JCVD Life Lesson #4: The Mind/Body Paradox

I’ve been contemplating the mind/body paradox as it relates to JCVD ever since it was first touched on in Bloodsport. This idea was fleshed out in Kickboxer, though, the philosophy gets hidden behind the sleeveless jean vest and bad drunken dancing.

The JCVD movies offer an Eastern approach to mind/body as opposed to the Western approach; the difference (explained in a very simplistic way, but simplistic is what we’re about here) is that with Eastern philosophy enlightenment is achieved only when the mind and body are one--they work in conjunction with each as necessary to the whole. The Western approach is more divisive; starting with the Ancient philosophers and exacerbated with Western religions for a very long time the body was viewed as something flawed to be beaten and controlled while the mind strove to exist separately and spiritually apart from the carnal existence.

I hate the Western approach. Always have. We won’t go into my myriad of reasons for that hate--they aren’t important here--but there does seem to be a history of examples demonstrating more contentment, peace, and wisdom amongst people who do not fight themselves, but know themselves. Even among western philosophy this idea is realized; I recently read Montaigne for the first time and I was pleasantly surprised, thrilled even, to discover his acknowledgement (in the 16th century no less) that fighting the body leads to madness as surely as ignoring the mind.

And, oddly enough, this idea, albeit in a simpler fashion, is purported in many of JCVD’s early movies. It’s a cliché at this point I acknowledge, and often in martial arts hero quest movies you will see the hero fight with himself, only to be victorious after making peace with the many facets of his personality. But while I generally hate clichés and despise admitting they carry any value some times the cliché is used brilliantly (though usually unintentionally). That is the case here I believe.

In notions of heroism, honor, and virtue we create concrete characters taking journeys in an attempt to make abstract ideals real. Self knowledge is almost always a necessity for a victorious hero; certainly the heroes most remembered gain some modicum of it by the end of their stories--Odysseus, Batman, Luke Skywalker, favorite action heroes like those played by JCVD. What isn’t so easily garnered from the text of the screen, however, is the uncomfortable and nearly impossible acceptance that these ideals will always and forever be abstract.

When faced with a decision that puts morality/ethics up against physicality there is almost never a concrete, solid force against which to weigh one’s decision. When the body is offered a vice in whatever form, be it sex, drugs, or unethical selfishness, the only restriction is the mind, and the mind can offer only these abstract ideals as deterrents. Abstract ideals are simple and wonderful to contemplate, and nothing feels so good as convincing yourself you have the strength and power to follow them without fail in any situation, but the truth is almost always less glamorous. With a perfect storm of events--alcohol, stress, familiarity, ease--more people than can or would admit make a choice they would describe as “wrong” or “unwise” under a different set of circumstances. An abstraction is only as real as it exists in your mind, whereas the body is always already physically dominant.

This is also why the hero quest can be damaging. At the end of the story we see our hero at peace with himself--mind and body--and we imagine there is a stopping point. If we train like JCVD and fight like JCVD we will conquer life; we will be heroic. The problem, however, is that you cannot conquer yourself. You can shape yourself; you can be yourself. But you can’t conquer yourself. Living up to and with whatever abstractions one decides to base her morality/ethics on is a daily struggle. Daily. Every day you wake up you have to do it all over again. You have to make the right decision again. For some things making that decision gets easier, but for many things it never does. It is always and forever as hard to do as it was the first time.

That’s fairly unpleasant when you really think about it.

But the beauty of heroes like those played by JCVD is that they can provide an aid; while abstract ideals are not always conceivable a mind can conjure a favorite hero, and for a mind that isn’t overwhelmed by the body (because it is at peace with the body instead of at war) rationality can be preserved. This rationality can allow for the slightly more concrete idea of virtue as imagined in that one particular hero to gain purchase whereas the abstract ideals might not.

It’s a fairly unpleasant realization that not everyone is a hero--they simply aren’t capable. It is a significantly more unpleasant realization when one admits she might not be a hero. If you imagine yourself capable of always maintaining those abstract ideals it is almost catastrophic to truthfully admit your failure. But I think, for the mind and body to exist successfully, admittance of the possibility of failure (assuming failure hasn’t happened) or admittance of actual failure is necessary. Furthermore, that admittance must come with an unflinching acceptance that you failed, and that if you aren’t careful--extremely careful--you will fail again.

Mind/body coexistence takes an almost super-human vigilance. I would postulate that on some level we all know that because almost all of us have failed whether we admit it or not. That’s why movies like Bloodsport and Kickboxer are so exciting; you get to watch fighting and participate in the hero quest, but regardless of your ability to relate to the physical training a person can relate to the mental training. The final victory is all the sweeter at the end because of it.

I have a secret hope deep inside where no one can see that I might someday be an old wise person (probably without the kung fu) but I try to remind myself whenever I am able to keep the abstract vision of wisdom in my mind that the Wise Ones aren’t people who have achieved something and earned a badge. They’re people as flawed as those they teach whose super power is self-awareness.

Self-awareness might be the most abstract virtue of all.