Book Review: Forrest Morgan's "Living the Martial Way"

Photo from Ikigaiway.com                                         

                It was during my recent stint studying avian social behavior in California that I stumbled upon a book which has contributed immensely to my understanding of traditional martial arts and the often perplexing result of their interweaving with Western culture and ideals. I found it on my third trip to an independent used books store in Monterey, which, to my delight, had an entire shelf labeled “martial arts”. I spent at least an hour squeezed up against that shelf as I made room for other shoppers in the narrow aisle, thumbing eagerly through the mess of second hand titles the store had to offer. The book which caught my eye at this particular time was “Living the Martial Way” by Forrest E. Morgan.

                The title of the book, generic as it is, was not what impressed me, but it’s subtitle “A manual for the way a modern warrior should think” was immediately appealing. As a primarily traditional martial artist, I have always been interested in the integration of skills and ideas from my training into both everyday life and non-traditional arts. “Living the Martial Way”, written in 1992 by a major in the U.S. Air Force, confronted precisely those issues—and many more.

                The first thing I noticed about the book was the sheer breadth of the material it covers; from defining martial arts to separating traditional from modern, from Eastern spirituality to mental focus methods, from ways of upholding honor to tips for diet and exercise. Overall, Morgan presents a thorough, exhaustive account of possible conflicts, situations and ideas to be confronted by a modern martial artist, and the traditional viewpoints on how they might be solved. His overall thesis in the book, one which I respect immensely, is that as a modern martial artist, “[y]ou should never lose your ties to those noble warriors of the past,” that is, much can still be learned from traditional arts, and to abandon their ways completely might be a case of throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

                Particularly appealing to me was Morgan’s style (presumably rooted in his military experience) of explaining concepts as clearly and explicitly as possible. Lists, neatly numbered and bulleted, saturate the book, with at least one appearing in nearly every chapter. He does a fantastic job of simplifying esoteric Japanese terminology and translating it into tractable concepts which practitioners can begin employing in their practice. He also makes great use of his military education in providing a conceptual framework for understanding how different styles of martial arts work. For example, defining how specific tactics are part of a strategy employed under a central doctrine of a style (he defines these terms as well). With Morgan’s explanations of styles, training halls, and training techniques, a modern martial artist would enter or continue their training with a much broader, clearer understanding of what exactly they are doing and why.

                Perhaps one of my favorite ideas from the book is that “all systems are artificial”, meaning that every style was still designed by a specific person or group of people, faced with a particular group of threats or particular group of goals in the creation of their doctrine or art. Thus, all styles are in a way an incomplete picture of the theoretical “whole” of combat situations. Consequently, as Morgan explains, it is important that martial artists seek training in styles different from their own, or else risk shutting out ideas from other sources, and missing valuable truths they might otherwise have encountered. As a firm believer in the role of interdisciplinary training (“cross-training”) in the modern martial arts, I was overjoyed to hear this point repeatedly reiterated throughout the book, and found my thoughts deepened and legitimized as I read on.

                The breadth (and much of the time, depth) that Morgan achieved in “Living the Martial Way” is truly impressive. I got the feeling, however that at times he was biting off more than he could chew. As he admits in his interview with the martial arts blog Ikigai Way, much of the information he uses in his section for “warrior diets” turned out to be false as the next two decades progressed. What’s more, the vast majority of terminology used in the book is either Japanese or Korean, understandably restricted to the author’s formal training background. However, the viewpoints and philosophies expressed within are almost entirely Japanese. The traditional attitude Morgan advocates throughout the book is very obviously and strictly one of budo, the Japanese “way of the warrior”. I find this Japan-centric approach a bit limiting, especially the way it is unequivocally touted as “the way”. Many martial arts were originally designed for and practiced by non-warriors for the sole purpose of defending themselves against warriors, for example in the origin of Shaolin kempo, in which Bodidharma supposedly taught peaceable Buddhist monks the martial arts to help enhance their meditation and abilities to defend themselves.

                As might be expected from a text heavily rooted in the traditions of budo, “Living the Martial Way” at times presents a very black-and-white viewpoint. For example, pervasive to the book is the idea of the “Warrior”, the ideal to which Morgan believes all martial artists must compare themselves. All people are either “warriors” or “non-warriors”, the latter are of course referred to somewhat condescendingly throughout the book. There are even faint hints of elitism springing up as Morgan explains that “warriors, by the very nature of their calling, tend to make themselves physically, mentally, and spiritually superior to the rest of society,” and how, as warriors, “we are stronger and faster than our docile, sedentary peers”.  This intensity even goes far enough as to include a chapter exclusively dedicated to revenge and suicide—enough to make me put down the book and pause for thought.

                Morgan also denounces modern training methods with little justification other than that they are different from traditional methods, and leaves some more spiritual-sounding assertions regarding the efficacy of traditional methods entirely unsupported. As he also admits in his Ikigai Way interview, he feels less confident about some of his previous confidence in those areas.

                Overall, I think “Living the Martial Way” comprises a solid guide for a modern martial artist, providing a wealth of well-organized information and guidance on a variety of subjects. It’s main drawbacks come from a budo-centric outlook focused mostly on traditional Japanese viewpoints, and a sort of over-adherence to ideals that I might regard as rather antiquated. Though these portions of the book may be irrelevant to the modern martial artist, it can’t be denied that most others are perfectly germane. I would highly recommend the text to anyone looking to add depth, seriousness, and motivation to their training, and also to learn more about traditional ways of thinking in the martial arts. However, some sections should be taken with a grain of salt, unless readers are indeed serving as attendants to some feudal lord.

The Saving Art of Ukemi

Demonstrating ukemi at the Connecticut College Martial Arts Club's annual demo night, March 2010

Shortly after my last post, I moved back from the North Shore to the Greater Boston area, where I will be starting graduate school in the fall. After more than six years training in other martial arts around the United States, I am finally back at Shobu Aikido of Boston; for the first time in just as long, I will be able to train there for more than a month without a significant break in between. Over the last two weeks, as I delved back into the style in which I began my formal training as a martial artist, I was reminded of the lessons which make it so valuable. Among these, one in particular is an often-neglected practice that I would argue is essential for complete martial arts training, especially for applied combat techniques. This is the art of ukemi.

Literally translated as “receiving body”, ukemi is a Japanese term referring to the art of safely receiving an opponent’s technique (be it a throw, hold, lock, etc.) in practice. My teacher, William Gleason, defines ukemi as the “Art of receiving, falling, and moving in such a way as to have no openings where one could be attacked” (In his first book, The Spiritual Foundations of Aikido); which I think is as good a definition as any. Ukemi is particularly obvious in such arts as Judo, Koryu Jiujutsu, Aikido, and Hapkido, which place emphasis on throwing and locking techniques from which opponents must be capable of rolling, falling, or positioning their bodies safely to avoid serious injury. However, all arts, in one form or another, involve some form of ukemi, and more importantly, I would argue that all martial artists should have at least some training to be realistically prepared for an actual physical confrontation. I perceive three levels of ukemi application in the martial arts, each of which is developed continuously as a result of sincere training.

        At the basic level, ukemi training involves learning to fall and roll on a mat when your balance is thrown off, thus preventing the crippling injuries to bones and internal organs which can result from slamming into the ground. A teacher of mine once told me that to learn to achieve victory in the martial arts, the first step is to learn to be defeated. The idea behind this is not to learn to “lose”, but to learn how to behave in a worst-case scenario. If a martial artist always trains how to fight when they are on their feet and on balance, they will not be prepared to defend themselves if they are knocked to the ground. With this in mind, I consider the reluctance of some martial artists to spend time learning how to fall down a form of arrogance; more likely than not, unless you are an absolute master of your given art, you will be knocked over, or at least knocked off balance, in a real fight.

Practicing ukemi, one learns to relax and be flexible; to know when one is “beaten”, and to resist only when in an advantageous position. Tightening or clenching the muscles or resisting foolishly when the opponent is about to throw can result in serious injuries. A good uke hits the ground like a wet towel, heavily and loosely, while a stiff and rigid one will fall like a grand piano and burst to pieces. On more than one occasion, this basic level of ukemi has saved me from serious injuries.

For example, while working as a Campus security patroller in college, I once slipped on black ice on a steep concrete slope, and rather than breaking my wrist or arm, I dropped to the ground on my side and dissipated my momentum with my palm. The movement had been unconscious but identical to what I might do if someone swept my feet from beneath me. I arose, hands trembling with adrenaline, but totally unharmed, and continued my patrol without incident.

The higher art of ukemi is one I have seen less often. This is the art of blending with and receiving techniques while not yet thrown, and of protecting one’s self through positioning and posture while sezing, grappling with, or otherwise attacking an opponent. This type of ukemi is particularly emphasized in Aikido, Systema, and the more advanced levels of Judo and Koryu Jiujutsu. The idea is not only to survive and recover from a fall or throw as in basic ukemi, but to have the sensitivity and adaptability to find your own openings and weakpoints and actively, continuously adjust your movements and positioning to eliminate them. This is what Gleason sensei refers to in having “no openings”, and what Bruce Lee described as “body feel”. It makes techniques "alive" and realistic, even in a controlled environment, and cultivates an ability to react instantaneously and harmoniously to a situation without the need for thought or consideration. Aikido techniques, because of their goal of nonviolence, depend on this level of ukemi. If an opponent leaves themselves open, even an Aikidoka must take this opening and attack. Only through a dynamic tension of the nage (performer of the technique, “thrower”) taking the uke (receiver)’s balance and the uke adapting their movement to stay safe, is Aikido technique possible.

                The highest level of ukemi is in some way comparable to the internal arts of Tai Chi and Ba Gua (e.g. push hands) or Systema, in which the martial artist becomes so sensitive that in contact with their opponent they can find his or her weakpoints and openings and exploit them the same way. This opens the door to the practice of kaeshi waza, reversal of technique, in which uke finds a weakness in nage’s technique and in turn performs his or her own.

This level of ukemi, as well as that before it, have both been invaluable products of my Aikido training thus far. In practicing with other martial artists, I have repeatedly been astounded by the unconscious connection I can make with their techniques, and how rapidly openings and counterattacks can manifest themselves faster than my conscious thought can process. On several occasions, I have practiced with wrestlers and Judoka whose techniques were repeatedly confounded by minute and subtle adjustments in my movement. While practicing Mixed Martial Arts at Sityodtong, I exhausted a sparring partner who continually clinched and attempted to throw me by blending with his movements. Rather than resisting as he was accustomed, I moved easily with his throws, either moving beyond his control or, when his technique was correct, rolling simply out of range and back to my feet before he could follow up his technique. As the sparring session went on, his arms were tired from their exertions, and I was able to take advantage of his dropping guard.

I would urge every serious martial artist to give proper consideration to the benefits of ukemi, and to investigate how such practice might apply to their training. Even if you don’t find yourself in a combative situation, it may be a real life-saver on a winter stroll.