Ideology or Philosophy: Which Side is Martial Arts Discourse On? Bruce Lee's Philosophy versus Alain Badiou and Slavoj Zizek's Ideology more

1 Philosophy or Ideology: Which Side is Martial Arts Discourse on? Bruce Lee‟s „Philosophy‟ versus Alain Badiou and Slavoj Žižek‟s „Ideology‟ Paul Bowman Keywords: Bruce Lee, Alain Badiou, Jacques Rancière, Slavoj Žižek, philosophy, ideology, pedagogy, ethics. Paul Bowman (Cardiff University) is author of Theorizing Bruce Lee (2010), Deconstructing Popular Culture (2008) and Post-Marxism versus Cultural Studies (2007). Does the question ‘What is the philosophical?’ belong to philosophy? Yes and no: a formally contradictory response, yet anything but a null or evasive one. (Derrida 2002: 6) Introduction: Deconstructing Martial Arts “and” Philosophy One of the most supposedly controversial features of the work of the poststructuralist philosopher Jacques Derrida was that his work (deconstruction) sought to demonstrate that borders between realms and practices were not only artificial, conventional and constructed. This is only half the story. The second dimension to Derrida‟s focus on border construction is that instituting and maintaining borders actually works to institute and maintain hierarchies, value systems and prejudices: policing mechanisms which organise what is „acceptable‟ and what is „unacceptable‟. To refer to only one famous example, Derrida often sought to show that the borders between philosophy and literature are far from clear cut. They are not natural 2 or essential. Rather, philosophy and literature are at most different types or styles of writing; or, even, types of writing that are read according to different protocols. Nevertheless, Derrida sought to show, the one can always be found at work in the other, and vice versa. Now, unless you are very invested in a sense of the purity of capital-p-Philosophy, this might not seem particularly controversial to you. But if you are, it will. For, what Derrida‟s demonstrations effectively did was to strip academic philosophy of its distinction, of its claim to purity and authority. At the same time, it did two other things: first, it made the notion, region, place or specific character of „the philosophical‟ uncertain (or „undecidable‟); whilst, by the same token, suggesting that we might be able to expand the notion of „the philosophical‟ potentially everywhere, to all types of writing. This is a problem if one sees philosophy as something pure, secure and cordoned off from its opposite, its antithesis, its other or its outside – something that might be termed (as many philosophers have) „ideology‟. For it is as much as to suggest that academic or disciplinary philosophy is just as likely to be contaminated with „unphilosophical‟ ideology as anything else. In the spirit of deconstruction, this chapter seeks to problematize a distinction between a popular type of pop cultural philosophizing and a type of academic or professional philosophizing that regards the popular cultural philosophy to be ideological. The key example and case study will Bruce Lee. Lee‟s „martial arts philosophy of life‟ will be squared off against the critiques of precisely such postmodern, countercultural or even „New Age‟ popular cultural thinkers as Lee, as given by the contemporary „Continental‟ philosophers Slavoj Žižek and Alain Badiou. Bruce Lee is not just any old example. Lee is without doubt the most internationally famous figure of martial arts (Miller 2000; Bowman 2010). He not only introduced the world to and 3 entranced it with his magnificently graceful and powerful martial arts choreography in his blockbuster films of the early 1970s. He also extolled and popularised a type of philosophy that can be taken as representative of the „dominant hegemonic‟ ethos or ideology of which both Badiou and Žižek Badiou are most critical. On the evidence of Bruce Lee‟s writings, the key ingredients of his own intellectual universe and „philosophical‟ compositions appears to be one part „Eastern‟ Taoism, one part west coast countercultural ideology, one part self-help psychology and one part notes from his college philosophy course. This sort of mishmash could cause many a professional philosopher to baulk. But the important point to begin from is that Bruce Lee not only presented the world with an incredible new physical and lifestyle ideal – presenting the western mainstream world with an entirely new conceptual and physical paradigm, the hitherto unknown or unseen world of „kung fu‟ – he also provided anyone interested enough to pursue it with an intellectualisation or philosophization of his approach to martial arts as an approach to and understanding of – indeed, an art of – life. Let us defer the question of whether Bruce Lee‟s writing „is‟ philosophical – although this spectre will always be lurking in the background. As Jacques Derrida once proposed, the question of what is and what is not philosophy is one of the central questions of philosophy (Derrida 2002: 6-9). And any answer to this question will only perhaps reveal our own philosophy of philosophy (or, indeed, our prejudices). Moreover, posing this question „this way around‟ harbours several problems. First, asking whether Bruce Lee „is philosophical‟ immediately puts him on trial; this is because, second, such a formulation assumes that there is such a thing as philosophy, and that we know what it is, and – third – that this philosophy is an ideal to be striven for. Moreover, as such, it will perhaps be an ideal that one could only more or less measure up to. But, if we know nothing about Derrida and deconstruction other than what was recounted in the first paragraph, such an approach should set alarm bells 4 ringing. Nevertheless, I do want to expose Bruce Lee‟s text to the gaze of „philosophy‟; but ultimately not to accuse Lee of being what Žižek would call „ersatz philosophy‟, and instead to enquire into the extent to which his „philosophical‟ accusers are themselves „philosophical‟ or free from the taint of the very „ideology‟ that they so disdain. The perspective which would dismiss Lee‟s text as pure ideology (i.e., „bad‟) is clearly illustrated in an oft-repeated argument of Slavoj Žižek, when he proposes that: The ultimate postmodern irony is thus the strange exchange between Europe and Asia: at the very moment when, at the level of the „economic infrastructure‟, „European‟ technology and capitalism are triumphing world-wide, at the level of „ideological superstructure‟, the Judeo-Christian legacy is threatened in the European space itself by the onslaught of the New Age „Asiatic‟ thought, which, in its different guises, from the „Western Buddhism‟ (today‟s counterpart to Western Marxism, as opposed to the „Asiatic‟ Marxism-Leninism) to different „Taos,‟ is establishing itself as the hegemonic ideology of global capitalism. Therein resides the highest speculative identity of the opposites of today‟s global civilization: although „Western Buddhism‟ presents itself as the remedy against the stressful tension of the capitalist dynamics, allowing us to uncouple and retain inner peace and Gelassenheit, it actually functions as its perfect ideological supplement. (Žižek 2001: 12) In this perspective, Bruce Lee‟s (and all other sorts of) contemporary Taoism is not to be regarded as „philosophy‟, or even as clear, critical consciousness, but rather as a kind of deluded, mystified ideology. Žižek does not use the crude Marxian formulation of „false consciousness‟, but to categorise „western‟ Taoism or Buddhism as a perspective that is 5 currently functioning as capitalism‟s „perfect ideological supplement‟ does not seem a world away from this. For, Žižek regards all forms of New Age philosophy or the Western interest in Taoism and Buddhism to be a belief system produced by and arising in response to the uncertainties and anxieties that are themselves consequences of the forces, fluxes and flows of deregulated transnational or global capital. This may seem to be a fairly damning charge to make, as it consigns to the category of „deluded ideology‟ not only the belief systems of myriad contemporary „Taoist‟ martial artists but also the entire lifestyles and orientations of untold people whose lives have been touched, informed or even organised by „Eastern‟ mind/body philosophies, practices, ethoi and outlooks. Žižek next goes on to deem all such people „fetishists‟. This is a term that will always have pejorative connotations even if Žižek proposes that, sometimes, „a fetish can play a very constructive role in allowing us to cope with the harsh reality: fetishists are not dreamers lost in their private worlds, they are thoroughly “realists”, able to accept the way things effectively are – since they have their fetish to which they can cling in order to cancel the full impact of reality‟ (Žižek 2001: 14). One question explored by this chapter, though, will be that of the extent to which those who oppose such „ideology‟ are not themselves equally „fetishists‟ (their fetish perhaps being called „Philosophy‟); or, to switch from the vocabulary of psychoanalysis that Žižek rests and relies upon: the question of the extent to which those who oppose new age ideology and pop psychology of the type popularised by Bruce Lee can be shown to be uncontaminated by the contamination that they see permeating the cultural, ideological and political world of which they are so critical. Such a deconstruction of „philosophy versus ideology‟ ultimately seeks to upturn and displace the usual sorts of issues and debates. But in order to deconstruct anything, we must first set out its specific features. 6 Liberate Yourself from Classical Philosophy In September 1971, Black Belt Magazine published an article called „Liberate Yourself from Classical Karate‟. It was written by Bruce Lee. This article is arguably epochal, in many ways. Certainly, „Liberate Yourself from Classical Karate‟ is notable because it is one of the few definitive written statements given by Bruce Lee on the subject of what he wanted to teach – namely a revolutionary approach to martial arts that he called „Jeet Kune Do‟. It is important to note this because, since his death, Lee‟s name has been attached to the wholesale and indiscriminate posthumous publication of selections from his notebooks, college essays, journals and jotters, and these include many unattributed but readily traceable quotations from other thinkers – all of which ultimately make Bruce Lee seem to be a barefaced plagiarist – as if he himself made the decision to publish „his‟ words in that form, after he died. We will return to this, below. But „Liberate Yourself from Classical Karate‟ was signed and signed off by Bruce Lee. It is his manifesto for „Jeet Kune Do‟. In Bruce Lee‟s words: „Literally, “jeet” means to intercept or to stop; “kune” is the fist; and “do” is the way, the ultimate reality‟; so, Jeet Kune Do means „the way of the intercepting fist‟ (1971: 24). Yet, Lee insists: „Do remember, however, that “Jeet Kune Do” is merely a convenient name. I am not interested with the term itself; I am interested in its effect of liberation when JKD is used as a mirror for self-examination‟ (24). Thus, rather than a style, a method or a syllabus, Bruce Lee‟s „Jeet Kune Do‟ was originally an experimental ethos organised in terms of liberation. This is not (yet) the „self-actualisation‟ of the existentialization of martial arts (Brown 1997). It is rather the liberation from the strictures of hidebound martial arts training practices.1 7 The term „Jeet Kune Do‟ had been coined by Lee to evoke the guiding principles („Do‟) or ultimate aim in fighting – quick and decisive victory. Lee believed these to be encapsulated in anything that could simultaneously intercept/interrupt an attack („Jeet‟) and deliver a simultaneous hit of one‟s own („Kune‟). According to his senior student, Dan Inosanto, Lee was particularly enamoured of Western fencing‟s „stop-hit‟ technique – the act of blocking and striking simultaneously in one movement – hence, the name (and indeed, the look and feel of) Jeet Kune Do. But Lee was at pains to emphasize that in itself JKD was not a „style‟: „Unlike a “classical” martial art, there is no series of rules or classification of technique that constitutes a distinct “Jeet Kune Do” method of fighting‟ (24), he insisted. He continues: „JKD is not a form of special conditioning with its own rigid philosophy. It looks at combat not from a single angle, but from all possible angles‟. Thus, „There are no prearranged sets or “kata” in the teaching of JKD, nor are they necessary‟ (1971: 24). The point, instead, writes Lee, is that „through instinctive body feeling, each of us “knows” our own most efficient and dynamic manner of achieving effective leverage, balance in motion, economical use of energy, etc.‟ (24). Thus, we all already know how to move, how to fight. At the same time, learning formal „patterns, techniques or forms touch[es] only the fringe of genuine understanding‟. Formal training in martial arts actually stultifies the learner. According to Lee, the „core of understanding lies in the individual mind, and until that is touched, everything is uncertain and superficial‟. He claims: „Truth cannot be perceived until we come to fully understand ourselves and our potentials. After all, knowledge in the martial arts ultimately means self-knowledge‟. It is worth quoting a passage from Lee‟s article at length: At this point you may ask, „How do I gain this knowledge?‟ That you will have to find out all by yourself. You must accept the fact that there is no help but self-help. 8 For the same reason I cannot tell you how to „gain‟ freedom, since freedom exists within you. I cannot tell you what „not‟ to do, I cannot tell you what you „should‟ do, since that would be confining you to a particular approach. Formulas can only inhibit freedom, externally dictated prescriptions only squelch creativity and assure mediocrity. Bear in mind that the freedom that accrues from self-knowledge cannot be acquired through strict adherence to a formula; we do not suddenly „become‟ free, we simply „are‟ free. Learning is definitely not mere imitation, nor is it the ability to accumulate and regurgitate fixed knowledge. Learning is a constant process of discovery, a process without end. In JKD we begin not by accumulation but by discovering the cause of our ignorance, a discovery that involves a shedding process. Unfortunately, most students in the martial arts are conformists. Instead of learning to depend on themselves for expression, they blindly follow their instructors, no longer feeling alone, and finding security in mass imitation. The product of this imitation is a dependent mind. Independent inquiry, which is essential to genuine understanding, is sacrificed. Look around the martial arts and witness the assortment of routine performers, trick artists, desensitized robots, glorifiers of the past and so on – all followers or exponents of organized despair. (Lee 1971: 24) In place of formal pedagogical structures, Bruce Lee – who had no formal qualification in any martial art but who could demonstrate „mastery‟ in many – advocated autodidacticism, self-help, constant innovation, testing, exploration, experiment and dynamic verification. In other words, Bruce Lee was quite radical or revolutionary. Indeed, suggests Daniele Bolelli: „At a time when no forms of established authority went unchallenged, it seems only natural that even the field of martial arts was destined to experience some drastic change‟ (Bolelli 9 2003: 182-3). After characterising Bruce Lee‟s „time‟ – the late 1960s – as an era of all things anti-authoritarian, Bolelli concludes that: The philosophy of JKD can therefore be seen as the gift (or the curse, depending on your point of view) of the alchemical mixing of Taoism, Zen Buddhism, the antiauthoritarian culture of the 1960s, and Bruce Lee‟s own personality. Regardless of whether we agree with Lee‟s approach or not, his example remains as an open invitation to do one of the healthiest things that anyone, martial artist or not, can do; questioning one‟s own beliefs. (183) The only help is self-help. Push yourself. Know thyself. You already know yourself, in yourself. Subject all institutions to a deconstructive questioning. Don‟t follow leaders. Question all beliefs. Experiment with interdisciplinarity in the name of antidisciplinarity. This is the lesson of Bruce Lee. At least, this can be plotted in his writings. Indeed, it is often said that a vague (but violent) ethnic Chinese „cultural nationalism‟ comes out in Lee‟s films, whilst this radical egalitarian/universalist individualism comes out in his martial arts „philosophy‟ and written texts. However, even in Lee‟s early films (largely written and directed by others and following stock formulas) Lee‟s nationalism always comes in response to nationalistically-inflected aggression against „innocent‟ Chinese underdogs. Moreover, Lee‟s later and increasingly self-controlled works (such as the incomplete Game of Death) all seek to emphasize themes of universalistic equality and individualistic emancipation. So it is clear that what subtends all of Lee‟s texts is the egalitarian impulse that can be seen in „Liberate Yourself‟. This article ends: 10 There is no standard in total combat, and expression must be free. This liberating truth is a reality only in so far as it is „experienced and lived‟ by the individual himself; it is a truth that transcends styles or disciplines. Remember, too, that Jeet Kune Do is merely a term, a label to be used as a boat to get one across; once across, it is to be discarded and not carried on one‟s back. These few paragraphs are, at best, a „finger pointing to the moon‟. Please do not take the finger to be the moon or fix your gaze so intently on the finger as to miss all the beautiful sights of heaven. After all, the usefulness of the finger is in pointing away from itself to the light which illumines finger and all. (24) Lee was to use this „finger pointing‟ analogy again. It reoccurs at the start of Enter the Dragon (1973), during one of the initial establishing scenes. The opening scenes of the film are of course all about establishing an interpretive context, and what these opening scenes chiefly provide will undoubtedly have been many viewers‟ first „experience‟ or inkling of the discipline and mysticism of the legendary Shaolin Temple and its mythical warrior monks. This „mysticism‟ is condensed in one of the very first scenes, in which Lee tutors a young monk, Lau. This scene runs like this: Lee: It‟s Lau‟s time. Braithwaite [surprised and somewhat puzzled]: Yes, of course… Lee: Kick me. [Lau seems puzzled] Kick me. [Lau throws a side-kick] What was that? An exhibition? We need [pointing to his head] emotional content. Try again! [Lau kicks again] I said emotional content. Not anger! Now try again! With me! [Lau throws two more kicks, causing Lee to respond] That‟s it! How did it feel to you? Lau: Let me think. 11 Lee: [Slaps Lau’s head] Don‟t think! Feel! It is like a finger pointing away to the moon. [Slaps Lau’s head] Don’t concentrate on the finger or you will miss all that heavenly glory. Do you understand? Lau: [smiles, nods, bows] Lee: [Slaps the back of Lau’s head] Never take your eyes off your opponent, even when you bow…. That‟s it. The behaviour of Lee‟s character in this „teacherly‟ mode is not without precedent. According to Avital Ronell, Zen teachers often liberally strike students who give the wrong answers to Zen koans (koans are riddles, essentially); an act which arguably has various pedagogical functions. The main function of the strike is to jolt the student into „realization‟, „awakening‟, or „satori‟ (Ronell 2004: 62). In Ronell‟s words: The hit seals a sort of „compliment‟ conferred by the attentive master, who prods the physical body for the purpose of uninhibiting a scene of contemplation, new and unanticipated. The shock is crucial to the experience of the koan: it stages the opening of thought exceeding itself in the jolt. (Ronell 2004: 62) But, in „Liberate Yourself‟ and in Enter the Dragon, what is the thought? In an essay on the pedagogy of Buddhism, an essay which involves an analysis of some of the occurrences of the finger pointing to the moon riddle in Zen Buddhist writings, Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick observes that whilst on the one hand Western education largely proceeds by „assuming that every lesson can be divided into ever more bite-sized, ever more assimilable bits‟, on the other hand, the „wisdom traditions‟ of Buddhism principally „assume that students have already surmounted a fairly high threshold of recognition‟ (2003: 171-2). This is coupled 12 with what she calls a „radical doubt that a basic realization can be communicated at all‟ (172). It is in this, she suggests, that the difference between Western and Buddhist pedagogy consists: Buddhist pedagogy does not „teach‟; rather it attempts to establish – to verify – to test – „recognition‟, or „realisation‟. As Ronell formulates this, „the koan, offered by the teacher – the „master‟ – is meant to „open‟ the pupil to the possibility of Saying. The master is responsible for initiating the call of such an opening‟. This „call of such an opening‟, she continues, is often „attained by the administration of a shock‟. This is why the master „is frequently figured as beating, hitting, or slugging the pupil‟ (Ronell 2004: 62). Ronell jolts her consideration of Buddhist pedagogy back to questions of Western philosophy. Sedgwick, too, quickly returns the discussion back to „Philosophy proper‟, so to speak.2 However, Sedgwick is guided by a fascination with the Buddha‟s claim: „I have not taught a single word during the forty-nine years of my Dharma preaching‟; and that, rather than teaching as such, „the Buddha spoke many sutras, which should only be taken as “the finger that points to the moon”, not the moon itself‟ (Sedgwick 2003: 170). If such pedagogies can be taken seriously by both queer and other radical emancipatory theorists in the realms of philosophy, „wisdom traditions‟ and pedagogy „proper‟, one question is that of the pedagogical status of Bruce Lee‟s cinematic and journalistic nonteaching of exactly the same things (if it still makes sense to put it like this). Moreover, it deserves to be noted that the moment of Lee‟s emergence was also the moment of high-hippy countercultural utopianism (the late 1960s and early 1970s). What is to be made of the fact that this period is also the period that spurred so many critiques of institutions – and particularly pedagogical institutions – including those coming from deconstruction, cultural studies, feminism, postcolonialism, gender and sexuality studies, Bourdieu and Rancière and 13 beyond? In other words, it seems it would be fair to say that Bruce Lee‟s finger is pointing not just to the moon, but to problems of referentiality, indexicality and ontology, all of which at a certain time coalesced into one hell of a discursive convergence. As already noted, the dialectical synthesis of the apparently diametrically opposing „lessons‟ of Bruce Lee (the Chinese nationalism of the „lesson of the early celluloid Lee‟ versus the pragmatic, egalitarian inter- and antidisciplinary „lesson of JKD‟) can be found in what might be called a certain „spirit‟. This can be seen to be subtending, infusing and suffusing (if not simply sublating) „both‟ lessons of Bruce Lee. This spirit is often too quickly represented as the spirit of Zen – a putatively timeless, „transcultural‟ spirit. However, such a spirit surely can and should be historicized. According to Sedgwick: In the United States it seems to have fallen to the twentieth-century popularizers of Zen, after World War II, to begin to articulate the centrality in many forms of Buddhism of [a] radical doubt that a basic realization can be communicated at all. After all, if Zen practice cannot promise to bring one methodically over the high learning threshold of satori [„awakening‟, „realization‟], it at least offers distinct practices, such as wrestling with koans, for dramatizing and perhaps exhausting the impossibility of methodical learning. Furthermore, the anti-scholasticism of Zen and the often anti-intellectualism of the counterculture merged in a durable consciousness of the limits of verbal articulation. The 1960s heyday of these explorations […] was one when a critique of school institutions became the vehicle of almost every form of utopian investment; if Buddhist explorations were peripheral to the student movement, they nonetheless both enabled and were enabled by it. (172) 14 Quite how one ultimately judges the value and lasting effects of such a movement remains to be decided. What is clear is the central place of Bruce Lee within this movement, as expression and agency, bringing many elements of the cultural and political margins right to the centre of global popular culture. Indeed, Bruce Lee can be regarded as providing what Rancière calls „the aesthetic dimension of the reconfiguration of the relationships between doing, seeing and saying that circumscribe the being-in-common [which] is inherent to every political or social movement‟ (2000: 17). Of course, Rancière adds quickly, „this aesthetic component of politics does not lead me to seek the political everywhere that there is a reconfiguration of perceptible attributes in general. I am far from believing that “everything is political”‟. Yet, he quickly adds: „On the other hand, I believe it‟s important to note that the political dimension of the arts can be seen first of all in the way that their forms materially propose the paradigms of the community‟ (17). This is not to suggest that Bruce Lee was a herald and trailblazer of a PC utopia, although his relation to the ensuing movement that became known as „political correctness‟ certainly has been remarked upon (Morris 2001). Similarly, it is, at least, to locate Bruce Lee firmly at the shifting centre of enduring antiinstitutional, intercultural and cross-ethnic representation. As Rey Chow sees it, this is: a process in which the acceleration and intensification of contacts brought by technology and commerce entail[s] an acceleration and intensification of stereotypes, stereotypes that, rather than simply being false or incorrect (and thus dismissable), have the potential of effecting changes in entire intellectual climates… (Chow 2002: 63) These contacts are also therefore arguably irreducibly pedagogical. But are they philosophical? As mentioned at the beginning, this is not the ultimate question here. But still, perhaps we should indeed now compare and contrast some features of Lee‟s „philosophy‟ with that of the 15 professional professorial or disciplinary philosophers who are famously so hostile to precisely the kind of „new age mumbo jumbo‟ that Bruce Lee may be accused of peddling. Walk On and Keep Going According to the regularly recurring and often reiterated themes and sentiments within Bruce Lee‟s multimedia oeuvre, it seems that he was evidently a great believer in universal truths. His most repeated aphorisms insist upon Taoist-sounding universal laws and principles and a shared universal humanity. Bruce Lee‟s note taking and writing was clearly led by an investment in expressions and formulations that could be said to relate to some truth of the human condition in general – a „truth‟ about humanity regarded in terms both psychological and cultural; truths believed to be available to any, any time, any place, anywhere – as long as they are able and inclined to free their minds from the blinkers of strictures and conventions. Lee had a lot to say in this regard about conventions, traditions and institutions, as we have seen. But Lee also held a particular predilection for what might be called ethical truths couched in the form of injunctions: injunctions and imperatives to do with how to live, how to act, how to think, how to proceed, how to be. This is undoubtedly exemplified in one of his favourite maxims or axioms: „Walk on!‟ This injunction is often attributed to Lee. In Bruce Lee: Words of the Dragon: Interviews, 1958 – 1973 (1997), the editor observes: The phrase „walk on‟ was an important one in Bruce Lee‟s philosophy. He even had it written on the back of one of his business cards, which he displayed on his desk to remind himself to walk on, or flow on, in the current of life. (Lee and Little 1997: 75) 16 In an interview for TV and Movie Screen in 1966, Lee is quoted as responding to a question about his method of parenting his son Brandon: I will teach him to walk on. Walk on and he will see a new view. Walk on and he will see the birds fly. Walk on and leave behind all things that would dam up the inlet, or clog the outlet, of experience. (Lee and Little 1997: 46) There are many other instances of this phrase being used to organise Bruce Lee‟s words. However, it is surely significant that one of the books contained in Lee‟s personal collection was itself called Walk On! It was written by the British populariser of Buddhism, Christmas Humphreys (1901-1983), and the first words of chapter one are these: „Asked “What is truth?”, a master of Zen Buddhism replied, “Walk on!”, and though there will be many words between these at the beginning and the same two at the end of this small book they will say no more‟ (Humphreys 1947/1972: 7). Two paragraphs later, the book reads: Walk on. For life is movement, ceaseless movement, and uses forms as it has need of them. These endless warriors, spirit and matter, life and form are the warp and weft whereon the Namelessness creates the pattern of our days. Form, of the two, is easier to understand, for things and „facts‟, and the houses and places and jobs which make up circumstance are here to be handled and seen, while life is in itself invisible. Yet whether we see it or not, it will not wait for us, nor pause while we argue that we do not understand. Life moves on, and we, flames in the light of a prison of our own devising, must move on likewise, or be left behind. (8) 17 If this claim that we „must move on ... or be left behind‟ sounds a bit too much like it harbours a very non-Buddhist melancholy or implicit advocation of moving in terms of trying to keep up and hence „clinging‟, Humphreys soon clarifies things with a rather more complex argument – one which is noteworthy for more than one reason, especially as it pre-empts the familiar claim that Buddhism equals passive acceptance of circumstances, docility and inactivity: All experience, therefore, whether labelled as pleasant or unpleasant, is valuable so long as we handle it on the move, as it were, and still walk on. Methods of selfdevelopment vary enormously, but anything in the way of experience is worth the while providing that it teaches a lesson which is thereby learnt. At a later stage on the way the pilgrim begins to create his circumstances as he will, and to this extent to control his experience. He will resort to a vast array of what in the East are referred to as „devices‟, and what in the West we should call the technique of our self-becoming. But whatever the method or path adopted, whether by learning, love or noble action, whether pursuing the good, the beautiful or the true, the device when its purpose is fulfilled should be abandoned. Too many of us still walk on with the raft by which we crossed that river strapped to our backs in perpetuity, and all these partial methods must be expanded sooner or later to include all other points of view. (11-12) Readers of Bruce Lee and of Taoist philosophy more generally will be familiar with such sentiments, which resonate through all of his written notes and quotes. As this case seems to suggest though, Lee‟s words (and doubtless those of Humphreys too) evidently derive from at least one and presumably an extremely eclectic range of sources, rather than originating „in‟ the author. Supporters and critics alike have expended huge amounts of time and energy 18 tracking down these sources; and such excavations are not an uncommon response to any successful or popular author. But establishing „influence‟ or „inspiration‟ is not in any sense a complete project in and of itself. For the question remains of its significance and effects. Before judging Lee – indeed, instead of judging Lee as such – there is a pertinent question about the cultural significance, status and effects of his „interventions‟, however „secondary‟ or „derived‟ they may putatively be. There are at least two ways to approach the significance of the diversity of Lee‟s sources. The first is to conclude that because the truths championed by Taoism, Zen and Buddhism are apparently universal and timeless, we should not be surprised to find them everywhere: everyone is human, so every thinker will experience the existential issues of a „human condition‟; just as you don‟t need to be a doctor to know that you are unwell, so you don‟t have to be Lau Tzu to hit upon a universal truth; and the „genius‟ of Lee boils down to his ability to recognize the profundity of myriad observations in the works of writers from many cultures, East and West. This sort of interpretation is shared by many interlocutors. However, there is another form of interpretation. This is to approach Lee‟s synthesis of diverse sources in terms of the theme of discourse, hegemony or ideology. This is to propose that there may be something significant in the fact that all of these heterogeneous sources seem so easily to have been brought into a kind of overarching coherence and consistency by Lee, a consistency that has a distinctly „Taoist‟ flavour. The possibility that this smooth transformation of diverse material into a sleek „Taoist‟ form may be „ideological‟ finds its warrant in that argument about ideology developed by Slavoj Žižek with which we began. Žižek has posited the existence of a „hegemonic ideology‟ of contemporary capitalism; and he has suggested that this ideology is characterized by the 19 dominance of putatively „Oriental‟ belief systems (Žižek 2001: 12). Žižek‟s position seeks to offer a strident critique of such „ideology‟. It is a critique he shares with many other selfdeclared contemporary „radicals‟, such as Alain Badiou, Régis Debray, Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri. The respective positions of these writers differ in some respects, but they nevertheless share a lot. We have already encountered the Žižekian critique, so we need not rehearse the main features of the argument about the „hegemonic ideology‟ of „contemporary capitalism‟ in general once again here. But there is another version of this „radical-ideologycritique‟ which does seem to call out for some specific attention in this context. This is Alain Badiou‟s widely known and reputedly influential book, Ethics: An Essay on the Understanding of Evil (1993/2001). (Indeed, it at least seems to be the case that Žižek‟s own argument has been „influenced‟ to some extent by Badiou‟s Ethics, if only in tenor: Žižek‟s own argument seems to reiterate and echo many of the points Badiou makes. However, Žižek‟s specific contribution to Badiou‟s argument is to alert us to the possibility of a complex ideological interrelation of „Eastern‟ and „Western‟ in this discursive formation.) What is particularly pertinent about Badiou‟s book for us, is that despite it being organised as a „politicized‟ philosophical critique of what he perceives to be the growing belief in the possibility or existence of a global „ethical consensus‟, made up of a shared revulsion towards atrocity combined with a respect for (multi)cultural difference, the „ethics‟ that Badiou proposes as a supposedly genuine alternative to the duplicitously wishy-washy/crypto-fascist neoliberal belief in ethical consensus (let‟s all just be nice to each other) boils down to this formulation: „Keep going!‟ (Badiou 2001: 51). . . . Keep going? How far from „walk on‟ is „keep going‟? 20 If we foreground the similarity of Badiou‟s and Žižek‟s critiques, then the proximity of the ethical maxim „keep going‟ to the supposedly „ideologically‟ problematic „Western‟ Buddhist aphorism „walk on‟ becomes provocative. For, insofar as „Western‟ Buddhism might be read as an index of the ideology of a dubious „multiculturalist consensus‟, then what is the status of the close semantic relation between Badiou‟s („good‟) ethical maxim of „keep going‟ and the (presumably „bad‟) Westernised-Buddhist injunction „walk on‟? The Badiouian answer hinges on the necessity of „keeping going‟ in terms of maintaining „a fidelity‟ to the truth of an event („a truth event‟), and not being faithful to a simulacrum. To clarify what this entails, and to examine its relation to the object of Badiou‟s critique – a certain liberal multicultural humanist ethical consensus, of which Bruce Lee will of course be taken as our exemplary example – we will need to set out some of the key terms of Badiou‟s argument. Rather than laying this out from the ground up, let us rather get straight to the heart of the matter. Badiou writes: Communication is suited only to opinions (and again, we are unable to manage without them). In all that concerns truths, there must be an encounter. The Immortal that I am capable of being cannot be spurred in me by the effects of communicative sociality, it must be directly seized by fidelity. That is to say: broken, in its multiplebeing, by the course of an immanent break, and convoked [requis], finally, with or without knowing it, by the evental supplement. To enter into the composition of a subject of truth can only be something that happens to you. Confirmation of the point is provided by the concrete circumstances in which someone is seized by a fidelity: an amorous encounter, the sudden feeling that this poem was addressed to you, a scientific theory whose initially obscure beauty overwhelms you, or the active intelligence of a political place. . . . Philosophy is no 21 exception here, since everyone knows that to endure the requirement of a philosophically disinterested-interest, you have to have encountered, at least once in your life, the voice of a Master. As a result, the ethic of a truth is the complete opposite of an „ethics of communication‟. It is an ethic of the Real, if it is true that – as Lacan suggests – all access to the Real is of the order of an encounter. And consistency, which is the content of the ethical maxim „Keep going!‟ [Continuer!], keeps going only by following the thread of this Real. (Badiou 2001: 51) I have elsewhere sought to represent the experience of the cinematic emergence of Bruce Lee as an event which has definitively transformed certain subjects (Bowman 2010). The logic or workings of this „evental‟ or transformative process was approached using the arguments of Jacques Rancière and Meaghan Morris (2001). Badiou‟s own thinking here can also be used to supplement this line of reasoning. And this would make the moment of experiencing Bruce Lee on screen into an event. If this seems ontologically problematic (given that the cinema is all too often and all too quickly written off as the exemplary example of the simulacrum), one need merely pause to consider, for instance, Rey Chow‟s reading of the well documented accounts of the ways in which the emergence of cinematically disseminated news broadcasts radically changed the orientations of the lives of key cultural and political actors and agents in China and elsewhere (Chow 1995). The emergence of cinema was itself an epochal event. Cinematic experience can always also amount to an event. As Badiou puts it, „To enter into the composition of a subject of truth can only be something that happens to you‟. And here we have the kernel of his ethical formula or system. As Badiou construes it, truth cannot be communicated as such. The accounts of the cinematically 22 mediated encounters with Bruce Lee that we have already considered seem to concur with this statement. Being seized by what Badiou calls „affects of truth‟ is not something that can be „communicated‟. Rather, says Badiou, „this seizure manifests itself by unequalled intensities of existence‟ (52). I tend to think that his ensuing list of affects of truth seems rather simplistic and naive („in love, there is happiness; in science, there is joy (in Spinoza‟s sense: intellectual beatitude); in politics, there is enthusiasm; and in art, there is pleasure‟), but Badiou‟s essential point is that: These „affects of truth‟, at the same moment that they signal the entry of some-one into a subjective composition, render empty all considerations of renunciation. Experience amply demonstrates the point, more than amply. But ethics is not of the order of pure seizure. It regulates subjective consistency, inasmuch as its maxim is: „Keep going!‟ And we have seen that this continuation presumes a genuine subversion [detournement] of the „perseverance in being‟. The materials of our multiple-being are now organized by the subjective composition, by fidelity to a fidelity, and no longer by the simple pursuit of our interest. (52) Such an encounter or experience, then, is not a matter of „opinion‟. According to Badiou, opinion is just the oil of life and sociality, with no necessary relation to truth. Truth, however, is an experience, an event, to which (and this is Badiou‟s ethical injunction) one must be faithful. There are different ways of maintaining „a fidelity‟, Badiou regularly reiterates – potentially as many ways as there are subjects. As Christmas Humphreys might put it, you could call these „devices‟ or „techniques of self-becoming‟. But Badiou‟s caveat about the unpredictability and multiplicity of ways of maintaining fidelity to the event ultimately problematizes the possibility that his „philosophy‟ could be regarded as „practical‟ or „useful‟ 23 – or, at least, more useful or practical in a way that is essentially different from any self-help handbook (like, for example, Dr Spencer Johnson‟s book, Who Moved My Cheese?, or indeed Bruce Lee‟s Striking Thoughts: Bruce Lee’s Wisdom For Daily Living). Nevertheless, for Badiou, truth consists in the subjective experience of an event (an event which cannot be communicated). For Badiou, there can be one of four types of truth: those of mathematics, love, art and politics, as indicated above in Badiou‟s list of situations in which one may be „seized by a fidelity: an amorous encounter, the sudden feeling that this poem was addressed to you, a scientific theory whose initially obscure beauty overwhelms you, or the active intelligence of a political place‟. „But‟, he continues, „ethics is not of the order of pure seizure‟. Rather, it „regulates subjective consistency, inasmuch as its maxim is: “Keep going!” And we have seen that this continuation presumes a genuine subversion [detournement] of the “perseverance in being”‟. In other words, that is, it is by responding to the injunction to keep „fidelity‟ to a truth that someone becomes „some-one‟ – „Immortal‟, rather than merely „animal‟. It is in being faithful to the experience of a truth that, says Badiou, „the materials of our multiple-being are now organized by the subjective composition, by fidelity to a fidelity, and no longer by the simple pursuit of our interest‟ (52). Ethics as Kung Fu Ultimately, Badiou regards ethics as hard work and repeated encounters; or, you might say – evoking the literal translation of the term – ethics as kung fu. Anyone can experience an event. The task is to be faithful to its truth, and not to return to the easy life of our animal nature. The real trick – the really tricky bit – is not to be taken in by simulacra – which are, according to Badiou, „evil‟. In his schema, people are, as a rule, below good and evil. Life is 24 just life. Good and evil arise in terms of a response to an event. Evil arises through the misfortune or mistake of being faithful to a simulacrum – such as Nazism or nationalism, for instance. As Badiou puts it, „Every invocation of blood and soil, of race, of custom, of community, works directly against truths; and it is this very collection [ensemble] that is named as the enemy in the ethic of truths‟ (76). In other words: „Fidelity to a simulacrum, unlike fidelity to an event, regulates its break with the situation not by the universality of the void, but by the closed particularity of an abstract set [ensemble] (the “Germans” or the “Aryans”)‟ (74). Hence: „fidelity to the simulacrum ... promotes the community, blood, race, and so on, [and] names as its enemy – for example, under the name of “Jew” – precisely the abstract universality and eternity of truths, the address to all‟ (76). In other words, Badiou challenges the „post/modern‟ belief that ethics can be based on a liberal humanist consensus about the necessity of the avoidance of acts of evil and the „pre/modern‟ belief in ethics being based on the lines set up by racial, cultural, ethnic, communitarian and national borders, boundaries and differences. What he proposes in its place is an ethics of truth: an ethics of being faithful to the truth (of an) event. The opportunity to be faithful to the truth (of an) event is available to all, but it will always divide a community and will never produce consensus: there are as many different ways of responding and of responding to an event, or being faithful or not to other events as there are people. So, we might ask, where does this leave us, other than in the realms of either self-help platitudes or those of an unverifiable abstract system whose ultimate contribution is to offer (and obfuscate) an account of why the world is unsystematizable? On the last page of the conclusion of Ethics, Badiou summarises: „This ethics combines, then, under the imperative to „Keep going!‟, resources of discernment (do not fall for simulacra), of courage (do not give up), and of moderation [réserve] (do not get carried away to the 25 extremes of Totality)‟ (91). This all sounds very well and good. But it raises more questions than it answers. If we quickly consider merely one paragraph with an eye to the questions of coherence and pragmatics; Badiou writes about the (phallic) heroes of his four ontological truth situations: „Some-one‟ can thus be this spectator whose thinking has been set in motion, who has been seized and bewildered by a burst of theatrical fire, and who thus enters into the complex configuration of a moment of art. Or this assiduous student of a mathematical problem, after the thankless and exhausting confusion of working in the dark, at the precise moment enlightened by its solution. Or that lover whose vision of reality is befuddled and displaced since, supported by the other, he remembers the instant of the declaration of their love. Or this militant who manages, at the end of a complicated meeting, to find simple words to express the hitherto elusive statement which, everyone agrees, declares what must be pursued in the situation. (45) Given Badiou‟s debts to Lacan, we might perhaps want to problematize the phantasy character of the evidently phallic hero as agent and agency here. But first, given his contention of the radical heterogeneity of „communication‟ to „truth‟, we might enquire into the status of the fantasy scenario about the „militant who manages, at the end of a complicated meeting, to find simple words to express the hitherto elusive statement which, everyone agrees, declares what must be pursued in the situation‟. For, the question is: Have those who are now listening to the interlocutor themselves just experienced an event? Or is something being communicated to them – perhaps even a simulacrum? The answer is far from clear. 26 Nevertheless, Badiou enjoins us to maintain the finest „resources of discernment‟, otherwise our ethics risk being led astray by a simulacrum, or we might simply stop: I have explained where such experiences come from: under pressure from the demands of interest – or, on the contrary, because of difficult new demands within the subjective continuation of fidelity – there is a breakdown of the fiction I use to maintain, as an image of myself, the confusion between my ordinary interests and disinterested-interest, between human animal and subject, between mortal and immortal. And at this point, I am confronted with a pure choice between the „Keep going!‟ proposed by the ethic of this truth, and the logic of the „perseverance in being‟ of the mere mortal that I am… (78) Do not fall for simulacra says Badiou, do not give up, keep going. This is much the same as Bruce Lee‟s Westernised Buddhist injunction „walk on‟. In Badiou‟s words: „This ethics combines, then, under the imperative to “Keep going!”, resources of discernment (do not fall for simulacra), of courage (do not give up), and of moderation [réserve] (do not get carried away to the extremes of Totality)‟ (91). As Bruce Lee observed, of falling for simulacra: Instead of facing combat in its suchness, then, most systems of martial art accumulate a „fancy mess‟ that distorts and cramps their practitioners and distracts them from the actual reality of combat, which is simple and direct. Instead of going immediately to the heart of things, flowery forms (organized despair) and artificial techniques are ritualistically practised to simulate actual combat. Thus, instead of „being‟ in combat these practitioners are „doing‟ something „about‟ combat. (Lee 1975: 14) 27 The alternative error to falling for simulacra is falling by the wayside because of the „collapse‟ of an image leading to „a crisis of fidelity‟ (78): A crisis of fidelity is always what puts to the test, following the collapse of an image, the sole maxim of consistency (and thus of ethics): „Keep going!‟ Keep going even when you have lost the thread, when you no longer feel „caught up‟ in the process, when the event itself has become obscure, when its name is lost, or when it seems that it may have named a mistake, if not a simulacrum. (78-79) So much is uncertain here. Maintain fidelity to the event. But which event? And how? Do not lose the way. But, what is the way? Do not lose faith. But, what if your faith is faith in a simulacrum? Continue! Keep going! Walk on! The distance between profundity and platitude, politico-academic philosophy and self-help ideology seems to collapse here. The boundaries and borders between philosophy and popular culture seem obscure, uncertain, perhaps even untenable. The same goes for philosophy and psychology, philosophy and ideology. „Keep going‟ commands Bruce Lee; „keep going‟ command Hollywood training films; „keep going‟ commands „radical‟ philosopher Alain Badiou: „Continue to be this “some-one”, a human animal among others, which nevertheless finds itself seized and displaced by the evental process of a truth‟ (90-91). Quite what these proximities, connections and contiguities signify is also uncertain: is action film philosophical? Is contemporary continental philosophy cinematographic? … What seems clear, however, is that the borders between philosophy and ideology are far from clear-cut. Perhaps, in fact, these borders are produced by nothing more than the act of claiming that they exist. Discussing the martial arts of his day, Lee argued that: 28 Each man belongs to a style which claims to possess truth to the exclusion of all other styles. These styles become institutes with their explanations of the „Way‟, dissecting and isolating the harmony of firmness and gentleness, establishing rhythmic forms as the particular state of their techniques. Instead of facing combat in its suchness, then, most systems of martial art accumulate a „fancy mess‟ that distorts and cramps their practitioners and distracts them from the actual reality of combat, which is simple and direct. Instead of going immediately to the heart of things, flowery forms (organized despair) and artificial techniques are ritualistically practised to simulate actual combat. Thus, instead of „being‟ in combat these practitioners are „doing‟ something „about‟ combat. (Lee 1975: 14) This insight can surely be taken seriously – even if the „mistake‟ that Bruce Lee made was to believe that what he constructed actually succeeded in going „directly‟ and „immediately to the heart of things‟. In other words, Lee too (like so many others) falls into the trap of believing that his own constructions are „objective‟, free from „institution‟, free from belief, from theory, from myth and fiction – free from ideology – as if simply „true‟. But there is no getting away from the contingency of institution, the contingency of culture. Everything is instituted. And institutions are consequential. As it is easily possible to see, Bruce Lee was from the origin a postmodern, interdisciplinary, multicultural and consequential founder of many forms of institution. The „event‟ of Bruce Lee was clearly not simple. Perhaps not „deep‟ or „enigmatic‟ in any romantic sense, it was nevertheless multiple and complex, simultaneously mythic and real, both theoretical and practical, equally imaginary and institutional. So, vis-à-vis the martial arts and questions of cultural knowledge or philosophy more widely, what is clear is that the approach must always be supplemented with the 29 awareness that „An institution… is not merely a few walls or some outer structures surrounding, protecting, guaranteeing or restricting the freedom of our work; it is also and already the structure of our interpretation‟ (Derrida 1992: 22-3). So, in the words of the bully in Enter the Dragon, who aggressively challenges Lee, the question will always remain: what‟s your style? References Badiou, Alain (2001), Ethics: An Essay on the Understanding of Evil, trans. Peter Hallward. London: Verso. Badiou, Alain (2009), „Cinema as a Democratic Emblem‟, Parrhesia, 6, 2009. Translated by Alex Ling and Aurélien Mondon. www.parrhesiajournal.org. Pp.1-6. First published as “Du cinéma comme emblème démocratique”, in Critique, 692-693 (Jan. 2005): 4-13. Bolelli, Daniele (2003), On the Warrior’s Path: Philosophy, Fighting, and Martial Arts Mythology, Berkeley, Ca.: Blue Snake Books. Bowman, Paul (2010), Theorizing Bruce Lee: Film – Fantasy – Fighting – Philosophy, Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi. Brown, Bill (1997), „Global Bodies/Postnationalities: Charles Johnson‟s Consumer Culture‟, Representations, No. 58, Spring, pp. 24-48. Chow, Rey (1995) Primitive Passions, New York: Columbia University Press. Chow, Rey (2002), The Protestant Ethnic and the Spirit of Capitalism, New York: Columbia University Press. 30 Derrida, Jacques (1992), „Mochlos; or, The Conflict of the Faculties‟, Logomachia: The Conflict of the Faculties, in Richard Rand (ed.), Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press. Derrida, Jacques (2002), Who’s Afraid of Philosophy?: Right to Philosophy 1, trans. Jan Plug, Stanford, Ca.: Stanford University Press. Humphreys, Christmas (1972), Walk On!, The Buddhist Society. Kosofsky Sedgwick, Eve (2003), Touching Feeling: Affect, Pedagogy, Performativity. Duke: Durham and London. Lee, Bruce (1971) „Liberate Yourself from Classical Karate‟ (Black Belt Magazine, September 1971). Lee, Bruce (1975), The Tao of Jeet Kune Do, Santa Clarita, Ca., Ohara Publications. Lee, Bruce, and Little, John (1997), Bruce Lee: Words of the Dragon: Interviews, 1958 – 1973, Tuttle: Boston. Morris, Meaghan (2001), „Learning from Bruce Lee‟, in Matthew Tinkcom and Amy Villarejo, eds., Keyframes: popular cinema and cultural studies, London: Routledge. Pp. 171-184. Rancière, Jacques (1991) The Ignorant Schoolmaster: Five Lessons in Intellectual Emancipation, Stanford: Stanford University Press. Rancière, Jacques (2000), „Jacques Rancière: Literature, Politics, Aesthetics: Approaches to Democratic Disagreement: interviewed by Solange Guénoun and James H. Kavanagh‟, Substance, 92, 3-24. Ronell, Avital (2004), „Koan Practice or Taking Down the Test‟, parallax, Vol. 10, No. 1, 58–71. Žižek, Slavoj (2001), On Belief, London: Routledge. 31 Notes 1 Given this, it seems pertinent to reflect on the fact that many academics who have sought to study Bruce Lee, to „read‟ Bruce Lee, and to learn „from‟ Bruce Lee – in film studies, gender studies, postcolonialism, and so on – have overwhelmingly overlooked the fact that Bruce Lee – himself – actually sought to teach at all. Many have overlooked that he sought to teach and what he sought to teach. Yet, when we enquire into the nature of the „lesson‟ that Bruce Lee sought to teach – the final signified that he intended to impress upon the world – we encounter a lesson that is uncannily similar to the radical lesson about teaching and learning and its connection to inegalitarian power hierarchies within all sorts of pedagogical institutions as developed by Jacques Rancière in his reading of the work of Joseph Jacotot: you can learn without being taught and you can teach what you do not know (Rancière 1991). 2 Sedgwick chases the interpretation of the finger-moon riddle through the archives of Zen Buddhist writings; for the „implication of the finger/moon image is that pointing may invite less misunderstanding than speech, but that even its non-linguistic concreteness cannot shield it from the slippery problems that surround reference‟ (2003: 170). As she concludes: „Perhaps the most distinctive way Mahayana Buddhism has tried to negotiate the “finger pointing at the moon” issue is through the ostentive language of thusness or suchness‟ (170). However, ostention, indexicality, acts of reference, and suchlike, produce a „resonant double movement‟ (171), which Sedgwick prefers to approach through the terms and poetics of Buddhism itself. This preference allows her to propose that „finally, in the view of thusness, even the distinction between finger and moon dissolves, and with it perhaps the immemorial injunction against confusing them‟: „As a contemporary Zen abbot notes, „The finger pointing to the moon is the moon, and the moon is the finger. . . they realize each other‟ (…). A koan commentary elaborates: „When the monk asked about the meaning of “the moon”, the master [Fa Yen] answered “to point at”; when someone else asked about the meaning of “to point at” the master replied „the moon‟: Why was it so? The deepest reasoning, probably, was in the Enlightened mind of the Ch‟an master, where there was no distinction between what the ordinary mind called “to point at” and “the moon”: To him, the relation between the two was similar to the relation of an ocean to its waves‟‟ (Kosofsky Sedgwick 2003: 171).