Two and a half millennia ago in China a military strategist called Sun Tzu wrote a book about such martial matters. Sun Tzu called his book The Art of War, and he intended it as a guidebook for those who wished to learn and to put into practice the ways of war outlined in his text. The universe is all about balance, and if there exists such an idea as war being an art and an apparently worthy subject for study, should there not also somewhere exist an ‘Art of Peace’; a martial study that is equally committed to practicing techniques whose intention is to ensure that peace and the pursuit of peace has at least as much of a voice as more warlike actions?
Two of my children, brother and sister, have practiced the Japanese martial art of Aikido. I must admit that, had I been younger and enjoying better health, I would have liked to have practiced with them! Frequently enough we might find ourselves in situations which make demands upon us, upon our sense of focus and concentration, and we might feel that our inner peace has been taken from us. It is in such situations that Aikido could come to our aid. Aikido is relatively modern, and was developed over the period between the 1920’s and the 1960’s by Morihei Uyeshiba, who is often referred to by his title of O-Sensei, meaning ‘Great Teacher’. In practice it places an emphasis on dynamically using one’s own energy to resist any potential attacks from others. In its essence it is therefore a strategy for defence rather than one of competitive aggression, but Aikido offers us more than simple self-defence techniques.
In evolving Aikido, O-Sensei employed a spiritual fusion originating from his interaction with the Oomoto-kyo (‘Great Source’) religion, whose leaders have been predominantly female. To this O-Sensei added streams of spiritual teaching stemming from both Shinto and Buddhism. ‘Aikido’ can be translated as "the way to union with universal energy" or "the way of unified energy". Another common interpretation of the Japanese characters is “harmony, spirit and way”, so Aikido can also be taken to mean "the way of spiritual harmony" or "the art of peace". And so in O-Sensei’s Aikido we have found our countering martial equivalent for Sun Tzu’s The Art of War! And there is one more layer to add to this spiritual mix.
The Japanese word for "love" also happens to be pronounced ‘ai’. In later life, O-Sensei emphasized this interpretation of ‘ai’. In his quest for a less aggressive approach, O-Sensei received a divine inspiration that led him away from the violent nature of his previous martial training, and took him instead towards a "spirit of peace". O-Sensei ultimately said that the way of the warrior is the "way of divine love that nurtures and protects all things", and this surely is the ultimate meaning of such a practice: that the way of a true warrior can as equally, and perhaps even more significantly, be one which practices peace.
Painting by Matsubayashi Keigetsu
I remember at a film festival watching Jean Cocteau’s classic version of this famous fairy tale and being unexpectedly disappointed at the end when, transformed through Beauty’s love, the monstrous but endearing Beast became the tiresomely-handsome prince! The tale endures because the lessons which it contains are so readily accessible: true love sees beyond outward appearances, and love is about acceptance of the other for who that person really is. These truths weave their way through the story, and we recognise and respond to them, and so keep the tale fresh and alive through the generations. But is it still possible to discover new truths in the tale?
Some 40 years ago, a deranged Hungarian stood in front of one of the most beautiful works of the spirit which art has created. Without warning, he leapt at the marble statue and dealt it repeated blows with a hammer, smashing off the left arm, and leaving the face severely damaged. Shattered fragments of Michelangelo’s Pieta lay strewn across the floor of the Vatican before staff and shocked onlookers could react. It took more than five months just to collect and identify the various fragments – one tiny chipping being identified as the eyelid of Mary, who in the statue holds the body of the crucified Christ, her son.
Why did this man commit such a terrible act of destruction? Even given his apparent mental instability, why destroy such beauty? The principal damage to the marble was directed, not at the crucified body which she supports, but at the figure of Mary. But Michelangelo does not show us Mary’s features contorted with grief, as was customary with a portrayal of the Pieta. Instead, her features seem to embody a transcendence which lifts both her and us beyond the greatest pain of the soul which a mother – and specifically this mother – has to endure: a manifestation of beauty which for one man apparently proved unbearable.
It seems that it is not just the acceptance by Beauty of the Beast which should concern us, but the reverse. We are at times the Beast who needs to accept a transcendent and confronting Beauty. In Afghanistan the Taliban, driven by religious fanaticism, reduced with dynamite the millennia-old serene statues of the Buddhas of Bamiyan to broken rubble. Many other examples of such destruction of created beauty are provided by history. What is beautiful must, it seems, be destroyed for one reason or another. And such destruction is not limited to the created works of artists both known and unknown. An idyllic valley is flooded to make way for a giant dam. Whole forests are cut down and reduced to waste land, or for housing development. The natural world around us, the most beautiful treasure which we have in our care, is ransacked, either for its resources or in the name of a dubious progress.
It is as if the human soul is torn between that soul’s need for the experience of beauty and an equal need to destroy it. In the story of Beauty and the Beast we all recognise the inner work to which Beauty has to commit herself before she is able to accept the appearance of the Beast. But what tends to be overlooked is the equal commitment which the Beast needs to make in order to accept – and to allow to exist – the soul-healing appearance of Beauty.
Photograph courtesy of the Palace Theatre in Devon, UK
Sculpture of Michelangelos Pieta
