Trying to engage the immanent, the Divine in the mundane things of this world, means running headlong into that which is petty, dark, impure, and even evil. Spirit shines freely where things are already pure, but that’s not the way most of the world is. And maybe that’s not even the way the world is supposed to be.

In the Jewish mystical text called the Zohar, there’s a little parable that talks about evil. Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan paraphrased it thus, in his book Jewish Meditation:

A king once wanted to test his son to see if he would be a worthy heir to the throne. He told his son to keep away from loose women and to remain virtuous. Then he hired a woman to entice his son, instructing her to use all her wiles with him. The Zohar then asks the rhetorical question: Is the woman not also a loyal servant of the king?

The purpose of evil is to tempt us and allow us to have free choice. Without the existence of evil, we would have no other choice but to do good and there would be no virtue in the good we do. But since God gave us free will and wants us to do good as a matter of our own free choice, evil plays a highly important role in His plan.

In the parable, as soon as the prince realizes that the woman is in the hire of his father, she is no longer a threat. The same is true of evil. Indeed, the Baal Shem Tov goes further in using this Zoharic teaching. He says, “Do not succumb to evil; emulate it.” He explains that if evil is a loyal servant of the King, then you should be equally loyal. If evil does God’s will, you should strive to do it equally well.

It is told that the great saint Rabbi Israel Meir ha-Kohen (1838-1933), better known as the Chafetz Chaim, related that he once woke up on a cold winter morning to say his prayers. The Evil Urge said to him, “How can you get up so early? You are already an old man, and it’s so cold outside.” The Chafetz Chaim replied to the Evil Urge, “You’re a lot older than me, and you’re up already.” This also illustrates the concept of emulating evil rather than succumbing to it.

In any case, the [ancient Jewish prayer] Shema declares that God is One. If God is One, then His purpose must also be One. Since God’s purpose in creation was to do good, then the only reason that evil exists is to enhance the world’s ultimate good. If a person has a deep realization of this, then the forces of evil have no power over him.

The sense that all of creation is part of the One is the essence of the magical worldview that I wrote about recently. But I’m discovering that it’s a lot easier said than done. The basic premise of normal existence is, in fact, duality or multiplicity, and not unity. In other words, it’s a lot more common to experience oneself as isolated and differentiated than as unified with the world. And it makes sense: The instant you have another person around, no matter how in tune you are with them, you can have a slight difference of opinion, and even the slightest difference in opinion means that a negotiation process needs to occur in order for those disparate parts to reach accord.

Negotiation is what happens when something is trying to figure out how to relate to something else. Negotiation is just the beginning of the spectrum that extends all the way to conflict and to violence. Conversely, violence itself is, in a sense, merely an extreme form of negotiation. Negotiation and violence can’t exist without multiplicity. God doesn’t have to negotiate with Himself. But negotation, conflict, and violence are embedded in this world we inhabit because it’s composed of so many distinct entities. Thus, many think of it as inherently evil.

The challenge of living in the world is to relate to the things of the world, even the lowly and mean and evil things, while retaining a sense of Spirit — not just in oneself, but also respecting the Spirit in the lowly, the mean, and the evil. Once that’s accomplished, then the evil is powerless, and perhaps even regarded with respect for its place in the cosmic scheme.

That requires clear perception, and a method of participating in the world without losing oneself in it.

I wonder if that’s why I keep being drawn back to the martial arts. They are purportedly ways of navigating this extreme form of negotiation called violence, by developing perception and training ways to participate in that negotiation productively. But they all have really different ways of approaching that violence, and it’s very interesting because martial arts don’t spring up in a vacuum. The Brazilian art of capoiera was created by slaves who had to hide their training in dance, and fight even with their hands in chains. Karate developed out of a need for unarmed combat after weapons were banned. Every martial art originally grew organically out of a need and fit a certain personality or philosophy.

I recently read a discussion that compared two Japanese martial arts, aikido and bujinkan. Aikido is an offshoot of jujutsu that, very generally, focuses on subduing the opponent, ideally without injuring either him or yourself, using throws and locks and a lot of circular movement. It holds nonviolence as its ideal. Bujinkan is a school of ninjutsu, about which I know very little, except what I’ve read about ninjutsu and the historical ninja.

One practitioner of aikido that had tried bujinkan had something very interesting to say. Among his other reasons for choosing to stay with aikido, he said this:

I felt that the type of person I would become by studying Ninjutsu over a long period of time was not the type of person I wanted to be. I now believe (as a result of this experience) that different martial arts imbue their students with a certain personality, or atmosphere unique to each art, and I am quite happy with the type of person that Aikido strives to transform one into. I felt that Ninjutsu would change my personality somewhat to the darker side for want of a better phrase, whereas I feel that Aikido leads one more towards the light. I know this probably sounds a bit strange, but since Ninjutsu techniques generally rely on stealth and deception, to effect the silent and quick kill — I think that has an effect on one’s psyche. Aikido I believe seems to be more open, honest in movement, even pure in a way.

I find this comparison to be evocative of the transcendence/immanence struggles I’ve been having. It seems more Godly, for want of a better term, to engage the world in a way that is honest and sincere and reflects the Divine in every action.

But I begin to wonder, is that the way the world is? Everything in nature hides and deals in subterfuge. Everything in nature is sincere in its essence but acts in such a way as to mask its true intentions. Wolves and foxes and bobcats stalk their prey; deer and rabbits and mice camouflage and hide. Is openness and honesty always the best policy for negotiating with a world that is naturally made of masks and illusions?

The Bujinkan has a fascinating concept that’s at the philosophical core of their system, called kyojitsu tenkan ho, or “the interchange of the concepts of falsehood and actuality.” The Bujinkan grandmaster, Masaaki Hatsumi, writes,

A strategy for winning that relies on the presentation of truth and falsehood in ways that permit the antagonist to be deceived, kyojitsu tenkan forms the basic approach for all ninjutsu activities and thinking.

Because the ninja is dealing freely with the concepts of truth and falsehood, fluidly bending one into the other, he must be well grounded in his own concept of reality. To prevent becoming lost, misguided, or swallowed up by his own deception or awareness altering, the ninja must maintain seishin, or purity of heart. In this sense, the word pure means “complete” or “total.” The ninja carries the truth in his heart, though he may appear in many psychological guises to others. His intentions remain resolute, though others may have no idea what those commitments entail. Because he is totally honest with himself at all levels of introspection, he can venture into the realm of falsehood and untruth without defiling himself or his spirit. He can willingly plunge into the cold darkness, knowing full well that he has the power to create his own light from the brightness he carries in his heart.

And this, too, I find admirable. Whereas the above description of aikido is that of a martial artist that stays directly and openly connected to the light in order to spread peace, this description of a ninja is that of someone who is so well-developed that the light is always within him, even if he appears to be otherwise.

So, where does this leave me? Not so much clearer than before, except that I feel that I must simultaneously, and paradoxically, both develop greater purity of spirit, and enter into deeper intimacy with my own dark side.