Those of us who study budo are constantly hearing the mantra that part of our training should be for "self improvement." That does not mean simply getting better at the techniques we have chosen to study, it means becoming better people through the medium of budo. While I agree with this idea to a certain extent, I can't help but notice (as I've mentioned before) that there are other, possibly more efficient paths to self-improvement. On the other hand, the self-improvement mantra does not necessary consist entirely of propaganda or a good-sounding excuse to give your spouse or SO for why you go to the dojo every week.
Many of us, when we hear the words "self-improvement," consider humility to be one of the worthy goals of practice. In fact, I have been told that it is specifically one of my faults that I am not humble enough ("She should learn modesty," one teacher said, leaving aside that the situation described to him that prompted the remark was distorted to make me seem more immodest than I actually am). On the other hand, a kung fu stylist once remarked to me that I did not promote myself enough. One of his students once told me, "Yeah, sifu said you were a lot better at this stuff than you let on." A few weeks ago, I attended a party where virtually *everyone* had an exalted title of one sort or another, while I demurred. These guys spent virtually their entire lives studying budo, or at least their version of it. Traditionally, those titles are honorary, but to them, it was something they felt they had earned.
So, we could say that we should be humble, but instead there's tons of ego hanging around. As a performance studies scholar, I have studied and written about martial arts as a form of performance. Budo has a lot going for it in this regard - it rewards physical strength and agility and very often the mastery of graceful movement. It can include forms of sparring that, while not actual combat, nevertheless includes the dramatic elements of victory or defeat, similar to spectator sports. Even though my genre does not include sparring, the bunkai of the forms contain stories of attack, defense, and counterattack that are inherently dramatic. Experienced practitioners can bring a sense of excitement to partner forms that can transfix an audience. Add to all of this the element of verisimilitude that my teacher used to talk about at demos, and a dramatic performance is by no means a far stretch. And, as we all know, performers have big egos - some moreso than others.
The fact is, for all of the talk of humility, ego is necessary in order to be an effective budoka. Jodo provides a very good example of this necessity. The jodoka has a 4-1/2 foot wooden pole which must be used to subdue a sword-wielding opponent. Any hesitation or lack of confidence on the part of the jodoka and the technique will fail. Chutzpah, to use the theatrical term, is the order of the day. Like a bird puffing itself up in order to look larger and more formidable to a predator, the jodoka must face off and perform the technique with a sense of authority.
But of course, the counter-argument goes, this is kata. The swordsman is supposed to yield because it's part of the form. But the form is designed to not work at all unless the jodoka is committed to it. And if the jodoka hesitates, injury can result. Confidence; i.e. ego, is necessary or one cannot practice jodo.
Last night, as I was observing the end of the Daito ryu class, the same issue came up. The class (all beginners, more or less) was practicing responses to freestyle attacks. To do this, the teacher employed members of the karate class that he teaches simultaneously, just to make everything a little more off-kilter for the students. The Daito students were being faced with attacks that they would not normally see from members of their own group. Nearly every student faltered from time to time, as they made an initial response and then rethought it. When they rethought their response, the defense failed, and the teacher would have them try again. Each time, he would point out that their initial impulse would have worked if they had had the confidence to follow through. Again, even though it was a friendly practice, the importance of ego - of confidence in oneself - was necessary in order to mount a successful counterattack.
We tend to think of chest-thumping and braggadocio as ego, while being humble is often equated with shyness, nonassertiveness, or even obsequiousness. From outer appearances, the two qualities seem to be opposites, and neither one seems to be desirable. But I think the way we define these qualities is incorrect.
Having a strong ego means not only having the confidence to act on what you know, but the ability to learn from mistakes and take criticism in the proper spirit. Ego enhances the sense of self-worth, so as to be able to bounce back (or at least climb back) from adversity. The chest-thumping braggart is not expressing his ego; he's expressing the lack of it. Bullies and their ilk often melt when confronted, because they lack inner strength. At the very least, ignoring someone's boastful taunts will strengthen the sense of self-worth (i.e. ego) of the person being mocked.
Likewise, humility is not weakness. The person with a sense of humility will listen to others and try to learn, not only from her own experiences, but those of others. Listening, even when I don't agree with what the other person is saying, is always instructive. Being quiet is not necessarily shyness. One can learn a lot from pure observation.
Humility and ego are not opposites; they are complimentary, and both are necessary for training and for acting on what we learn.
Though, to be honest, I am not sure humility is an actual goal of practice; it's more like a byproduct. No matter whether you study traditional, modern or a sport form of budo, there is always going to be someone out there who is better, has studied longer, knows more, or wins more often (if that's what you're into). Moreover, no matter how much experience you garner, something is going to happen to remind you of how little you know, or you will make a mistake that leaves you red-faced. Your ego takes these experiences and puts them to positive use. That's not just budo; it's life, but somehow, in budo, it feels bigger, because it is, after all, what we do.
