My teacher, Sifu Ralph Mitchell, used to speak about two primary components of the martial arts: self-preservation and self-perfection.

I have carried those words with me for most of my adult life, and as I get older, I understand them differently than I did when I first heard them.

Self-perfection is, obviously, the pursuit of perfecting oneself. I think of the old story of the Japanese woodworker and his apprentice. The master continually sends the apprentice back to sand the same piece of wood.

Eventually the frustrated apprentice asks, “Master, we have sanded this for years. When will it finally be finished?”

The master replies, “It will never be finished.”

That is self-perfection.

You take a technique and refine it over and over again—not simply to make it more effective, but to make it part of yourself.

Eventually, the movement can become so refined that it hardly resembles an act of violence at all. There is no unnecessary tension, aggression, or malicious intent. There is simply movement.

Yet underneath that refinement remains the ability to use the technique decisively should circumstances demand it.

Self-Preservation

Self-preservation is different.

Self-preservation is concerned with keeping you alive and safe.

It develops awareness of your surroundings. It teaches you to recognize danger, remain alert, protect yourself and continue functioning when confronted with violence or malicious intent.

These techniques are often direct.

They don’t necessarily require decades of refinement before they become useful. Their first responsibility is effectiveness.

Someone trying to hurt you doesn’t particularly care how beautiful your technique is.

Self-preservation asks a simpler question:

Can you protect yourself?

But within all good martial arts, I believe there are elements of both.

An art such as Aikido can become highly oriented toward self-perfection, depending upon how it is practiced. Much of modern Tai Chi has also moved in this direction, although historically Tai Chi & Aikido contain very real elements of both preservation and perfection.

On the other side are systems such as Krav Maga and other combat-oriented methods, where self-preservation is much more prominent.

Depending on your goals and time in life will determine where you put your energy. In Chinese Medicine they say your” Yi leads your Chi” which translates to your intention leads your energy. So it is our choice where we put our intention. At different times in my life i have put my Yi towards one more heavily than the other. This is the beauty of martial art.

Walking Into Sifu Ralph’s School

I walked into Sifu Ralph Mitchell’s school when I was seventeen years old.

What amazed me was how visceral both sides (self preservation & self perfection) were represented in that room.

One day you might walk in and Sifu Ralph would be shadowboxing with his mouthpiece in.

“Get your gear on.”

You knew exactly what kind of night it was going to be.

Then another day you might walk through the same door and find him practicing a subtle sensitivity or flow drill. He might show you a movement and explain that developing it could take the rest of your life.

That contrast made an enormous impression on me.

There was something there for the young man who needed to learn how to fight.

But there was also something waiting for the older man he would eventually become.

I don’t think I fully appreciated that at seventeen.

I do now.

When the Martial Artist Ages

As martial artists close to 50 , hopefully we spend enough time in rooms that challenge our ability to preserve ourselves.

We spar.

We grapple.

We get hit.

We get thrown.

We become exhausted and frightened and uncomfortable. We learn what happens when someone is genuinely trying to impose their will upon us.

Those experiences are important.

But if we are fortunate enough to continue practicing for decades, something begins to change.

Age arrives.

Athleticism changes. Strength changes. Injuries accumulate. Sometimes illness enters our lives. Things our bodies once did easily require more patience and intelligence.

And suddenly the self-perfection side of the martial arts becomes increasingly meaningful.

The question is no longer simply:

Can I make this technique work?

It becomes:

How deeply can I understand this technique?

Can I remove unnecessary effort?

Can I feel rather than force?

Can I become more precise?

Can I continue refining something I have practiced thousands of times?

Can my Ego handle this transition?

The martial arts become less about adding and more about removing.

Yet I still enjoy occasionally reaching back and touching that self-preservation side of myself.

It feels good to flex that muscle.

It reminds you that underneath the refinement there is still something very real to develop.

The Dharma of the Warrior

There is another way I have come to understand this.

In the Indian tradition there is the concept of the Kshatriya, the warrior.

Some people seem to be born with a natural inclination toward this path. They are drawn toward challenge, discipline, protection, physical practice and the testing of themselves.

In that sense, I think many lifelong martial artists recognize something of the Kshatriya within themselves.

This may help explain something that can appear strange to people outside the martial arts.

Walk into almost any martial arts school and you will find people practicing pugilistic arts—striking each other, choking each other, throwing each other, practicing methods originally designed for combat.

And somehow, through doing this, they become peaceful.

They leave calmer than when they arrived.

There is something beautiful about witnessing that.

The Indian yogic tradition also gives us the concept of dharma—a word that can encompass duty, path, law and right action.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna teaches Arjuna, himself a warrior, about the necessity of living according to one’s dharma and performing one’s duty without attachment to the fruits of one’s actions.

That teaching has always resonated deeply with me.

I recognize this dharma in my teacher.

I recognize it in myself.

And I recognize it in training partners whom I have known for decades.

Of course, martial arts are only one aspect of a person’s dharma. We may simultaneously have the dharma of a father, mother, teacher, mentor, student, caregiver or friend.

But for some of us, the martial path remains present through all of those chapters.

The Art Is Never Finished

Perhaps this is ultimately what Sifu Ralph was showing me all those years ago.

Self-preservation teaches us how to survive.

Self-perfection teaches us what to do with the years we are fortunate enough to survive.

When we are young, we may be fascinated with what works.

As we grow older, we begin to become fascinated with why it works, how little effort it can require, and how deeply it can be understood.

Eventually the two pursuits begin to inform one another.

Self-preservation gives substance to self-perfection.

Self-perfection gives depth to self-preservation.

And neither is ever truly completed.

Like the old craftsman sanding the same piece of wood, we return to the technique again and again.

A little less force.

A little more sensitivity.

A little more understanding.

And then we return tomorrow and begin again.