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“A state that has perished cannot be restored, nor can the dead be brought back to life.”

— Sun Tzu

“War is no pastime; no mere passion for venturing and winning; no work of a free enthusiasm.”

— Carl von Clausewitz

War is a serious activity not to be taken lightly, and neither Sun Tzu nor Carl von Clausewitz suggested that one should rush into action before exhausting the alternatives. But when combat is inevitable, a comprehensive and scientific analysis of the situation should be conducted to create a set of workable guidelines for battle. As Sun Tzu said, “The victorious army first realizes the conditions for victory and then seeks to engage in battle.”¹ Now that we have gained an overview of the nature and conduct of combat, we will define combat and proceed to examine the various elements of military action: tactics and strategy, offense and defense, and ultimately how to secure victory.

Although both Sun Tzu and Clausewitz attempted to bring structure to the nature and conduct of war, a common and recurring question is what constitutes combat or martial arts. Is it, as Clause-witz suggested, about forcing one’s will on the adversary? Is it about winning the battle even if the war is ultimately lost? Or is it about diplomacy or humbling the adversary by giving him certain desirable insights into the seriousness of conflict without engaging him in physical battle? Can an Asian and Western martial artist understand each other’s strategy and tactics? Or does understanding require specific expression, reflecting the cultural mindset of the warrior as learned through history and tradition?

Definitions are important because they produce expectations of what the participants should accomplish, and by what means. While some people argue that martial arts, in order to be classified as such, must be Asian in character and contain certain philosophical elements, others hold the view that Western style boxing and wrestling are also martial arts. However, since the word “martial” is of Latin origin, it is unreasonable to suggest that people of Asian origin would use a word with the exact same connotations when describing their fighting arts. Whether we call it martial art, fighting art, combat science, or self-defense also has to do with the art’s primary usage. Some martial arts, like bujutsu, the fighting art of the samurai class in Japan, were developed for use by armies of professional warriors on the field of battle. Others, like karate in Okinawa and some styles of kung-fu in China, were developed for use by the general populace.²

Other difficulties with definition arise from the argument over how much of the art is “art” and how much is science. Although samurai retainer Yamamoto Tsunetomo emphasized that “the person who practices an art is an artist, not a samurai, and one should have the intention of being called a samurai,”³ did he really mean to say that combat is scientific rather than artistic or creative? A problem with ancient literary works is that nuances tend to get lost in the translations.⁴ A specific word, such as force, can have different connotations and mean, for example, strategic military power or brute force. To further illustrate the difficulty associated with defining war and combat, one might note that the United States Department of Defense Dictionary of Military Terms lacks a definition of both.

It can nevertheless be established that a student of karate, taekwondo, jujutsu, hapkido, and other traditional martial arts must study the history and culture, as well as a range of techniques and forms, if he is to reap the full benefit of his studies. By contrast, martial arts that were developed primarily for the military battlefield of today or for street defense, such as krav maga and other reality based self-defense eclectic styles, tend to be more limited in scope (although not necessarily less effective) by teaching techniques that are simple to learn and easy to remember when performed under stress, and that work against a variety of attacks. Those who benefit the most from the study of these types of fighting arts are generally specialized groups of people, such as law enforcement, military, or rape prevention specialists rather than the general populace. As stated by Jim Wagner, a police and military defense-tactics instructor, “People who must fight for a living quickly learn to depend on a streamlined arsenal of proven techniques.”⁵

Sun Tzu reminded us in the first paragraph of the Art of War, that war “is a matter of life or death,” and should therefore “be studied thoroughly.”⁶ Clausewitz likewise recognized that nations are built through violence and continue to relate to each other through violence, and that war is a normal state of human existence. This chapter defines combat by examining its destructive elements, the value attached to the initiative, and its scientific and creative components. It distinguishes between ideal and real war, and demonstrates the importance of knowing your enemy and yourself in order to counter the effects of friction and chance.

Key Points: What is Combat?

War is destructive even for victors. Engaging an adversary in battle should therefore be done only after careful consideration, when there is a serious threat to one’s safety, and as a means to an end and not an end in itself. Although Sun Tzu and Clausewitz wrote from the perspective of mass armies, their respective theories apply to individuals engaged in single man combat and are easily transferrable to practitioners of the martial arts. Sun Tzu said, “Generally, management of a large force is the same as management of a few men... And to direct a large force is the same as to direct a few men.”⁷ As reinforced by the Japanese swordsman Miyamoto Musashi, the “spirit of overcoming others” is the same regardless of whether you are fighting a thousand opponents or just one.⁸ Clause-witz likewise compared war to a Zweikampf, or duel, between two people and recognized that “war is nothing but personal combat on a larger scale,” with the purpose of forcing the opponent to succumb to one’s will.⁹

Judo practitioner imposing his will by attacking his adversary’s center of gravity; in this case, his opponent’s balance. (Image source: Lance Cpl. Scott M. Biscuiti, Wikimedia Commons)

Whether you are a karateka, judoka, sumo wrestler, or boxer, the goal is ultimately to defeat the adversary by imposing your will on him through a strike or kick, takedown or throw, by pushing him out of the ring, or by attacking with such overwhelming force that you destroy his fighting spirit and compel him to surrender. Ideally, all moves should be done on your terms. In competition, points should not simply be scored, but should be scored well. The skilled martial artist seizes the initiative, presses the attack, and takes advantage of weaknesses in an opponent’s defense by attacking his center of gravity.

Shotokan karate, founded in Okinawa by Gichin Funakoshi (1868-1957 CE), is a no-nonsense hard style that relies on straight strikes and kicks with the bodyweight behind the blows. As such, it demonstrates the value of seizing the initiative through linear moves and determined offense. Circling the opponent is done mainly as a diversion. The purpose is to “kill” the adversary or end the fight with a single blow, with each technique fully developed for maximum effect. Although a chief priest at the Buddhist Enkaku-ji Temple in Kamakura, Japan has written on the memorial to Gichin Funakoshi that “there is no first attack in karate,” one should remember that seizing the initiative refers to a fight that has already begun when the option of walking away no longer exists. When the opponent commits to the attack, the defender seizes the initiative, for example, by timing a strong front kick to the adversary’s advance, catching him in the midsection and knocking him to the ground as he moves forward. Gichin Funakoshi said:

When there are no avenues of escape or one is caught even before any attempt to escape can be made, then for the first time the use of self-defense techniques should be considered. Even at times like these, do not show any intention of attacking, but first let the attacker become careless. At that time attack him concentrating one’s whole strength in one blow to a vital point and in the moment of surprise, escape and seek shelter and help.¹⁰

While both Sun Tzu and Clausewitz stressed the importance of seizing and holding the initiative and striking the enemy at a time when he does not expect it, Sun Tzu believed that a conflict could be brought to conclusion successfully through a combination of factors, including politics, economics, and diplomacy. Protracted war should be avoided, because it was a drain on the resources and fighting spirit of the people. Striking the enemy preemptively was therefore acceptable, as long as one had conducted a critical examination of the situation and determined that an attack against the enemy’s plans, alliances, or forces would shorten the duration of war.¹¹

Clausewitz likewise believed in avoiding protracted conflict but discounted diplomacy as an element of war.¹² Combat, by definition, must include a physical engagement or else it is not combat. Battles should be fought to the finish. In Clausewitz’s mind, the idea that martial arts are purely acts of self-defense would have been an absurdity. The “character of battle, like its name, is slaughter (the German word, Schlacht, means both [battle and slaughter]), and its price is blood.” Although it has the capacity to break “the enemy’s spirit more than it [takes] lives,” the object is to dominate the adversary by acting with concentrated force, quickly and without pause, and outfight rather than outwit the opponent.¹³ As reinforced by the United States Marine Corps Warfighting Manual, initiative and physical domination of the enemy must be present in order for it to be war:

At least one party to a conflict must take the initiative for without the desire to impose upon the other, there would be no conflict. The second party to a conflict must respond for without the desire to resist, there again would be no conflict... We can imagine a conflict in which both belligerents try to take the initiative simultaneously—as in a meeting engagement, for example. After the initial clash, one of them will gain the upper hand, and the other will be compelled to respond—at least until able to wrestle the initiative away from the other. Actions in war more or less reflect the constant imperative to seize and maintain the initiative.¹⁴

However, violence is not necessarily chaotic madness. Imposing one’s will on the adversary brings purpose to conflict and justifies the use of force. Consider a self-defense scenario, attempted rape, or kidnapping. While the adversary is trying to impose his will on the victim, he or she is simultaneously trying to impose his or her will on the adversary as an element of defense. The person who succeeds at dominating the other wins the battle. Although the martial arts are frequently marketed as self-defense, once conflict is under way and one cannot escape, initiative and offensive action are needed to win. If neither fighter in a martial arts competition is willing to take the initiative and engage the opponent, there can be no competition. In fact, martial artists have on occasion been disqualified in tournaments for failing to engage, running from the opponent, prolonging the fight by purposely spitting out the mouthpiece, or showing timidity. When a martial artist enters a competition, it is assumed that he has come to fight by physically imposing his will on the other fighter. To further demonstrate a point, after the opponent, taken down by a leg hook, attempted to escape the boundaries of the fighting arena at a judo tournament in California in 2006, Brazilian Jiu-jitsu fighter Royce Gracie dragged him by the belt and one leg back to the center of the mat. Although refusing to engage the adversary in competition is considered a negative martial arts trait, outside of the competition arena restraint should be used. As Clausewitz and Sun Tzu reminded us, war is no pastime and the dead cannot be brought back to life.

A preplanned approach to victory lends strength to the idea of seizing and holding the initiative, but depends on the ability to adapt to changing circumstances when plans are foiled. Sun Tzu and Clausewitz agreed that knowledge of the opponent’s objectives (such as winning by point or knockout in sports competition, or robbing, raping, maiming, or killing on the street) is crucial in order to achieve victory. Without this knowledge, one cannot determine the conduct of battle or the tactics and strategy, because one cannot define what victory means. Furthermore, victory cannot be secured unless the martial artist understands his physical and mental capabilities, the opponent’s objectives, and, perhaps most importantly, what is worth fighting for. Assessing the environment and political climate to determine if it is supportive of your cause allows you to establish insights into your and your opponent’s respective strengths and weaknesses. Royce Gracie deceived his opponents in the Ultimate Fighting Championship, because nobody believed that this person of a rather small physical build would have the capacity to beat a bigger opponent. But the same deceptive practices do not work every time. Once Gracie had revealed his strengths, his opponents learned how to exploit them in future tournaments.

In order to bring further meaning to the definition of war, fighting should be viewed as neither a complete science (knowledge) nor a complete art (ability to utilize knowledge). Science is the act of knowing, and art is the act of doing. Science requires theoretical education. But art, as a rational process and a mark of intellect and character, requires practical experience and judgment.¹⁵ Since war is a conflict of interest, it adheres to a balanced relationship between science and art. Sun Tzu recognized this relationship through the cheng (the physical or conventional forces) and ch’i (the mental or creative forces). Compare, for example, physical strength or power as derived from size and momentum with power as derived from proper timing. A martial artist who has the benefit of size may choose cheng, or conventional forces, to overrun the opponent; if not, he may choose ch’i, or unconventional forces, to lure the opponent forward into a perfectly timed counterstrike. Sun Tzu said, “When torrential water tosses boulders, it is because of its momentum; when the strike of a hawk breaks the body of its prey, it is because of timing.” Both have their place in the martial arts. A skilled fighter can display the physical potential of a “fully drawn crossbow,” and simultaneously exercise timing that is as sharp as “the release of the trigger.”¹⁶

Note that although Sun Tzu relied on a prescriptive rather than descriptive theory of warfare, it is unlikely that his intent was to memorize an answer to every problem. A more plausible explanation for this approach is that he wanted to provide the reader with the ability to recognize “identifiable, recurring patterns as they emerge.”¹⁷ Many of his ideas are not deeply developed in writing, yet have intellectual depth which forces the reader to interpret and think about the scenarios inherent in each idea. Rules should thus be guidelines to which the martial artist applies his or her judgment.

Clausewitz likewise understood the relationship between science and art, and the creative element inherent in warfare by recognizing that the “step is always long from cognition to volition, from knowledge to ability.”¹⁸ Although he used scientific terms such as friction and center of gravity in his descriptions of war, they were meant to be used as analogies and not relied upon in a literal scientific sense. He professed that no set prescription for success exists. During his service at the War College in Berlin in 1818 and 1819, he criticized the program for being too focused on rote learning, which he believed would hinder individual initiative and adaptation.¹⁹ Physical combat, he stated, is the only way through which one can make sense of war, because “the state of circumstances from which an event proceed[s] can never be placed before the eye of the critic exactly as it [lies] before the eye of the person acting.”²⁰

The soldier thus takes the weapons he is handed and does the best he can with what he has available at the time of the engagement. He is not interested in the technology behind weapon making, for example, at least not as a primary reason for his profession. Likewise, the martial artist has two hands and two feet which he uses for striking, kicking, grabbing, and trapping while adapting through creative means the best he can. While his only concern may be blocking a strike as the enemy reaches out toward him, he may realize that he can trap the arm instead and execute a lock against the wrist, bringing the enemy to his knees and ending the fight. A martial artist who gets knocked to the ground unexpectedly while raising a leg to kick, may find an opportunity for trapping the opponent’s lower legs and bringing him down. It is this creativity which occurs at the spur of the moment that relates to the art of war. As reinforced by the nineteenth century German military historian Max Jähns (1837-1900 CE):

[T]he science of war describes the means available to wage war at any given time and derives from them theories on how war should be conducted. It can never reach an ultimate form because the means are constantly changing. It is, therefore, [a] (science of experience) rather than a science of external truths. The art of war, by contrast, is the application of a theory of war to specific situations and requires creativity and intuition on the part of the practitioner which cannot be taught.²¹

The relationship between science and art suggests that the reality of war cannot be measured through theoretic learning alone. The martial artist can read any number of books and watch any number of instructional videos, but if he fails to gain practical experience he will never fully understand the combat arts. Timing, for example, can be understood in a theoretical sense, but it takes considerable practice to acquire it. Or as martial arts instructor Keith Vargo says, “Science can help us understand and improve our arts,” but it takes art to sum up “the fighting skill of an individual.”²²

Even as a balance is struck between science and art in training, the enemy’s will is difficult to control and the element of chance can strike either belligerent. In ideal war, all moves are interrelated and advance one closer to victory. Ideally, the attack should be directed at the heart of the enemy’s strength, using maximum concentration of force and avoiding pauses. In the martial arts, ideal war can be related to a kick or punch combination. Consider first if the combination is logical. For example, would a roundhouse kick naturally follow a strong side thrust or spinning back kick and still be effective when kicking a live target? Would the opponent be in position to absorb both kicks, or would he be too close or too far away? Would an uppercut logically follow a front kick, or would the distance to the target be inappropriate?

Ed Parker’s (1931-1990 CE) style of kenpo karate uses checks and strikes to secondary targets designed to position the opponent’s body for the finishing blow. One might check the adversary’s arm, for example, in order to bring his body forward to receive a reverse ridge hand strike to the throat. Although the idea is sound, it only works if the opponent reacts as intended to the set-up strike. All unforeseen factors will quickly render theory insufficient, as you will learn when your training partners deviate even slightly from the prescribed attack. If the attack calls for a right punch and your partner throws a left punch instead, or a right punch to a different target than the one called for, or a kick, the specific defense you have practiced will not work as prescribed. You must now adapt instantly, using your creative forces to secure victory.

Although Clausewitz like Sun Tzu took an abstract tack in his analysis of war, he recognized that combat reflects the uncertainty of the real world and did not attempt to describe a metaphysical world. Nor did he profess that it is possible to reach an ideological solution to conflict. Studying strategic principles allows the martial artist to evaluate what is ideal and what is real in combat, and discover that how we talk about war is not how it ultimately happens. The martial artist must be prepared to make modifications when passing from theory to reality. While the intent is to “cripple the enemy’s forces, so that he cannot, or cannot without danger to his existence, carry on the [battle],” combat is susceptible to chance and the nature of conflict is inherently unpredictable.²³

Although the physically inferior fighter seldom wins over a much stronger enemy—as stated by Sun Tzu, “When ten to the enemy’s one, surround him. When five times his strength, attack him. If double his strength, divide him”²⁴—a revealing example of the unpredictability of battle as seen in the Ultimate Fighting Championship I, might be sumo wrestler Teila Tuli losing a tooth and getting cut by the eye a mere twenty-three seconds into the fight despite the fact that he carried a significant weight advantage over his opponent. Moreover, war cannot be bloodless precisely because it cannot be reduced to an exact science. The fact that the Ultimate Fighting Championship quickly became a blood bath because nobody knew what to expect from anyone else further demonstrates the unscientific nature of combat, and also spurred the development of rules in future tournaments, including mandatory gloves and a ban on kicking or kneeing the head of a downed opponent.

Does the fact that combat is unpredictable mean that everything you have learned according to prescribed patterns of training in the martial arts is useless? The answer is an unequivocal no. Since the purpose of theory is to cast light on events, recognize relationships, eliminate ignorance, and separate the important from the unimportant, studying the many possibilities in advance coupled with extensive practice allows the martial artist to narrow the risk that something will go significantly wrong. In short, a good theoretical base alongside sensible practical training allows one to execute sound judgment when danger strikes and determine the scope of the battle before taking action. The victory is thus prepared in the planning, and herein lies the importance of Clausewitz’s suggestion that one should not take the first step without considering what might be the last. Clausewitz and Sun Tzu were in agreement that one should engage the enemy only after one has studied his strengths and weaknesses and determined that the chances of victory are reasonably good. Thus, the victorious fighter realizes the conditions for victory before engaging in battle.

In contrast to ideal war, in real war the moves cannot be fully predicted. Actions must therefore be modified upon passing from theory to reality. Real war is waged for the purpose of achieving minor advantages for their own sake without necessarily considering them direct steps toward victory. While ideal war focuses on the constant and determined movement toward the destruction of the enemy’s forces (or fighting ability), real war consists of a number of separate battles and includes pauses or standstills in action. Victory can also be achieved through peace negotiations rather than direct attack. The defining characteristic of real war is what Clausewitz called “friction.” Friction can take the form of physical frictions such as difficulties with the environment or weapons, or mental frictions such as fatigue or loss of morale. All action in war is based on probability. Although you may know yourself, your strengths and weaknesses, at best you can only make an educated guess about the cards your opponent is holding.

Sun Tzu acknowledged the effects of friction and the many possible forms that battle can take when he said that “[t]here are no more than five musical notes, yet the variations in the five notes cannot all be heard.”²⁵ As noted previously, he recognized that armies of overwhelming numerical superiority or strength should not be fought. However, heeding this advice may not be possible in a street fight, mugging, rape, or robbery because it assumes that you are the instigator of battle and alone decide whether or not to proceed. A weakness of Sun Tzu’s Art of War is that it fails to consider the fact that you do not have monopoly on initiative, deception, flexibility, or concentration of force at the decisive point, and that the enemy may resort to the same tactics. Friction, or the uncertainty of conflict, applies to all parties. To Sun Tzu’s credit, however, he appears to have recognized this weakness when he said, “It follows that those skilled in war can make themselves invincible but cannot cause an enemy to be certainly vulnerable. Therefore, it can be said that, one may know how to win, but cannot necessarily do so.”²⁶

Although how to proceed in combat at any given moment often proves to be a gamble and friction can sabotage the best-laid plans, a consolation might be that chance does not strike one belligerent exclusively but can also create opportunities that can be exploited for personal gain. For example, you might face a very aggressive opponent in a kickboxing match and come through the first round feeling lucky if you merely prevent him from knocking you out in subsequent rounds. Halfway through the second round, your opponent unexpectedly loses steam perhaps as a result of having failed to attain proper cardiovascular conditioning. It is this friction, this unexpected occurrence that allows you to land a strong blow to his jaw, knock him out, and win the match.

In their definitions of war, both Sun Tzu and Clausewitz included the surrounding conditions and circumstances: the geography and technology, the social and political climate, and one’s passions and ambitions. An important point to consider is that Sun Tzu did not write about battles between states, but about conflict within his own culture where the enemy would likely resort to predictable tactics. His ideas would be quite applicable, for example, to the Ultimate Fighting Championship the way it was originally intended, for the purpose of exposing weaknesses within particular fighting arts. An aikidoist was expected to use only techniques applicable to aikido; a taekwondoist would rely only on techniques he would normally practice in the dojang; a kickboxer was expected to use only techniques he would resort to in a sanctioned match between two kickboxers, thereby making combat predictable and suggesting that it is possible to officially declare “superiority” of one art over another. As discussed previously, the event quickly “deteriorated” into mixed martial arts, where a fighter could use any techniques or blend thereof he chose regardless of his background or training.

The objective of the Ultimate Fighting Championship, fought inside the octagon, was initially to pit one style of martial art against another to determine which style was superior. This is an unjust way of evaluating the martial arts, because it fails to consider the historical context under which they were developed. (Image source: Lee Brimelov, Wikimedia Commons)

Furthermore, part of the difficulty associated with reconciling Sun Tzu and Clausewitz and their respective views on warfare lies in the particular era and culture in which they lived. Deception, for example, although strongly emphasized by Sun Tzu and promoted as a useful tactic in traditional martial arts and street defense alike, was difficult to use during Clausewitz’s time in the midst of the industrial revolution when warfare was waged by mass armies. Moreover, our tendency to view the martial arts within the framework of certain common trends and generalizations commonly bring misunderstandings both to traditional approaches to combat and the “newer” mixed martial arts. A traditionalist, for example, might hold the view that a mixed martial artist is a brawler who lacks insight and depth, while a mixed martial arts practitioner might sneer at the traditionalist, claiming that he would be ineffective in a “real” fight. One might thus ask: Does a martial art express the culture of its country of origin? Or does it merely express the needs to meet the political situation that existed at the time of its development? Which arts are applicable to modern combat, which are timeless, and which are merely anachronistic recreations of a particular culture and historical time frame?

History will attest that most countries of the world have integrated military systems. For example, even though infantry might dominate warfare, cavalry has historically proven more effective for scouting and breaking up enemy formations, or for meeting certain forces that did not rely on foot soldiering such as the Mongolian invasions of China in the thirteenth century CE. The martial arts are likewise integrated systems of fighting. A successful fight conducted outside of established conventions seldom relies exclusively on stand-up or ground combat, empty hands or weapons. By blending several principles typically found in karate, judo, and aikido, the Korean martial art of hapkido has managed to fuse physical and mental power, the cheng and the ch’i. It offers a good example of a traditional martial art operating as an integrated system of fighting by drawing power from karate, leverage from judo, and flow or the principle of diverting the opponent’s motion from aikido.²⁷

Medieval European swordsmanship was an integrated system of fighting that used kicks and grabbing maneuvers to achieve the objective. Note the front kick displayed in this medieval sword fighting manual. (Image source: Francesco Novati, Wikimedia Commons)

Similarly, the ninjutsu practitioner of feudal Japan had to master a wide variety of weapons such as daggers, shuriken (throwing stars), and brass knuckles, along with implements such as ladders and hooks that allowed him to scale walls. In addition to basic empty hand skills such as striking, kicking, and grappling, he was trained in stick and staff fighting, swimming, and horsemanship or combat from horseback. This made ninjutsu a truly integrated martial art.²⁸ The Japanese samurai and the medieval European knights likewise employed integrated systems of fighting; the samurai by resorting to jujutsu skills if he could no longer rely on his sword, and the European knight by resorting to kicks to keep an opponent at sword’s range, or grabbing, trapping, and dagger skills when at close range.

Thus, knowing that the ideal type of battle will rarely be fought, how does one offset the effects of friction? Although friction cannot be eliminated, it can be managed through proper preparation, or as Sun Tzu said, “Know the enemy, know yourself; your victory will never be endangered. Know the ground, know the weather; your victory will then be complete.”²⁹ Actual combat experience will undoubtedly assist in strengthening instinct and preparing for uncertainty. Consistent and tough training might be the next best alternative. Doctrine, or a syllabus designed to meet the specific needs of the situation, further allows one to establish guidelines for conduct that assist judgment. Although fighting cannot be learned through theoretical study alone, theory sheds light on the many phases of combat and acts as a guide to train judgment through critical inquiry. But to remain effective, theory has to “remain realistic: it cannot allow itself to get lost in futile speculation, hairsplitting, and flights of fancy.”³⁰ Learning to step at an angle of 26.5 degrees when executing a defensive technique against an opponent’s strike is an example of a hairsplitting flight of fancy. Learning the concept behind the technique—to step at an angle away from the path of power—would prove more practical.