I came across a site providing different versions of the Tao Te Ching there are eighty-four different English versions, as well as versions in other languages. There are even different versions in Chinese. With so much variance between versions in each translation, how well can the essence of what was written be relayed to new readers? One hopes that the concepts themselves will speak for themselves; otherwise, it’s time to brush up on your Chinese!

Yoda in Empire Strikes Back chides young Luke Skywalker with the comment, “Do or do not — there is no try.” The notion is not to think about doing something, or attempt to do something, so much as to just do it. Wing Chun (and, as it turns out, most of life) works this way. You don’t try to do something. You just do it.

Chi sao is a big part of Wing Chun training. Almost like a very light contact sparring, this two person drill basically has both people try to find openings in the other’s guard. Over time, this develops what are call “contact reflexes”, or the ability to respond without thinking. In actual sparring or fighting, it’s much the same: Just do it. Don’t think about it.

This article on the conscious and unconscious self describes what may be happening. What the article describes is the notion that the “you” is not actually “yourself”. We have a conscious layer on top of much that is automated. Consciousness, in the realm of mind evolution, is a relatively recent development. This should be treated less as an identity, and more as the ability to recognize what’s going on, to shape the input appropriately. Think of your morning commute. Some days, you put the key in the door, and before you realize it, you’re taking the key out of the ignition, with no idea of what transpired in between. It’s automatic. You don’t realize it, but in hundreds of ways each day, you let this automation take place. It’s impossible to keep track of everything at once. A separate article on unconscious operation by the same author demonstrates the “spooky” way in which he was able to find a book he wanted on a bookshelf. There’s a lot of power to this concept.

Wing Chun can be said to be doing the same thing. In a fight, you can’t think of the right block for each incoming strike. It takes too long. You have to develop the right reactions. This usually only comes about through a lot of practice. Is it the conscious self that is being trained here? Not at all. It’s the subconscious self, and through enough training, the reactions can be well developed, and you can learn to trust what skills you have developed. Rather than thinking of the right block for an attack, you just block the attack. You don’t think about it, you just do.

However, as Malcom Gladwell noted in Blink, a book about how our mind makes snap judgments, sometimes our subconscious makes the wrong choices. Consider the Implicit Association Test, specifically, for race. We typically have a pre-wired configuration to associate “black” with “bad”. Almost all people take the test, and find that they have an association for “black” and “bad”, with a countering association for “white” and “good”. It’s wired into our subconscious. You can take the test again and again, and get the same results. In this sense, our unconscious selves pick up queues from our environment, and translates that into this sort of association. This doesn’t mean we’re racist, because our conscious selves don’t make such associations. Interestingly enough, you can circumvent this phenomenon, by seeding your subconscious with different input. If, before the test, you had been exposed to a lot of things that associate “black” with “good”, you’d find that the test results would be quite different. Gladwell cited a case where a person took the test every day, just to fill it with data, always getting the same result. However, one day, he took the test, and got a different result. What did he do differently? He was watching black athletes compete in the Olympics that morning, thus seeding his unconscious with different input. He changed his unconscious associations, without realizing it.

When training Wing Chun, what I’m doing is helping to train the automatic portion of myself to respond appropriately. I consciously drill on the correct movements, so the subconscious portion of myself can act effectively. This is what makes training so strange: you can’t tell someone in a straightforward manner how to do the right moves. You have to feed in the right input, so that your subconscious can internalize it properly.

It’s hard to truly understand this. A lot of people think they understand this, but have trouble actually putting it into action. I am one of these people. I understand the principles, but have trouble with the practice. Hopefully, I’ll get better at programming my subconscious correctly. As I get better, I will fully realize the phrase, do or do not. There is no try.

Don’t take one step when two will do. In footwork, as in training, I often want to get from one place to another immediately, leaving myself open for attack. If I cut the movement into more steps, I can maintain my defense, while getting into a better position. Be aware of what you’re doing, break it into smaller parts, and don’t overextend — at that point, even the impossible becomes possible.

Well, first, it’s near impossible to write a glib short article about this. Entire book series are dedicated to one philosophy, so, I’m bound to butcher it. Off we go, then!

Confucianism was the earliest philosophy, and continues to impact Chinese culture today. Ritual and right action were the key: work your hardest to do things right, and you’ll approach greatness. It took a long time to get things right. Respect your elders. The importance of ritual in Chinese society continues to draw from these roots.

Taoism on the other hand was based more on the constant changing nature of things. It was an attempt to describe the world as it was, and the position of the self within. To quote Stan Rosenthal’s translation of the Tao Te Ching: “The Tao is abstract, and therefore has no form, it is neither bright in rising, nor dark in sinking, cannot be grasped, and makes no sound.” Everything comes from Tao, and everything goes to it, with transient impermanence in between. Taoism brought the notion of living in harmony with the world, touching all aspects of Chinese life.

Buddhism (or rather, Chan Buddhism or Zen Buddhism) became strong especially in Japanese martial arts. Bushido (the warrior code) developed out of Zen. Logical constructs of the world are rejected, and the Freudian ego is relinquished, as only then can one be truly free. To a proper follower of Zen Buddhism, even death means nothing, because the self is unimportant. What’s interesting is that at that point, beauty exists, even in tragedy. A quote from Zen master Basho stated, “Barn’s burnt down. Now I can see the moon.”

It’s interesting to see how each of these philosophies, succeeding each other in turn, impacted Eastern society. You can’t separate the three, because each layer made and continues to make deep impressions on, for example, Chinese society. This is odd, considering that the philosophies themselves are at odds. For example, Taoism is in stark contrast to Confucianism. Taoism works to harmonize with the world as a whole by taking a natural view of things. Confucianism, on the other hand, works to reshape your life through hard work and persistence over a long time. Or, to banally phrase it, one goes with the flow while the other builds a waterway to try to control the flow. Buddhists would wonder why you were so concerned about dealing with the flow in the first place.

Growing up entirely in Western culture, Eastern thought is at times non-intuitive. This is unfortunate, because this thought has a lot to offer.

As I study martial arts, I find myself considering all three of these philosophies, despite their inherent inconsistencies. Confucianism teaches respect for senior students of the instructor, as well as that hard work over time will pay off. Taoism teaches me to flow with the movements, rather than fighting them, as strength versus strength is often the wrong tactic. Buddhism teaches me to not get worked up over how my training is going, to be able to enjoy the training itself, while rejecting ego (i.e., no “I’m the most ultimate bad ass fighter ever!” nonsense). Most martial arts follow these foundations. At least the good ones.