Half a world away, I journey inward

The need for such an approach arises from the subjective experience of objective reality that we know as the human condition. I began by granting the fact of my own existence. This allows me to work under the assumption that my identity, which I seek, exists, in some form and thereby, simplifies the problem manifold. In so doing, I have established the ‘fact’ of my existence as the frame of reference, the foundation upon which all other knowledge I possess is predicated.

The next step was to define that which I sought. Upon some consideration, I redefined my question as “Do I have an identity that extends beyond context, i.e. my past and present experiences and actions?” The simplest experiment I could think of was to try and observe myself in a radically different context. From a reductionist standpoint, there are two significant weaknesses in the experiment’s design: a) as both observer and subject, I’d be prone to bias and, b) being privy to my observations, I’d invariably be affected by them, i.e. the act of observation would alter the subject of study. However, these could be offset to a degree by recognizing and accounting for them, as far as possible.

Moving halfway across the globe to begin by graduate studies gave me the perfect opportunity to conduct such an experiment. It is important to acknowledge that the need for the physical separation from my past stemmed from my lack of mental discipline at the time. Over the last five years, I’ve been engaged in a continuous, iterative process of introspection and self-assessment. At each step, I became aware of the impact that the knowledge, thus gained, was having upon me. Observing my own evolution, I came to the realization that it should be possible for me to consciously guide the process, at least to a degree.

Over time, as I changed and grew more and more comfortable in my own skin, I noticed improving clarity in my self-observation. The act of observation was changing that which was being observed as well as the observer – after all, compartmentation of thought notwithstanding; they are both the same entity. Along the way, I’ve come to realize also that the process of seeking is continually revising my definition of that which I seek. Indeed, I’ve come to look upon ‘my identity’ very differently now.

For the longest time, I was troubled by the immense influence of my circumstances upon my identity. I desperately sought to discover for myself a context-independent identity; so that I could see myself more than the sum of my past experiences and actions. This is no longer a concern for me. I see now the flaw in my linear, reductionist approach to the problem. I find it more apt to describe myself as a complex adaptive system and my identity is an emergent behavior/property of the system (i.e., me). Therefore, while my identity is informed by my past, it is different from the sum of my past. The question of whether one is more or less does not arise, because the process of my evolution is non-linear, far from monotonic and not commutative.

My response to new experience is heavily influenced by my history and the different parts of my history do not always exert the same level of influence. Therefore, I no longer consider my identity in linear terms or even as a function of time even thought it is constantly evolving in time. While I recognize the infinite nature of one’s search for one’s identity, I no longer consider it a journey in simple space-time. Rather it is more akin to an evolutionary optimization problem, where one is constantly redefining the optimum criteria based on new input even as one tries to more towards it. This idea in turn leads me back to the concept of ‘wu wei’ – I mustn’t stagnate nor must I hurry. The key is to be conscious of all my experiences and actions which in and of itself is an ideal to strive for. And, to me this provides a rather satisfactory answer to what I’m doing with my existence – I’m learning – about myself and about the universe (well, the infinitesimal fragment of it that I interact with). It is both the means and the end, at least to me.

Wei Wu Wei - Action without action

‘Wu wei’, which roughly translates to ‘spontaneous/natural action’, is a Taoist concept applicable to the martial arts. The idea is for the martial artist to neither act nor remain passive, for these are both unilateral; both are states of inertia. He remains free from inertia in his interaction with the universe – which is represented by the opponent – and restores balance with minimal expenditure of energy. He forces neither action nor inaction, he neither attacks nor defends, he is neither protagonist nor antagonist. He rises above and beyond being a party to any conflict, and simply prevails through them. The opponent’s force which disturbs balance/oneness is countered with a smaller force that complements, rather than opposes it.

To achieve ‘wu wei’, the martial artist must first look inward and quell the fluctuations within. He must achieve a state of calm hyper-awareness where he is keenly attuned to all his senses. In this state of mind, he is also able to rapidly process sensory information and make decisions. The key to speeding up the thought process is to adopt a non-linear approach that utilizes the pattern recognition and predictive functions of the neocortex. The subjective experience of such a mental state may be perceived as a slowing down of time and it is absolutely vital to ‘wu wei’. In short, he must be like still water, reflecting his opponent’s weaknesses and letting him defeat himself.

His attacks find his opponent’s vulnerabilities because they are simply a response to the existence of an opening. This is what Bruce Lee referred to when he talked about his ‘fist striking on its own’ and what Miyamoto Musashi called the ‘strike of non-thought’. Likewise, wu wei allows the martial artist to avoid and deflect his opponent’s attacks and frustrate him at every turn. Thereby, he is able to turn his opponent against himself in both mind and body and ultimately dissipate his very will to fight. At this level, the martial arts become, to use Bruce Lee’s words, a means of ‘honest self-expression’ and transcend from a fighting art to a path to self-realization.

However, honestly expression requires intense introspection and deep knowledge of the self. He must shed all that is unnecessary – reducing himself, body and mind, in the crucible of training to the solid core of his being. While he must constantly strive for improvement, he must do so without being at conflict with himself – in short, he must accept his nature and his humanity. He must be comfortable in the knowledge that the ideal will always remain beyond his grasp. Such realization will bring lasting peace. And, it is this inner calm, rather than aggression, that brings clarity of expression and the ability to prevail.

In achieving such growth, the martial artist surpasses action and reaction, attack and defense, indeed, all limitations. And he no longer limits himself to a style or even to action that is only physical. He applies himself as necessary to the situation at hand, be it through thought, word or deed. His goal is beyond even victory. In a way, he becomes the eternal, the intangible, his ‘self’ no longer a party to any conflict. The opponent is then reduced to a helpless hand swatting at thin air. Such is the method of ‘wei wu wei’.

A Question of Balance

What follows is an attempt to crystallize some thoughts I’ve had with regard to my pursuit of gung fu. The words gung fu translate to ‘time and hard work’ and it is my understanding that the development of martial skill happens as much in the mind as in the body, if not more so. Developing skill demands not just constant training but constantly evolving training.

In martial arts, as in all things, one must strive constantly for balance. The first step in seeking balance is identifying the antagonistic elements that compose the equation. In doing this one is forced to examine oneself in the blinding light of honest introspection.

In order to be effective, training must hone one’s body and mind into an effective tool. One must train the body to maximize agility, speed, balance and efficiency of motion and the mind to develop sharper perception, thorough situational awareness and stillness of thought. The key is to balance the hard elements within gung fu forms with the soft, the external with the internal.

In a sense, one could think of the body as a tool to develop and transmit force, into the earth for movement or into the opponent. Hence, training must be balanced between developing form and fitness. In fitness training one must balance strength and power with speed and flexibility. While working on form one must balance the various elements: stability, balance, breathing, power, speed, fluidity. Even within the context of a single move, one must balance tension and relaxation just as one must balance following the traditional form with improvisation.

The true martial artist does not start fights but finishes them. While he must avoid being the instigator/aggressor, he must possess the fortitude to prevail should conflict be forced upon him. Even so, the martial artist must measure his response, balancing concern for his own well being with concern for his opponent’s well being. Where he must be gentle in dealing with an errant act of rowdiness, he must be able to act with unbridled violence when such action is called for.

Although the martial artist must possess the capacity for violence, it is vital that he use the right motivations to propel him in a conflict. Aggression, while untamed, must be free of anger and malice and should be expressed through one’s instincts and reasoning skills rather than as an emotional outburst. In this way, one remains in control of oneself and is best able to avoid unintended damage to all parties involved in the conflict as well as to bystanders.

A walk in the rain

Weathered fingers clasped tightly around a flashlight, its faltering beam cutting a narrow swathe through inky blackness. Unrelenting rain drummed a hypnotic rhythm as it pattered on dense foliage, interrupted only by the squelch of wet grass under tired feet. The man kept a steady pace, a tattered poncho pulled tight over his head, following the narrow trail with practiced ease. He seemed in no particular hurry, however, even sodden as he was. Every few minutes, a frog croaked, seemingly always from a few paces off to his right. It seemed he only had the frog to share the night with, every other denizen of the jungle driven to its den by the rain. Rainwater streamed down his face in rivulets, blurring his vision, before disappearing into his long gray beard. But, the man neither stopped nor slowed. He walked, unwavering as the rain itself. Alone, within the immense darkness, he was more sharply conscious of his own existence than he had ever been. His reality was limited to the ground underfoot and the flashlight beam and the future extended no further than the next step. As thunderclaps counted off the passing hours, neither the rain stopped nor did he. It was a contest of will, a man against the elements themselves, and it concluded just as faint wisps of pre-dawn light crept up hesitantly onto the eastern skies. His pace steady, he walked on as night gave way to day and rain-clouds retreated, humbled and in defeat, to reveal clear blue skies. Coming up on a precipice, the man paused, gazing at the vast expanse of green that stretched out below. At the very edge, stood a figure, sodden and haggard, his shoulders slumped. As he turned around, the old man saw a bespectacled, curly haired youngster and figured he must have lost his way during the night. Just then, the sun peeked over the horizon, illuminating the faintest of smiles on both their faces. Feeling content, the man stirred. He had fallen asleep at his desk again. He smiled. He would write of a dream, of an old man, long since confined to a wheelchair, who dreamed every night of walking. In a log cabin across the jungle, another set of eyes fluttered open. The old man had fallen asleep in his wheelchair yet again.

Academia: Conflicting Perspectives

This post is a crystallization of my thoughts after reading an article in The New Yorker about the problems facing the University of California. (http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2010/01/04/100104fa_fact_friend)

As a graduate student, I play the roles of both student and educator at different times. From time to time, I’m faced with a situation that elicits conflicting responses from these two parts of me. These are often issues pertaining to the responsibilities of students and educators towards each other and towards society at large. To further complicate my existence, there is my primary role as a researcher – about which I am the most passionate, by far. The researcher in me is ever eager to apply reductionist methodology to life, never willing to engage more than one problem at a time. This part of me is also eager to dismiss the aforementioned issues as being unrelated to the scientific question(s) at hand and therefore, inconsequential. However, these are issues are anything but inconsequential: issues that affect students and/or faculty at academic institutions have far-reaching effects on research conducted within the system of academia. So, the question boils down to, “Which voice do I listen to? Do I think of myself as a student, an educator or a researcher? Or perhaps, there is a way to reconcile these disparate voices?”

I’ve tried different approaches in the past. I’ve tried to be purely a student of my discipline, which happens to be science – a virtual non-member of the student body, completely oblivious to the mundane, everyday realities. In a sense, this is very much along the lines of being a scientist focused solely on research, unmindful even to the business of conducting that very research. At other times, I’ve tried to be a more active and vociferous member of the student body, whether by involving myself in student politics or by simply sticking to principles and vocal about my ideas and opinions as an individual. The consequences have ranged from minor victories to boredom and disgust over time/effort wasted over trivial details to being subject to the wrath of those in authority. The end result has been disillusionment which has left me with little faith in student political bodies. However, given the successes student movements have achieved in the past and my inability to conceive of viable alternatives, I have little choice but to function within the so-called “system” and seek change from within. While that would seem like a viable solution, it does not address what, for me, is the greater question: “How do I keep apathy at bay when it is so easy wrap myself in a warm blanket of scientific problems and ignore the world outside the lab?”

If and, hopefully, when I have an answer to that question, it will be the subject of a new post on this blog.