7

EASTERN PHILOSOPHY

Jesús Ilundáin-Agurruza and Takayuki Hata

This chapter explores dominant millennial Eastern philosophical traditions and their connection to sport, understood to include games, physical activity, martial arts, and dance.1 As diverging yet complementary perspectives, they help to interpret and understand sport. To adequately cover these traditions discussion assumes unfamiliarity and centers on main tenets, methodologies, practical applications, and relevance to twenty-first-century sporting concerns. The first section examines Indian philosophy, introducing basic concepts that thread their way from early Hindu traditions through Buddhism and on to other Asian philosophies. Section two considers China’s native Confucianism and Daoism and, briefly, Mahayanistic Chan (Image) Buddhism. Section three looks at Japanese philosophy in Zen (Image) Buddhism and martial arts. The fourth section discusses contemporary Eastern sport philosophy scholarship and future developments. Each historically organized tradition engages two themes that topically ground matters from a sporting perspective: the human body and its cultural role, and the relation between results and process. On account of its foundational role, theoretical explanation predominates in Hinduism, setting the stage for later developments where sport takes center stage.

India’s Hinduism and Buddhism – paths of plurality and discipline

India’s autochthonous philosophies and religions are Hinduism and Buddhism. Delving into Hinduism is necessary to understand Buddhism’s reactionary stance, to grasp Hinduism’s subsequent influence of other Asian traditions (through Buddhism), and is worthwhile for its own sake. Idiosyncratically, Hinduism lacks both, an organized institution to keep the faith and a founder. Humans did not write its original sacred texts, classified as sruti (what is heard). Rather, these are part of the very fabric of reality. This makes Hinduism inherently philosophical, encouraging a critical dialogue to the best explanation of reality that results in a diversity of darshanas (schools of thought).2 This discussion engages three of its four historical periods, as these present the original ideas that the fourth, the Scholastic Period (fifth century CE to present), expounds upon.

The sacred Vedas establish the Vedic period (BCE 1500–500), the first Hindu era. Setting out cosmogony and basic moral tenets, these evolve from polytheism toward monotheism and monism. Interestingly, the Rig Veda raises the possibility of ignorance concerning ultimate questions: “None knoweth whence creation has arisen;/And whether he has or has not produced it:/He who surveys it in the highest Heaven,/He only knows, or haply he may not know” (Radhakrishnan and Moore 1973: 24), then questions the very existence of the gods in a different hymn (ibid: 34). This skeptic strain remains vibrant throughout Indian thought, and marks the philosophical tenor of the various schools as one of vigorous disputation characterized by keen logical analysis and refined argumentative techniques. One issue concerns whether fundamental reality is an unchanging singularity or a shifting atomistic multiplicity. Johan Huizinga’s Homo Ludens echoes this penchant for manifold stances and debates when it examines Vedic literature. After considering the ritualized question-and-answer competitions regarding cosmogony, Huizinga (1955: 107) states, “All we can say of these venerable texts is that in them we find the birth of philosophy … in sacred play”, for in the riddles that typify them “lurks the profoundest wisdom concerning the origins of existence” (ibid: 106). Thus, the playful yet sacred riddle is a methodological tool for soteriological knowledge – a learned way to salvation.

But it is the Upanishads – meaning “those who sit in front,” disciples sitting next to teachers – that are distinctly philosophical, and provide the overall epistemic context to explain reality and find salvation. They conceptualize the basic tenets of Hindu metaphysics and ethics on which most darshanas agree. Ontologically, the Upanishads postulate Brahman, meaning “to grow,” as absolute reality and transcendental ground of being from which everything arises. Its counterpart atman, means “breath,” and refers to our true essence (which different darshanas interpret variously). Its nature and relation to Brahman – is it the same or different ultimately? – is robustly disputed. Ultimate reality and our nature, as two sides of the same coin for Hinduism, concentrate philosophical disquisition as to which one should be given priority when seeking to answer both. The skeptical Kena Upanishad famously embraces paradox, “It is not understood by those who [say they] understand It./It is understood by those who [say they] understand It not,” meaning that this is an inscrutable issue” (Radhakrishnan and Moore 1973: 42).

These disputations are not merely academic. Proper methodology and correct answers have direct relevance to Hindu ethics and our fate. The goal is moksha, the blissful liberation from the sufferings of this world – a soteriology. This hinges on realizing that a veil of illusion shrouds life, maya, and entails an epiphanic realization summed up as Tat Twam Asi, “you are that” – Atman is Brahman (Radhakrishnan and Moore 1973: 67–70), else we remain trapped in samsara, the wheel of birth and rebirth. In other words, salvation is a matter of embodied epistemic insight – existentially and corporeally lived, not merely intellectual – into one’s true nature and that of reality, called prajna, transcendental wisdom. After millions of lifetimes – Hindu’s conception of time is cyclical – prajna is realized by observing certain tenets meant to avoid ignorance, avidya, regarding the identity of self and reality. Dharma, “law” or “truth,” the moral order and code to follow (duty) lays out these principles. Its counterpart, Karma, refers to the moral law that parallels the natural law of cause and effect. We reap what we sow: good actions result in more goodness in the world and, resulting in good habits, bring moksha closer; bad actions mean rebirth in samsara. Orthodox schools within Hinduism, astikas or “affirmers,” embrace these concepts, whereas dissenting ones, nastikas or “non-affirmers,” reject certain elements. However, all agree on the importance of bodily-lived wisdom.

Excepting divergent views to be discussed below, Hindu orthodox ontology proposes a dynamic mind-body unity at the psychophysical level, and a separate, transcendental Self eligible for moksha. Put another way, we find an integrated psyche and soma, and a separate soul. As John Koller explains, the Self, autonomous and independent of this body-mind, is karmically trapped; only release from the body-mind will result in liberation (Kasulis, Ames and Dissanayake 1993: 42–3). The preeminence of the Self established, the fact is that “the lived body-mind is of central importance in every system” (ibid: 43). That is, the mind-body complex becomes an integral part of a corporeal praxis of liberation. Practice in Indian culture is more important than theory, as Frits Staal (1993) points out, unerringly engaging bodily practices that involve discipline, e.g., ritual, recitation, chant, dance, and martial arts (ibid: 66). Staal looks in detail at kalarippayattu, a southwestern Indian martial art, and gymnastics movements around and on an 11-foot pole, the malkhamb (ibid: 73–84), and concludes that these activities are not physical in a Western sense (as subject for the sciences qua physical), but that they are capable of indefinite development towards a goal within our reach (ibid: 84).

The Bhagavad Gita, a text from the Epic period (BCE 500–300) which embodies the Hindus’ sense as a people, is the clearest exponent of discipline. Part of the Mahabharata, it parallels the standing of the Gospels within the Bible, endorsing devotion to a personal god. Centered on the concept of dharma, it presents Arjuna’s plight, a noble warrior remiss to wage war against his kinsmen. Krishna, god Vishnu’s avatar, incarnates as Arjuna’s charioteer to persuade him to wage war. Krishna thus asserts the primacy of doing our duty regardless of consequences: “He who does the task dictated by duty,/Caring nothing/For the fruit of the action,/He is a yogi” (Anonymous 2002: 62). As an uncompromising deontological stance, it rides on the aforementioned realization that all that exists is but an aspect of Brahman. It also reflects a dominant Eastern current where consequences and results are less important than acting rightly by fulfilling our duty. Forsaking the win when our duty lies in winning is problematic. As in Kantian ethics, defining duty is a thorny issue: Is running up the score morally permissible? Does this endorse a win-at-any-costs ethos? Whereas the former question is more difficult to address,3 the latter can be met through the disregard for consequences it upholds. Unlike Kantian ethics, the agent’s intentions are not paramount, which simplifies the equation (but elides issues of merit or justice). One reading suggests ignoring how our actions affect others: Arjuna is not supposed to bemoan the killing of his kinsmen; humiliating opponents should not be an issue. More interestingly, the poem’s fundamental message emphasizes working “for the work’s sake only [and where] desire for the fruits of work must never be your motive” (Anonymous 2002: 40). In other words, it is about detachment from ego and results. This can be interpreted as advocating caring about playing well, in accordance with duty, not just winning (unless the former is reduced to the latter). This is coherent with non-instrumental views of sport that, embracing its internal goods oppose zero-sum stances on competition that make of the game but a means to victory regardless of how it is achieved, i. e., broad internalism and “deep” conventionalism. 4 To inculcate the determination to abide “liberating duty,” the Bhagavad Gita embraces yoga.

Yoga, meaning “yoke” or “union” (overtly of body and mind), is one of six astika darhsanas unfolding during the third or Sutra period (BCE 300–400 CE). There are four yogas: devotion, action, knowledge, and discipline, each a path to salvation. These are matched with the four temperaments of Hindu psychological views, and in turn cohere with the four Hindu life stages, goals, and castes. With an avowedly different purpose, this bodily cultivation of a higher ideal parallels Ancient Greece’s own fostering of agonic sport, and predates Western monastic askesis, ascetic energy management. As a dualistic philosophy largely congruent with Samkhya’s metaphysics, Yoga seeks liberation through the realization that atman equals Brahman. It involves a cosmogonic dualism (not of body and mind): purusha, an absolute consciousness that transcends any given self, and prakitri, original and primeval matter. However, it still faces the same Cartesian problem regarding interaction between radically incommensurate substances. The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, the formative text, focuses on prakriti as embodied consciousness through various methodologies, e.g., meditation and asanas, postures.5 Prajna’s liberating realization is achieved by learning “how to understand and control the different elements of the human person, both physical and psychical” (Harrison 2013: 66). Beyond successful dhyana or meditation, the highest state is samadhi, “a pure, “untainted” knowledge, complete in itself,” that is not so much ecstasy or trance but calmness (Brannigan 2000: 132). In the West, yogic practices are ubiquitously adapted as meditative techniques, health-promoting activities, or even sporting practices themselves. However, the philosophical background is oftentimes excised, which leads to arguably poorer practices for potential self-reflection.

Given Hinduism’s dialogic and critical nature, heterodox nastikas sprouted: Jainism, Carvaka, and the most influential, Buddhism. Buddhists accept Hindu views on karma, samsara, and the need for a moral law, but reject Brahman/atman. Buddhist dharma differs greatly, casting aside the caste system and embracing non-violence (which the Jainas first espoused). The heart of Buddhism is the four noble truths that Siddhartha Gautama, the historical Buddha, inferred after 49 days of fasting meditation: 1) there is dukkha – suffering, dependence; 2) samudhaya – desire, thirst, longing – causes dukkha; 3) But there is nirvana – cessation of the self that achieves emancipation from the cycle; 4) magga – the eight-fold path, built around ethical conduct, mental discipline, and wisdom – is the way to nirvana. To become a Buddha (anyone reaching nirvana becomes one) we must realize these truths and follow magga. Contrary to lore, this does not entail asceticism. The Buddha propounded the Middle Way, moderation in all things with neither austerity nor hedonism. The pursuits of many elite athletes requiring immoderate dedication might seem proscribed. But the tenet is rather adaptable, advising moderation in accordance to one’s dispositions and abilities (Aristotle’s virtue ethics are analogous). What would be excessive for one runner may be the right amount for another, given her talents and previous training.

Buddhism’s goal is to help people exit samsara. Hence, it emphasizes personal responsibility: each individual must realize in a lived sense the verity of the four truths and pursue the path. Being an eminently practical system, it largely avoids metaphysics. For Buddha, metaphysical speculation is dangerous, which he compares to being gravely wounded by an arrow, yet trying to determine who shot it, what the person looked like, and so forth, rather than immediately caring for the wound: death will ensue before finding out (Rahula 1974: 14). Likewise, worrying overly about sport ontology is negatively superfluous for the actual practice of sport, what really matters is playing well such that our ego does not get in the way of the playing itself.

Nevertheless, Buddhism has three key metaphysical elements. The already discussed avidya: ignorance as constitutive of the world as experienced. Following Hindu soteriology, it postulates that ignorance keeps us in samsara. But, whereas the former’s ignorance was concerned with the metaphysical constitution of self/reality, for Buddhism this is strictly ethical, pertaining to the nature of suffering and desire. The second is anatman or anatta, no self (which the Carvaka also deny). Our attachment to the idea of an enduring self and attendant psychological ‘needs’ account for our misery. For Buddhism, five aggregates constitute what we call ‘self,’ but, ultimately, there is no permanent substance or eternal soul. However, Buddhism is not nihilistic either. It simply neither asserts that nothing exists, nor proclaims the existence of an eternal self (Koller 1993: 51). Instead of substances, it postulates processes of experience analyzed phenomenologically under the aegis of dependent origination (all phenomena are interrelated and affect one another).6 As Victoria Harrison (2013) points out, it is more accurate to think of a no-abiding self,7 and that the real insight is to realize the causal chains at play in the creation of the ‘self’ (ibid: 94–5). In the end, the ‘self’ is constantly changing. Change, anicca or anitya as the impermanence of things, is the third tenet. There is no being only becoming. Because this entails change in terms of causal chains, the way to handle it is to stop the cause. Realizing that nothing lasts is a vital path towards right understanding and liberation.8 This can be seen positively as generative change, where the body is not a dualistic entity but rather a holistic, “creative, unified and continuous process of becoming” as Koller argues (Koller 1993: 52). Phenomenological accounts of the body, such as Merleau-Ponty’s (1964) or Maxine Sheets-Johnstone’s (2011), are amenable to this framework. Later traditions refine and build on this triad, devising corporeal mindfulness practices – beyond intellectualism – to inculcating insights as incarnate experiences. The irony is that mindfulness, a method to shed desires and ego, is used in sport for ego-centered outcomes that strengthen the athlete’s sense of self. As with yoga, excision of the philosophical context often means limited, absent, or even negative self-growth. However, while Western sport could embrace self-knowledge as sporting Socratic path, the East could learn better to appreciate athletic excellence.

Eventually, Buddhism split into two schools that basically agree on the fundamentals presented above. The Theravada (Eldest) school spread throughout South East Asia, positing as ideals wisdom and the arhat, an individual who, having broken the cycle of samsara, will not be reborn. The Mahayana (Great Vehicle) school’s ideals are compassion and the boddhisattva, an enlightened person who chooses to remain to release all other sentient beings. Dispersing to China first, the next waypoint, Buddhism, subsequently arrived in Japan.

China’s Confucianism, Daoism, and Chan Buddhism – The way toward harmonious community and self

China boasts three formative philosophies: native Confucianism and Daoism, and Buddhism,9 which Bodhidharma brought in the 6th century CE. Three notions vital to understanding Chinese culture are its pragmatic character, the importance of social harmony, and Dao (Image) as arché for cosmological understanding of reality and organizing principle for a life in harmony with nature.

Kongzi (Image) (BCE 551–479), the Latinized version being Confucius, was a literati or scholar who reinterpreted tradition. Confucianism can be said to predate him in the sense that core ideas he writes about precede him. As he put it, “I transmit but do not innovate. I believe in and love the ancients” (Confucius 1979: VII. 1).10 But, as Fung Yu-Lan (1976: 40) writes, “while transmitting the traditional institution and ideas, [he] gave them interpretations derived from his own moral concepts”. Kongzi’s contribution is so powerfully creative and invigorating that his Rujia school is the referent point for later Chinese philosophy and beyond: contemporary East Asian views on community, where family comes first, are Confucian. The two guiding issues are the right way to live and right government. Thus, Kongzi embraces ethics and politics with the goal to redress what he perceives as degeneration in Chinese society by promoting harmony in people’s lives and government as people’s caring steward. Moreover, as Chan Wing-Tsit (Chan 1963: 15) puts it, “he believed in the perfectibility of all men”. Crucially, Kongzi seeks to perfect his countrymen through a virtuous education.

While Dao stands as the ultimate guiding principle, de (Image), often translated as virtue, but also meant to capture the power of the Way of things or Dao, is the keystone of his ethical and political views. For Kongzi, the way to the good life is through the cultivation of a virtuous character. In fact, this emphasis on cultivating oneself (xiushen, Image) becomes a central feature of Chinese (and Japanese) culture. The junzi (Image) embodies this virtue; he is the superior man. Originally designating noble birth, Kongzi reinterprets it to refer to men who earn such honorific through actions and character.11 It is limited to men; traditional Chinese society is patriarchal. The most critical amendment is to make the Confucian system gender inclusive.12 Junzi is achieved through a set of virtues. Six stand out, of which three are key.

Foremost is ren (Image). 13 Rich in meanings, it is variously translated as humaneness, love, kindness, benevolence, compassion, and human-heartedness. As Van Norden (2011: 40) points out, it is composed of the character for person ren (Image) (which is appositely a homophone) and that of ‘two’ liang (Image), “suggesting this is a virtue manifested in relationships between people.” This clearly underscores a strong communitarian facet. More apposite, ren refers to a holistic view of the person that amalgamates rational, aesthetic, moral and religious dimensions through the lived body, hence denoting “a psychosomatology,” as Roger Ames (1993: 159–60) highlights. Next is yi (Image), righteousness or justice, which for Kongzi means doing what ought to be done regardless of consequences; whether we succeed or not should not matter.14 Similar to the view discussed in the Bhagavad Gita, it importantly differs in emphasizing intentions and not results (out of our control). Li (Image) refers to propriety, rites and rituals, which are the repository and source of the previous two virtues, and therefore essential for a harmonious society.15 Ames (1993: 148) observes that such ritual practices never detached from the physical body shape and are shaped by the community (body, ti (Image), and ritual li are cognates). That is, Li formalizes ren’s psychosomatic dispositions (ibid: 160). The other virtues are courage to follow through with what is right,16 sincerity to elicit trust, and wisdom to ascertain the latter.17 This is fertile ground to reflect on sport.

The community-minded element is primordial, as the virtues must add up to a better life under the aegis of a harmonious society. This is crucial for sports, overtly team sports but also more individualistic sports. Both entail committed, caring, sincere, and generous relationships among team members, fellow athletes, coaches, management, and supporting constituencies. These virtues are at the heart of flourishing, long-lived sport programs able to face success without hubris and adversity sans resentment. Crucially, this also applies to competitors and is evidenced in the etymology since “competition” is com + petere, Latin for “strive + together” (Hyland 2001: 81). Mirroring ren’s structural dynamics, it also implies a common social undertaking. This extends to sport’s very ontological and ethical structure. As a practice, sport is inherently a social undertaking whose formal structure of constitutive rules and normative architecture correlate directly with li’s intrinsic respect for the tradition as it is corporeally formalized. This implies observance of said rules and internal goods.

Staying with the subject of community, for Kongzi virtue is possible only within a communal context whose center is the family He advocates a view where proper familial relationships based on filial piety dominate.18 Ren in its full sense is a socially compassionate virtue that is physically cultivated and results in a communitarian vein. Communitarian philosophers echo this, in contrast with Western liberal and democratic ideals. They quarrel on the preeminence of justice as impartial for the latter, or the standards of excellence furbished by a community the former. In sport philosophy, this plays out between libertarian consequentialists, e.g., Claudio Tamburrini and Tännsjö Torbjörn (2005) who, building on John Rawls (1971), prize autonomy above all to the point of endorsing genetic enhancement, and those who critically readapt Alasdair MacIntyre’s (1984) work, pace Michael McNamee (2008), who embraces a virtue-theoretic account that amends MacIntyre (particularly his anti-institutionalism), arguing that individuals must observe certain standards even when sporting results suffer.19

If Confucianism puts self-cultivation on the agenda as a sociopolitical affair, it is Daoism that makes of it an art of living.20 The three Daoist sages are Laozi (Image), contemporary of Kongzi, Liezi (Image), who lived between the former two, and Chuang Tzu (Image) (BCE 369–286). A crucial aspect of this enormously influential school is its focus on practical, enacted, “know-how” knowledge (even more than Confucians), rather than theoretical, propositional, “know that” knowledge. Epistemically, these two cognitive modes are irreconcilable, since the former cannot be fully reduced to a set of propositions, as anyone who has tried to teach how to ride a bicycle can avow. The wisdom to live a sagely fulfilling life is not found in logical and propositional reasoning. For Chinese philosophers, and Daoists especially, what is characteristic is “the insistence that knowledge of the most important matters is, properly analyzed, of the former [practical], not the latter kind [propositional]” (Cooper 2003: 63–4). This is connected to their belief that the Dao (Image) is ineffable, as the famous opening lines of Laozi’s Dao De Jing (Image) make clear, “The Tao (Image) that can be told is not the eternal Tao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name” (Chan 1963: 139). Hence, the deeper teaching about Dao, and how to live in harmony with(in) it must be without words. The implication is that this knowledge must take place through corporeal practice as we live harmoniously in the midst of things: “such harmony is located within the individual [and is] sought both in the body and the emotions” (Harrison 2013: 134). This brings the analysis to self-cultivation and Chinese conceptions of the body that can be used to analyze sporting bodies.

It is telling that xin (Image) refers to both heart and mind. For the Chinese, there is a psychosomatic unity of body and mind where reason and emotion are attuned in the best cases. Tu Weiming explains that self-cultivation “involves the full recognition that the body is the proper home for self-realization” (Tu 2004: 9). Martial arts and sports are privileged practices for such self-realization. Of the several ways in which the Chinese conceptualized the body, two are relevant: shen (Image) denotes a lived body rather than a mere object,21 and has the connotation of a self, and xing (Image) refers to the form or shape of the body as a process, illustrated with the yin/yang (Image) dynamics, where it can only be understood by reference to the intellect (Ames 1993: 160–5). The former is pertinent for kinesthetic and phenomenological accounts, while the latter pertains to technical implementation of dynamic tactics the way a tennis player plans and executes shots, or techniques used by an archer for body relaxation and mind-quieting before releasing the arrow. For Ames these coalesce most meaningfully around li because it provides order and allows formalizing natural processes as rules of conduct where “integration represented by physical efficacy is a characteristic of the consummating person” (Ames 1993: 167). This aim is to become a refined person of polished mind-body. In contrast to Confucians, who work hard on polishing their character thus, the Daoists seek to work on themselves effortlessly.

This effortlessness is wuwei (Image), a doing without doing or effortless action that takes place spontaneously, paradoxical as that sounds. Also conceptualized as weiwuwei (Image), doing without doing, it encourages us to allow things to take their natural course. Put differently, we act spontaneously. To echo Chuang Tzu, we are to wander freely and at ease in the midst of things (Chuang Tzu and Watson 1968: 29). If an athlete trains too hard, going beyond what his body can handle, he will become overtrained. His performance, health (injury is more likely), and emotional wellbeing will suffer. On the other side, an athlete who does not force the issue and trains listening to her body, pushing when she feels strong or holding back and resting when tired, will become stronger, healthier, and more wholesome. Chuang Tzu and Liezi embrace an enactive model of skill development in terms of superior states that mark achievement. To exemplify this with one story found in the Liezi,22 where Liezi himself is a character:

LiehTzu learned archery and, when he was able to hit the target, he asked the opinion of Kuan Yin Tzu [Image] on his shooting. “Do you know why you hit the target?” Said Kuan Yin Tzu. “No, I do not,” was the reply. “Then you are not good enough yet,” rejoined Kuan Yin Tzu. LiehTzu withdrew and practiced for three years after which again presented himself. Kuan Yin Tzu asked as before: “Do you know why you hit the target?” “Yes,” said LiehTzu, “I do.” “In that case all is well. Hold that knowledge fast, and do not let it slip.”

(Lao-Tzu et al. 2013: 201)

Liezi explains that we must seek the harmony of the body within, and determine the causal process that makes us hit the target. This principle applies to life generally, and even government (Lao-Tzu et al. 2013: 201–2). In other words, we must know the reasons for our actions. Why do we compete? Is it for fame, gold, or because we enjoy the activity? Unless we find out the true motivations – and some reasons are better than others – the activity is worthless. In these cases, the activities are bodily practices that are supposed to lead to an insight about our inner motivations, values, and reasons for acting. Eventually, a deeper understanding may result that for some could lead to enlightenment. This can be gradual, or sudden, as Chan Buddhism propounds.

Chan Buddhism grows in China from India’s Dhyana tradition (it means ‘meditation’), where the Chinese optimistic character transforms it. In the Middle Kingdom, much as Buddhism split earlier into two factions, there is a schism after the fifth Patriarch’s choice of Hui Neng (Image) as his successor over his foremost disciple Shen Hsiu (Image). The former’s Southern School emphasizes finding our original face, or true nature. It means that we realize how Buddha-nature resides in all things, thus erasing the boundary between self and non-self. Also known as the sudden enlightenment school, it supported the idea that one could reach prajna suddenly and at any point in life. The Northern School embraced a slow process of cultivation and revelation.23

Ultimately, both schools seek the realization of our unity with the universe, which results in true freedom to live. Whether this realization is sudden or a protracted process is largely academic. In the end, Buddhist views of self and attachment prove crucial to literally let go of any self-concerns. Enlightenment, salvation, prajna, or deep insight need to be lived and are a matter of praxis. Intellectually grasping the four noble truths or the unreality of the self (akin to accurate arrow shooting) is not sufficient when an Olympic medal is at stake yet ignorance as to the deeper ‘why’ of shooting the arrow prevails. Only truly selfless shooting will do. Reaching this state requires actual practice. Which practices and methodologies are most fruitful is explored next alongside Japanese samurai.

Japan’s Zen Buddhism and do – ways of life and self-cultivation

Historically, Shinto (Image), Confucianism, and Buddhism share different aspects of Japanese cultural life. Shinto, the native religion, addresses practical aspects such as weddings, fertility, and births, and prescribes belief in Kami (Image), sacred spirits that may dwell in natural phenomena (wind, rain, mountains, trees). Humans become Kami after death. Confucianism was particularly influential for the nobility and educated classes, and largely dictated political views, social mores, and ethical education. In the twentieth century, Watsuji Tetsuro’s (1996) ethics blend Confucian, Buddhist and Western ideas as he develops the idea of ningen (Image) – “in betweenness of human beings” where “ethics prevails” (Watsuji 1996: 10–12). For him, we are defined in our relations with others much as sport establishes a dialectical relation among athletes, officials, and public. But as Heisig, Kasulis and Maraldo (2011: 43) write, “Buddhism has been the most influential in shaping how the Japanese have thought about the most difficult and universal questions of human existence”. It also engages in intense, deep philosophical examination and debate. Integrating a Daoist temperament without transcendental metaphysics or Indian detachment, Japanese Buddhism developed into many different schools: Nichiren (Image), Pure Land, Shingon (Image), Tendai (Image) and, the most influential, Zen. Such plethora speaks more to different methodologies and favored sacred texts than to radical disagreement on basic tenets. Following Mahayanistic doctrine, all seek universal salvation, a departure from the original Indian view where nirvana comes individually and eventually after millions of lifecycles (Koller 2011: 45). For the Japanese, the body plays a crucial role in this process.

Kukai (Image) (774–835 CE), Shingon school founder and philosopher extraordinaire, writes that we realize “Buddhahood in this very body” (Staal 2011: 60; authors’ italics), echoing Chan Buddhist views (Chan 1963: 428). Much as Buddhism is given a Japanese imprimatur, the views on the body and its role in the soteriological process are also amended. Paralleling Chinese views, there is also a complex Japanese somatic taxonomy. It eschews ontological categories for functional terms that reflect actual corporeal worldly interactions. In addition to the idea of a balanced heart-mind, shin (Image), some of those apposite for our purposes are: shinshin (Image), an integrated mind-body (the homophonous words refer to ‘mind’ and ‘body,’ hence the different kanji), karada (Image) the Greek soma or anatomical body, and shintai (Image), the human lived body as acting. This level of discrimination makes clear the importance of and rich contexts and varied methodologies regarding the body in Japan.

Soto Zen (Image) patriarch Dogen’s (Image) methodology (1200–1253 CE) entails seated meditation, zazen (Image or Image), about which he writes, “sitting meditation is the molting of body-mind. It is not burning incense, worshipping [Buddha Image]. It is only sitting [shikantaza]” (Image) (Yuasa 1987: 117–18). As Kasulis contrasts, Western approaches emphasize metaphysics, the problem of mind-body interaction, and assume their relation as fixed, but for the Japanese the issue is, “how the mind–body complex works and develops … the assumption [is] that the mind-body complex is capable of increasing levels of integration” (Kasulis 1993: 298). Yuasa Yasuo echoes this, combining classic Buddhist and twentieth-century Japanese views into an intricate and refined theory of the body (Yuasa 1993: 63–4).24 The integration of a novice tennis player is far less developed than that of a Grand Slam winner like Rafael Nadal. To paraphrase and adapt to sport Kasulis question: isn’t the Western philosopher’s assumption strange, that the way in which mind and body are related is the same in both tennis players? (ibid.). Accordingly, Yuasa explains how in Japan the integrated mind-body, which at its most refined level is called shinshin ichinyo (Image), oneness of mind and body, paradoxically but efficaciously, uses discipline to instill the sort of spontaneity that leads to exceptional execution (Yuasa 1987: 200).25 This unified mind-body is something to be refined and cultivated, mirroring the soteriological themes found in India and China.

Enlightenment is not intellectual; it is the integrated mind-body that is enlightened. Kasulis clarifies, “enlightenment establishes a profound relation between the self and world, a relation with both mental and physical dimensions” (Kasulis 1993: 303). The notion of enlightenment varies, as does the integration, depending on the school. It may be identification with busshin (Image), or ‘Buddha mind,’ sunyata (Japanese kuImage”) or “emptiness,” or muga Image) “no-self.” These share a common thrust toward selflessness, differences being doctrinal nuances. For Nishida Kitaro, Japan’s foremost twentieth-century philosopher and Kyoto school founder, mu (Image), nothingness, suitably constitutes the hub of the matter (to echo Laozi’s dictum that the emptiness of the wheel’s hub is what makes it useful). Abe (1987: 46) finds that, for Nishida, “at the end of true Self, the Self attained nothingness or selflessness”. When this happens concern for victory or defeat disappears, and the activity, which Nishida viewed as action-intuition takes over. This action-intuition deepens and enlarges our state of pure experience (a concept derived from William’s James view of pure experience), and becomes a unifying activity (Nishida 1990: 32). Yuasa (1987: 200) calls this “pure action,” and often results in better performances. The body is pivotal: Nishida asserts that “the self without the body would be just a ghost” (Nishida 1990: 192 fn. 24). Through our acting body, we become the activity and the activity becomes us the way two opposing teams become one unity of action the moment they engage each other. This acting unification does not happen by accident.

Uniquely, Japanese scholars bring together previous insights on body and practice under an explicit, formalized system that is both social and personal. It entails a multiplicity of practices, do, ways of cultivation, such as traditional martial arts, Zen garden design, or sado (Image), the way of tea. Structurally the process is identical, the aim being progressive refinement of our abilities and cultivation of self-awareness through selfless dedication to the task at hand. Ideally, it is a lifelong undertaking called shugyo (Image), which originates in Buddhist practice. Inextricably intertwined with somatic processes, it requires long-term dedication and discipline to develop our talents. Each do has methodological particularities that amount to different paths to the same ultimate goal. That is, the process of corporeal self-cultivation is tailored. Some involve quiet meditation, others movement, and others coordination with a partner or tools. And yet, in its own way, when successful, each is not simply a means or merely a path, but an end, a destination. Kasulis (1993: 308) points out, regarding Kukai (Image), Dogen, and others, how praxis in this context “is not simply the path to enlightenment, but it is enlightenment itself.”

Zen, Suzuki Daisetz explains, is “the Chinese way of responding to Indian thought as represented by Buddhism” (Suzuki 1993: 42). Because it fittingly brings together much of the preceding, only its unique features are highlighted, presented in the contexts of martial arts and contrasted with Western sport. Just as martial arts and sports take place in the concrete moment of animate action, “the truth of Zen really lies in the concrete things of our daily life,” according to Suzuki (1964: 83). This is not tantamount to merely savoring more the wine. The experience of elusive satori – a new perspective that changes how we view the world – requires unrelenting discipline (ibid: 95). Moreover, it needs to be reenacted, analogously to competitive sport where we are only as good as our latest performance. The centuries old Japanese framework is designed to propitiate reoccurrence. Suzuki writes regarding masters’ unorthodox methods that they “were designed to create in their disciples a state of mind which would more systematically open the way to enlightenment” (ibid.) Do, having developed alongside Zen, are such methods, some of which begin with the samurai (those who serve), who were originally Bushi (Image): warriors.

In Zen, Masters’ injunctions are meant to fit the pupils’ state of readiness to attain insight, and much as a koan (Image) riddle was designed for a particular disciple originally (later used as heuristic tool for other students), in martial do sensei (Image) or masters, as good coaches should do, fit teachings to individuals. Eugen Herrigel’s account of his apprenticeship under Awa Kenzo in kyudo (Image), the way of archery, is famed. It relates his six-year spiritual pilgrimage through bodily practice. Noticing Herrigel’s strained ways, Awa’s first instruction was on breath control (Herrigel 1989: 18–19). Awa writes, “In the beginning if you forget about focusing on your breath, you will easily lose concentration. Always keep your breath in your center” (Stevens 2007: 41). Breathing is a vital element in the process of realizing self-awakening in Eastern praxes. Sekida Katsuki extensively discusses breathing in his methodological and philosophical Zen treatise (Sekida 1985: 47–82). Hardest for Westerners generally is to realize that one shoots the arrow or runs the track with no thought of target or finish line per se. When Herrigel tries to come to grips with the idea that the arrow must shoot itself, he contends that he is ultimately aiming to hit the target. Awa tersely replies: “The right art is purposeless, aimless!” (Herrigel 1989: 31) For Suzuki, satori is an epiphany that comes at the end of our wits (Suzuki 1964: 60). Herrigel’s path was marked by much vexation before the arrow finally shot itself (which is but another beginning) (Herrigel 1989: 60). What had to be taught through practice, being ineffable, was the lived experience of egoless performance called mushin (Image): no-mind. Buddhist monk Takuan Soho’s lengthy letter to consummate samurai sensei (Image) Yagyu Munenori (he once killed six enemy samurai bent on slaying his lord) is a short treatise on mushin (Takuan 1986). 26 Contrary to superficial readings of it, mushin is anything but a mindless or passive state. Harking back to Buddhist anatman, it is a matter of a self that does not abide or rest anywhere (ibid: 21). In other words, we are completely focused yet our attention does not get caught up at any moment. Abiding in fear of missing the target, being cut by the opponent, or simply losing, makes the mind stop. This is the confused mind that freezes, deliberating when it should not; the right mind “does not remain in one place [it] stretches throughout the entire body and self” (ibid: 32). Of course, this does not imply that swordmasters are as accomplished spiritually as master Buddhist monks or the reverse, but in their own way they sport unparalleled mind–body integration. Mushin is sometimes associated with flow and other peak performance states, vernacularly referred to as “being in the zone.” But whereas do are geared specifically to elicit it, in Western sports, particularly competitive or highly skilled manifestations more likely to result in flow moments, it is incidental and accidental to the objective of the sport, irrespective of its outcomes. Additionally, there are phenomenological differences between the two experiences due to the cultural and philosophical framework (Krein and Ilundáin 2014). There are other differences between Eastern martial arts and Western sports.

The West is wont to rely on psychological techniques, neuroimaging, and abundant verbal instruction; a top to bottom, mind to body approach (with a mixed record). Its training methodology also “aims at developing the body’s capacity, or more specifically, the motor capacity of muscles in the four limbs … and does not include the spiritual meaning of training the mind’s capacity (Yuasa 1993: 32). In the East, this is carried out through diligent and arduous repetitive training: the swordsman performs thousands of cuts. As Suzuki (1993: 121) and Takuan (1986: 25) point out, physical training, keiko (Image), refines technique, and is necessary but not sufficient. The goal is not killing, hitting the target, or winning, but shugyo: “to advance in the study of the Way (Tao)” (Suzuki 1993: 132), because what needs to be ‘killed’ is the ego (ibid: 134). Obviously, the West embraces the training facet; for example, top swimmers do hundreds of laps a day, but, in the West, the “mental aspect” stops with the improved performance understood as result, while process, flow states, or self-knowledge are ancillary or ignored. Do beg to differ: results are anecdotal while integrated psychophysical state and self-awakening are primary (which come in different degrees depending on mastery level). Whether it works better or worse than the Western approach is beside the point, neither success nor a satori-like epiphany are assured. From a different perspective yet, this pertains to the process versus results entente. Traditional Japanese ways clearly side with the former.

Another difference between Eastern do practitioners and Western sportspersons concerns the former’s goal – tied to mushin – of emotional temperance: “a master of the bushi way, like an accomplished Zen Meditator, is a human being who is not swayed by his or her emotions and can control them” (Yuasa 1993: 33). For sportspersons emotional control is subsidiary to performance. Sometimes losing one’s control, a common occurrence for many professional athletes, results in pursuing victory through referee intimidation, unsettling opponents, or plain cheating (which just does not happen in traditional martial arts). Additionally, shugyo aims at education in the sense of bringing out the best, and the rich framework of Zen and do help inculcate the ethical and existential truths of Japanese culture. For Robert Carter, there is nothing like this in the West, although some such truths “are found in sports, as in the values called sportsmanship, or being a team player … but Westerners do not engage in sports to achieve spiritual self-transformation” (Carter 2008: 4). In this way, the Japanese stance is not aligned with predominant Western practices in high-performance sport or with instrumental uses of sport or physical activity as exclusively means toward health, entertainment, or financial gain.

Nonetheless, and while prevalent sportive mores warrant this assessment, there are meaningful exceptions where athletes engage in the sort of reflective exercise that results in comparable existential insights. Pace runner and writer George Sheehan’s (1978) account of running’s transformative power, world-class sailor Ellen MacArthur’s (2005) account of her circumnavigation, ripe with keen and candid reflections, and philosopher-triathlete Richard Lally’s (2012) essay on Dewey and self-cultivation through endurance sport that interweaves his experiences and philosophy. Sport is not structurally and conceptually condemned to existential opacity and epistemic self-ignorance. The potential for satori-like Socratic epiphanies is common to both do and sport. This process of cultivation instills an autotelic enjoyment of whichever activity we are engaged in, as it emphasizes process and living the present moment intensely (rather than extrinsic outcomes that so tempt people, whether these be money, fame, power, or simply self-satisfaction). Abe (1986: 48) has conciliatory words and a path to resolution. He states how sport can share in a mushin-like state if the emphasis is put on “the process of sports participation rather than mere victory”. These are pillars on which philosophical stances that appreciate internal goods and communitarian values can build bridges.

Contemporary sport philosophy – present and future routes

One of the first Western sport philosophers to genuinely incorporate Eastern philosophy was Spencer Wertz, who considered the inner awareness of sport in the context of Zen Buddhism and Yoga (1977).27 Drew Hyland (1990: 77–84) also discussed Zen Buddhism, though more perfunctorily and skeptical of its claims and applicability with regard to peak experiences. There is a dearth of sport philosophy scholarship by Indian scholars in Western academic journals. In China the discipline begins in 1976 in Taiwan and 1981 in the Mainland (Hsu 2010: 239, 245), but there is scant work in English. Leo Hsu is the most prolific Taiwanese sport philosopher in English, having written especially on the Olympics (Hsu 2008, 2009). Japan saw the philosophy of physical education predate the development of sport philosophy (Hata and Sekine 2010: 216). A group of academics created a section for sport philosophy in 1955 under the auspices of the Japan Society of Health and Physical Education. In 1978, the Japan Society for the Philosophy of Sport and Physical Education was founded (ibid: 218).

The following gives a concise but representative account of the fertile academic landscape in Japanese sport philosophy. Given the stimulus of the 1964 Tokyo Olympic Games, the topic of the Olympics is popular among Japanese philosophers, among whom Masumoto’s (1998, 2004) work stands out. The body has received attention as well, with Takizawa’s (2006) phenomenological and comparative writings, Yamaguchi’s (2003) work on freedom and the human body, and Ishigaki’s (1995) elucidation of sympathy. Relatedly, Endo (2005) considers physical education kinesthetically. Sekine and Hata (2004) have also examined the issue of doping. With regard to martial arts, and in addition to the aforementioned Abe Shinobu, Fukasawa (2014) has written a comparative essay on Nishida, empathy, and martial arts, while Oda and Kondo (2014) highlight the role of zanshin (Image) in kendo (Image) for its unique emphasis on the spirit in which action is performed.

In terms of future developments, five themes to which Eastern philosophy can insightfully contribute stand out: 1) Gender studies, always contentious in a historically patriarchal culture. Kondo (1997) pioneered a philosophical assessment of them in Japan when he considered gender verification, and Takemura (2014) critically evaluates predominant sociological and anthropological studies while outlining key issues and making a case for philosophical inquiry. Similar studies on sport and gender in India and China would be ground-breaking. 2) A philosophical area that is burgeoning concerns the philosophies and sciences of the mind, which have taken a keen interest in the intersection between consciousness and mindfulness techniques. Eastern views of consciousness from all three traditions, grounded in psychophysical integration and passive and active meditative practices, as shown above, are ripe with potential revelations. 3) In this regard, whereas the West looks at average participants, the East focuses on elite performers (Yuasa 1993: 63–4). An East/West comparative and interdisciplinary study of high-performance sportspeople and superb do practitioners is long due. 4) Environmental studies can also greatly benefit from the unique contribution that an Eastern outlook can make from the perspectives of ethics and aesthetics. Engaging their traditional philosophies, which erase the boundary between self and other, and coupled to sporting activities’ affordance of unique experiences provides critical stances from which to challenge current practices and generate a sense of stewardship toward the environment. And 5) genetic enhancement and transhumanism tantalize us and tempt us to overcome our sense of finitude and limitation. To this technological “shortcut” toward perfectionism Eastern views on the body, which view it not as property but connect it to a community, provide a sense of self and apposite duties and privileges that counterbalance the Promethean impetus.

Undeniably, Indian, Chinese, and Japanese philosophies bring alternative, unique, and insightful perspectives to sport and life. The dialogue on sport philosophy between East and West is just beginning.

Notes

1  Staying clear of polemics, we acknowledge the artificiality of specifically determining what is Eastern philosophy. Operant criteria are: a) conciseness; b) the fact that Indian and Sinitic cultures are formative for other Asian/Eastern philosophies; and c) Japan’s rich philosophical engagement with sport (as it intersects the martial arts).

2  Instead of using diacritical Sanskrit marks to accent correct pronunciation, we approximate the latter by replacing them with the closest English phonetic equivalent.

3  By virtue of its very specificity. Nicholas Dixon’s distinction between a strong and weak humiliation in “On Sportsmanship and ‘Running Up the Score’” is insightful.

4  See the chapters on “Internalism” and “Conventionalism” in this volume. For original essays, see William Morgan (2012), John Russell (2007), Robert Simon (2007), and Cesar Torres (2012).

5  For key excerpts see Radhakrishnan and Moore (1973: 454–85).

6  See Chapter 12 in this volume on phenomenology. Buddhist phenomenology and European variants have noteworthy parallels. See Evan Thompson’s (2008) “Neurophenomenology and Contemplative Experience.”

7  This no-abiding self plays a key role in Chinese and Japanese martial arts, as shown below.

8  One may wonder, rightly, who or what gets liberated or chained back into samsara after death if the self is non-existent. For a possible answer to this conundrum see Rahula (1974: 33ff).

9  Unless quoting, transcription of Chinese names follows pinyin usage rather than the Wade-Giles system; e.g., Dao rather than Tao.

10  Following commentators, references to Kongzi are given using the books (roman numerals) and chapters (arabic numerals) as organized in the Analects. This facilitates cross-referencing with other translations, which is advisable, given Chinese language’s terseness and subtlety. The bibliography lists alternative Chinese classical texts.

11  For junzi see: I, 2, 8, 14; II, 11, 13; IV, 5, 24; VI, 16; IX, 3; XIV, 30, 45.

12  This applies widely to contemporary East Asian communitarian theory. See Daniel Bell’s Communitarianism for a keen analysis of the Western and Eastern entente (concerning gender, see p. 32).

13  See, I, 3; IV, 2; VI, 28; X, 11; XII, 2, 5, 22; XVII, 4.

14  See, II, 4; IV, 16; XIII, 6.

15  See Chapter III in toto.

16  II, 24; IX, 29.

17  See II, 17; VII, 28; XIII, 3. For an insightful comparative evaluation of virtue see Heather Reid’s “Athletic Virtue: Between East and West.”

18  This results in ethical partiality to those we hold dear: we should care more for those closer to us, duty diminishing the further removed from us they are. Obligation is proportional to what one receives. See V, 16; XVII, 21 Mozi (fifth Century BCE) was a stern critic of Kongzi who advocated universal love on utilitarian grounds. Buddhism’s has also a strong communitarian streak that favors compassionate, universal love.

19  See also Chapter 9 on ethics in this volume.

20  In spite of the name, Daoists do not have a monopoly on the Dao; it permeates Chinese culture to the core.

21  For a Western similar distinction in terms of leib as lived, vital and organic body, and körper as living or dead material body. See Henning Eichberg’s Bodily Democracy (2010), pp. 262–6.

22  In the cases of Liezi and Chuang Tzu, their works are eponymously named after them.

23  The Rinzai (Image) and Soto Zen (Image) schools in Japan mirror this respectively. Rinzai Zen (Image) emphasizes koans (Image; paradoxical riddles), over zazen, (seated meditation), Soto Zen (Image) the reverse. In Rinzai, anyone may experience satori (enlightenment) as a sudden insight at some uncertain point; Soto (Image) emphasizes a long tenure of study and constant meditation before a gradual realization of satori. A number of methods that begin in China and fully develop in Japan (enlightenment through the body) are considered in the next section of this chapter.

24  See Shigenori Nagatomo’s (1992) Attunement Through the Body for an extremely lucid account of Yuasa’s views.

25  Following Japanese custom, family name comes first, then first name.

26  This is a text as complex as concise, and translation is complicated. For an excerpted alternative with substantial commentary, see Suzuki (1993: 97–115); see also Thomas Cleary’s (2005) Soul of the Samurai.

27  The article is also included in his 1991 book, Talking a Good Game: Inquiries into the Principles of Sport.

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