I also shall teach:
          "A man of force and violence
           will come to a violent end."
Whoever said this can be my teacher and father.


Tao Teh Ching, 42. Translation by Hua-Ching Ni.

There are clear parallels here to the teachings of the Pythagoreans.  In Serpent in the Sky, John Anthony West points out:

Ancient sources claimed Egypt as the original home of geometry.  Though biographies of Pythagoras were all fragmentary, secondhand and therefore unreliable, all agreed upon this point: that Pythagoras had acquired much of his learning in the East.  33.

In the ancient text Life of Pythagoras by Iamblichus (c. AD 245 - c. AD 325), written some eight hundred years after the probable time of Pythagoras, we read that the aged philosopher Thales of Miletus (c. 624 BC - c. 546 BC) taught the young Pythagoras all that he could, and then urged him to sail to Egypt to consult the priests there.  At the end of Chapter II in the translation of Iamblichus by Thomas Taylor (1758 - 1835), we read:

Indeed, after Thales had gladly admitted him to his intimate confidence, he admired the difference between him and other young men, whom Pythagoras left far behind in every accomplishment.  And besides this, Thales increased the reputation Pythagoras had already acquired, by communicating to him such disciplines as he was able to impart: and, apologizing for his old age, and the imbecility of his body, he exhorted him to sail into Egypt, and associate with the Memphian and the Diospolitan priests.  For he confessed that his own reputation for wisdom, was derived from the instructions of these priests; but that he was neither naturally, nor by exercise, endued with those excellent prerogatives, which were so visibly displayed in the person of Pythagoras.  Thales, therefore, gladly announced to him, from all these circumstances, that he would become the wisest and most divine of all men, if he associated with these Egyptian priests.   6. 

We have already seen some evidence that the wisdom of ancient Egypt may have been preserved in places further to the east, including India, Tibet, and China -- or, alternately, that the wisdom of Egypt may have shared a common legacy with the wisdom preserved in those other ancient traditions (possibly the legacy of a common unknown predecessor culture).  See more interesting lore on the life of Pythagoras here.

In the post immediately preceding this one, we saw that R.A. Schwaller de Lubicz believed that the concept of a "Primordial Scission" was central to ancient Egyptian understanding of the nature of the universe and of human existence.  John Anthony West explains that "What is today called Pythagorean number mysticism is Egyptian in origin (if not older still) and corresponds to the underlying philosophy behind all the arts and sciences of Egypt" (44).  In his discussion of the Pythagorean-Egyptian concept of the number Three, Mr. West writes:

One, in becoming Two, becomes Three simultaneously.  The 'becoming' is the third force, automatically providing the innate and necessary (and mysterious) reconciling principle. [. . .]  Male / female is not a relationship.  For there to be relationship there must be 'love' or at least 'desire.'  A sculptor and a block of wood will not produce a statue.  The sculptor must have 'inspiration.'  [. . .]  The heart, not the head, understands Three.  (By 'heart' I mean the complex of human emotional facilities).  'Understanding' is an emotional more than an intellectual function, and it is practically a synonym for reconciliation, for relationship.  The more one understands, the more he or she is able to reconcile, and relate.  The more one understands, the more one reconciles seeming incongruities and inconsistencies.  It is possible to know a great deal and understand very little.  

So, while we cannot measure or know Three directly, we experience it everywhere.  From common everyday experience, we can project and recognise the metaphysical role of Three; we can see why trinities are universal to the mythologies of the world.  Three is the 'Word,' the 'Holy Ghost,' the Absolute conscious of itself.  Man does not directly experience the Absolute or unity or the Primordial Scission.  But the famous mystical experience, union with God, is, I believe, the direct experience of that aspect of the Absolute that is consciousness.  47-48.

Having considered all this, it is intriguing to re-read chapter  章   42 of the Tao Teh Ching:

The universal subtle essence gave birth to One.
One gave birth to Two.
Two gave birth to Three.
Three gave birth to the Myriad Things.
All lives have their backs to the yin and embrace the yang.

Philip Ahn (1905 - 1978)

March 29 is the birthday of Philip Ahn (1905 - 1978), who portrayed Master Kan of the Shaolin Temple in the television series Kung Fu from 1972 - 1975. With kindliness and gentleness combined with dignity and firmness, he helped convey the philosophy of the legendary Chan Buddhist martial arts monastery to a wide audience, many of whom had never had much exposure to them before.

As the head of the temple, Master Kan utters the famous challenge to the young Kwai Chang -- one of the most well-known lines from the entire series: "When you can take the pebble from my hand, it will be time for you to leave" (which can be seen in the clip below beginning at the 7:10 mark).



In many of the flashbacks peppered throughout the series, Master Kan provides a change of perspective from the conventional by asking questions about seemingly unrelated subjects, and then providing the connection to the particular issue at hand. Often, as others have noticed, Master Kan's lessons appear to be closely related to teachings in the Tao Teh Ching, such as in the vignette below:



In the scene below, Master Kan teaches Kwai Chang (using the metaphor of a single untrustworthy nail discovered while building a house) that we cannot decide to trust no one just because we encounter one untrustworthy person:



We have remarked previously on the possibility that the Buddhist monastic tradition, as well as some of the wisdom contained in Taoism, appear to have clear connections to wisdom that was part of the ancient Egyptian culture. One explanation for this could be the hypothesis that a single unknown ancient civilization predated both China and Egypt and influenced them both (and probably ancient India as well). Another possibility is that early Egyptian influence proceeded east through India and ultimately to China -- or that it went the other direction from China to India and Egypt, or from India to both Egypt and China.

There are clear evidences of aspects of a common esoteric tradition in the precessional numbers that are found in many ancient civilizations and which were preserved in the Shaolin Temple and in the martial arts which traditionally had their origins in the Shaolin Temple.

For example, there is a tradition that a monk, when ready to leave the temple and venture out into the world, had to pass through a hall of 108 mechanical "wooden men," each equipped with a potentially deadly attack that he would have to defeat (sometimes known as the "Hall of Wooden Men" or the "Wooden Man Labyrinth"). The connections to other important manifestations of 108, both in the Mediterranean and around the globe (including in the Americas) are explored in the Mathisen Corollary book.

In the scene below, Master Kan (silently) re-issues his famous challenge with the pebble, and this time Kwai Chang demonstrates that it is now time for him to leave. It is a poignant scene, and Master Kan imparts some final words of wisdom in farewell:

Philip Ahn was an essential pillar of quiet wisdom so important to the power and vitality of the Kung Fu television series that provided millions of viewers (including myself) with their first encounter with the Shaolin Temple.

Rest in peace.

A heartfelt portrait of John Blofeld from Daniel P. Reid

Here is a link to a deeply moving essay by Daniel P. Reid entitled "The Wheel of Life."

Rather than try to summarize, I would prefer to encourage you to read it for yourself.

By way of background, here are some links to a few of Daniel Reid's works:

The Tao of Health, Sex, and Longevity: A Modern Practical Guide to the Ancient Way.

The Tao of Detox: The Secrets of Yang-sheng Dao.

The Art and Alchemy of Chinese Tea.

A Handbook of Chinese Healing Herbs.

The Shambhala Guide to Traditional Chinese Medicine.

For those unfamiliar with the work of John Blofeld (1913 - 1987), here are some links to a few of his works:

Taoism: The Road to Immortality.

Bodhisattva of Compassion: The Mystical Tradition of Kuan Yin.

Taoist Mysteries and Magic.

The Chinese Art of Tea.

City of Lingering Splendour: A Frank Account of Old Peking's Exotic Pleasures.

In addition to being a fond remembrance of John Blofeld, the essay above also touches on the exemplary way that he dealt with matters of life and death. Related to this subject, of course, is perhaps most remarkable and striking part of Daniel Reid's evocative essay, which relates the account of John's visits to his daughter in a recurring dream, by which she was guided to the temple where he desired that his earthly remains should repose.

As Daniel Reid explains:

John’s last wish had been to have his ashes interred in a Kuan Yin temple in Thailand. Kuan Yin, the beloved Chinese “Goddess of Mercy,” had always been John’s favorite Buddhist deity, and he devoted an entire book to her, Bodhisattva of Compassion: The Mystical Tradition of Kuan Yin.

Again, I will let you read the account exactly as Mr. Reid relates it, as it is much better that way.

It is worth noting that this series of events recounted by Daniel Reid resonates strongly with some of the subject matter discussed by Sheldon Norberg in the New Dimensions Radio interview which was discussed in this previous blog post (post contains links to the interview itself). In that interview, Mr. Norberg also gives examples from his personal experience in which persons were visited repeatedly in dreams in very much the same way (although not always benevolently).

I have admired Mr. Reid's writing since discovering one of his books while I was a cadet at West Point, in 1989 or so. It is of personal interest to me that material relating to this topic always connects back to West Point in some way (for me).

However, leaving that personal note aside, Daniel Reid has done us all a great service by sharing this memoir of his friendship with John Blofeld, whose character and personality shine through Mr. Reid's account. It is truly worthy of much reflection.

Water

Nothing in the world is softer or more yielding
than water.
But, for wearing down the hard and strong,
there is nothing like it.
That yielding overcomes the strong
and softness overcomes the hard
is something that is known by all,
but is practiced by few.

Tao Teh Ching, 78. Translation by Hua-Ching Ni.




How does the sea
become the queen of all rivers and streams?
By lying lower than they do!
Hence, it is the queen of all rivers and streams.

Tao Teh Ching, 66. Translation by Hua-Ching Ni.