In recent posts about Bruce Lee, we looked at his technical prowess as a fighter, including his use of the one-inch punch and the stop-hit, as well as a fight that exposed the limitations of his approach. By 1964, at the age of 23, Lee had become a fighter who possessed blinding speed, incredible strength for his size, a wide array of skills, and a receptiveness to any influence that could be useful, combining to create the foundation of the legend he would eventually become. Yet his sloppy win over Wong Jack Man that year caused him to recognize that if he were to become the world’s best martial artist, those attributes were not enough. He still needed something more.
His main criticism of classical martial arts was that they were too rigid. With their focus on standardized techniques, they prioritized form over function. They may have looked impressive in the training hall or when used against opponents who also adhered to classical techniques, but their formality became a weakness in the heat of battle. Real fighting was messy. It was unpredictable. In a street fight, you never really knew what your opponent was going to do. Would he stick to standard fighting tactics, or would he throw sand in your eyes? Would he bite your hand or kick you in the groin? Would he suddenly draw a concealed weapon? Classical martial arts thrived when both opponents stuck to the same rules, but unpredictability exposed their weaknesses. In fact, being unpredictable could be an advantage when fighting an opponent who only used classical techniques.
For years Lee railed against the classical systems for being exclusionary. Each martial-art school had developed a framework that may have been effective within a narrow scope, and they codified their framework into a series of moves, techniques, credos, and philosophies. This codification may have been necessary to teach students and to provide tangible concepts to understand and emulate. It created a framework for articulating what each particular school stood for and, by contrast, what it stood against. It drew a line between what it was and what it wasn’t. From Lee’s perspective, this approach was self-limiting. He saw benefits in all the different schools, and he set out to liberate himself from predetermined ideas of what works and doesn’t work. He felt that no single approach to fighting would be the best approach against all opponents.
He articulated the limitations of the classical schools in an article he wrote for Blackbelt magazine. “It is conceivable that a long time ago a certain martial artist discovered some partial truth… After his death, his students took ‘his’ hypotheses, ‘his’ postulates, ‘his’ method and turned them into law. Impressive creeds were then invented, solemn reinforcing ceremonies prescribed, rigid philosophy and patterns formulated, and so on, until finally an institution was erected. So, what originated as one man’s intuition of some sort of personal fluidity has been transformed into solidified, fixed knowledge, complete with organized classified responses presented in a logical order. In so doing, the well-meaning, loyal followers have not only made this knowledge a holy shrine but also a tomb in which they have buried the founder’s wisdom.”
Lee’s criticism of classical schools and their masters got him in a lot of trouble. He was controversial because he called into question the deference to classical wisdom. “You think you’re the best, with your centuries of classical tradition, but you’re not,” Lee shot at the establishment. “Your way is not the best. My way is better because it includes all ways. And I’ll prove it to anyone who doubts me.” That was the challenge he issued to the community, and that challenge is what caused Jack Man to come for him.
Lee’s cocky attitude sprang from his belief that he had developed the winning formula: a broader repertoire of techniques than any other opponent. His edge was forged from a diversity of styles.
Until then, he had been focusing on the micro elements of the fight. “If the opponent does this, I do that.” It worked well. Very well. However, the Jack Man fight proved it was clearly not enough. What if the opponent introduced something truly novel? Even if a fighter had the most diverse arsenal of fighting techniques, that still might not make him effective against every opponent in every situation. He had to think bigger.
After the bout with Jack Man, Lee entered into a period of deep introspection and self-evaluation. He pushed himself to add more to his techniques, including exercises designed to build his stamina. Eventually, he pushed himself so intensely that he injured the nerves in his spine. The injury forced him to stop all training and seek rehabilitation. So severe was his injury and so intense was the pain that they threatened to prevent him from ever being able to practice martial arts again.
Keep in mind, by this point Lee was mainly known just for his work as the character Kato on the one and only season of the TV show Green Hornet. He hadn’t yet made any of the Kung Fu movies that would expose him to international audiences, and he was mostly an obscure martial arts teacher and struggling actor. Now with two young children and a potentially career-ending injury, he was forced to admit that a change was needed.
While bedridden and convalescing, he spent much of his time writing the notes for what would become his book, Tao of Jeet Kune Do. By the time he recovered from his injury, an outcome that was far from certain six months earlier, he had arrived at a deep understanding of how he could flourish as a martial artist.
He had been previously drawn to the archetype of water in the way it could be applied to fighting techniques: advancing, retreating, flowing, and crashing. The adaptability of water served as a good metaphor for the diversity of his fighting techniques.
Now, however, he had identified another attribute of water that provided a revelation for his broader approach to combat. It was water’s attribute of formlessness.
From his book: “Jeet Kune Do favors formlessness so that it can assume all forms and, since it has no style, Jeet Kune Do fits in with all styles. As a result, Jeet Kune Do uses all ways and is bound by none and, likewise, uses any technique or means which serves its end. In this art, efficiency is anything that scores.”
Lee had first applied the “be water” philosophy to the micro level of the fight — that is, flexibility of specific techniques — absorbing the force of the opponent and using it against him, deflecting hard attacks by expending low energy, flowing from one technique to another, etc. All these were applicable, but now Lee realized the water metaphor could also apply to the macro level of the fight. It could apply to flexibility of the situation itself.
Reflecting back on the fight with Jack Man, for instance, his opponent had come to him to settle a score. That was his opponent’s goal. When Jack Man began retreating, if Lee had applied the “be water” philosophy to the situation, not just the combat techniques themselves, he would not have pursued his opponent. Rather, he would have realized that Jack Man would eventually have to come back to attack if he intended to accomplish what he came to accomplish. Lee could simply wait for Jack Man to return to the melee. By pursuing him, however, Lee had abandoned his “be water” philosophy to try and finish the fight.
From his article in Blackbelt magazine, Lee said, “There are no prearranged sets or ‘kata’ in the teaching of [Jeet Kune Do], nor are they necessary. Consider the subtle difference between ‘having no form’ and having ‘no form’; the first is ignorance, the second is transcendence.”
The form of water is “no form.” While this may sound like a Zen riddle, like the sound of one hand clapping, it is the formlessness of water that is its defining attribute. When a fighter adopts the “no form” attribute, he focuses his attention on the situational elements of combat rather than on the combat techniques.
Lee later incorporated this philosophy into scenes of his movies. Specifically, he showed how a fighter can defeat opponents through ways other than direct confrontation.
For instance, a scene in the 1973 film Enter the Dragon features an antagonist named Parsons who tries to taunt Lee’s character into a fight while they are on a boat. Lee claims his own technique is called “fighting without fighting,” but says they would need to have more space to demonstrate, and suggests they get onto a lifeboat to go to a nearby island. When the pugnacious Parsons gruffly agrees and climbs in the lifeboat, Lee sets it adrift without climbing aboard, rendering the opponent harmless: fighting without fighting. The decisive move is not a combat maneuver. Instead, the decisive move is the recognition that his opponent is so eager to fight that he will foolishly agree to a term that removes him from the fight altogether.
Another example is the climactic “hall of mirrors” scene of the same movie. Lee’s opponent Han flees into his room where columns of mirrors create dizzying arrays of reflected images of the two fighters. The room is disorienting, and it becomes difficult for Lee’s character to determine whether he is confronting his opponent or just one of the many mirrored reflections. Han has the advantage because he is familiar with the mirror maze and he can navigate it. Lee’s disadvantage is perilous. So he changes tactics. Rather than pursuing his opponent directly, as he had done with Jack Man, he begins eliminating his opponent’s advantage by systematically shattering mirror after mirror. His situational awareness enabled him to remove the advantage of his opponent and eventually defeat him.
Lee came to realize that his edge didn’t just come from being a fast, strong, technically diverse fighter. It came from being a smart fighter. The wisdom was not in his techniques, but rather in being able to read the situation, to see himself as a participant in a fight playing out in a larger context.
“Be water” became his general theory of fighting in the same way Darwin developed a general theory of evolution. That is, it became a philosophy that provided a comprehensive framework for his subject.
General theories exhibit several characteristics to maintain relevance, including the ability to be compatible with new evidence. Lee had been working on his general theory of fighting for years and he believed he had successfully developed it prior to his battle with Jack Man. His theory had been built on efficient energy expenditure and diversity of technique. But his old theory did not hold up to new evidence. He won the battle against Jack Man, but his victory was not an efficient expenditure of energy. So, he needed to adapt his general philosophy of fighting.
This philosophy is demonstrated in the iconic fight scene between Lee and Chuck Norris in the Coliseum of Rome in Way of the Dragon. Norris’s character begins the bout with a series of blows that show his dominance over Lee’s character. Lee is frustrated. He tries several maneuvers, but Norris repels them all. The fight is not looking good for Lee, and Norris begins smiling because he senses it won’t be long before he can finish his opponent. Then something happens. Lee begins changing the cadence of his steps. He begins bobbing and dancing in a more light-footed way. He saw that his original techniques were not working and so, reading the situation, he changes his techniques and turns the tide of the fight.
Putting “be water” into practice involves maintaining an awareness at all times of the dynamics of the situation, sensing the shifting events, the activities of the opponent, the surroundings. The strength is not only in the punch, but in the awareness of the situation where the punch is appropriate.
The ability to zoom out from a focus on the micro-details of the fight to the macro-details became Lee’s singular link with a capital S. It allowed him to go beyond just punching and kicking to a more holistic philosophy of combat. And it propelled him to the legendary icon that he eventually became.