016 — It’s Not A Martial Art, Probably
Contrary to popular belief, most of what people consider 'martial arts' actually aren’t.
Most people have a preconceived notion of what a martial art is. They envision uniforms, colored belts, hard punches, spinning kicks, or perhaps a cage fight. Judō. Aikidō. Kendō. Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Taekwondo. Mixed Martial Arts. Karate. These are the images that come to mind.
But here's the cold, hard truth:
Judō is not a martial art.
Aikidō is not a martial art.
Kendō is not a martial art.
Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu is not a martial art.
Taekwondo is not a martial art.
Mixed Martial Arts is not a martial art.
And yes, even Karate is not a martial art.
At least, not as most people understand the term. Not if we're being honest about what "martial" really means. And, not if we care about cultural origin, purpose, and function.
Outrageous, perhaps. But understanding what a martial art isn't is the first step toward understanding what Karate actually is—and why it matters.
The word martial comes from Mars, the Roman god of war. A martial art, then, is literally an art of war—a codified system for surviving violence and prevailing in life-and-death conflict on the battlefield.
Historically, martial arts were forged under the extreme conditions of the battlefield and within the shadows of social unrest. They were practical, brutal, and no-nonsense. Their purpose was to train a person to kill with no regard for fairness, rules, or personal honor.
But what most people practice today, whether at the local dōjō or inside an MMA gym, has very little in common with that.
Take Japan, for instance. There's a widespread belief that arts like Judō, Kendō, or Aikidō are the modern expression of deadly samurai traditions. But this isn't entirely accurate. These are not battlefield arts. They are budō—martial Ways—not bujutsu, martial skills. The difference lies in their philosophical evolution.
Bujutsu refers to the practical, battlefield-tested systems used by warriors: Kenjutsu, Jujutsu, Sōjutsu, and the like. These arts were designed for one thing—to neutralize an enemy quickly and decisively, whether armed or unarmed.
Budō, on the other hand, is a philosophical path. It emerged during the peaceful Tokugawa period, when warfare was rare and Japan's warrior class transitioned into bureaucrats. The martial "Way" became a tool for self-cultivation, discipline, and national identity.
So while Judō descends from Jujutsu, it was intentionally stripped of its most dangerous techniques and transformed into a sport suitable for schools. Kendō did the same for swordsmanship, and Aikidō built its practice on harmony and control, not on dominance or destruction.
These arts are valuable. They foster discipline, respect, and focus. But they are not martial in the original sense. They are controlled systems for personal growth, not combative systems for survival.
Then there's the opposite end of the spectrum: modern combat sports, such as Mixed Martial Arts and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. No doubt—these are practical and even intense. A trained fighter in either is not someone to be taken lightly. But they remain sports, and like any sport, they are governed by rules, safety measures, and clear boundaries.
And here's another truth: the ruleset dictates the skillset.
If the system forbids eye gouges, small joint manipulation, biting, groin strikes, or weapon use, then those things are not trained. If the goal is to submit someone or win on points, then these strategies will reflect that goal and dictate the training accordingly.
Mixed Martial Arts is designed for controlled, one-on-one competition. It trains domination, not escape. It assumes a safe environment, a neutral referee, a clean playing area, and no weapons of any kind. Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu is more focused on positional control and submission. While it descended from Judō, it is often practiced within a tight ruleset optimized for sport, rather than for dealing with real-world violence. This doesn't make these arts bad. It makes them context-dependent. They thrive in the cage—but they aren't designed for the chaos outside it.
So, where does that leave Karate?
This is where things get more nuanced, interesting, and more misunderstood. Karate is often lumped in with Japanese martial arts, but it didn't originate from within Japan.
When Karate was introduced to mainland Japan in the early 20th century, it was reframed to fit Japanese expectations of budō—the martial Way. Uniforms were introduced. Belt ranks were created. Terminology was standardized. The practice was formalized to suit the needs of public schools, universities, and the Japanese militaristic mindset during the buildup to World War II.
While this helped spread Karate across Japan and eventually the world, it came at a cost. In adapting Karate to Japanese systems, much of its Okinawan character—and its function—was stripped away. The art was no longer taught as a practical system of civilian self-protection. It became a vehicle for physical education, character development, and national identity
In this sense, Japan did more harm than good to Karate's original purpose. What had been a fluid, situational, and highly personalized art became rigid, performative, and abstract. Kata were emphasized, but often misunderstood. Sparring was introduced, but real-world application was foregone. The deeper logic of the art was buried and concealed under uniforms and ceremony.
In fact, Karate wasn't a military art at all. But neither was it a sport. Karate, originally called Ti or Tōdī, is Okinawan. It developed in a completely different cultural context during the Ryūkyū Kingdom, and its origins have more in common with the civilian self-defense arts of southern China than with the warrior traditions of Japan.
Its roots lie in Tegumi, a native Okinawan wrestling tradition, and Ti, a striking and body-conditioning system passed down quietly from teacher to student. It absorbed principles from Chinese systems, such as White Crane and Monk Fist, as well as other Fujianese Kung Fu styles—arts that had already evolved away from military tactics and into civilian arts of self-protection.
Karate was and remains, at its core, a village art, a family art, and a personal art. It wasn't about winning. It was about not losing. It was about making it home safely when, unfortunately, the unexpected became unavoidable. About staying alive in a moment with no referee, no warning, and no backup.
So let's reconsider:
If your system was designed for character development, it's a Way.
If your system was built for sport competition, it's a combat sport.
If your system was crafted for cultural performance, it's a discipline.
And if your system is geared toward battlefield efficacy, against unpredictable threats with no rules and no honor, then it's a martial art.
The problem is that we use the phrase—martial art—for all of these things. And that confuses students, misleads the public, and obscures the true purpose of the systems we practice.
This matters. Because training for one thing while thinking it's another can get people hurt—or worse, give them false confidence. Motobu Choki said, "Nothing is more harmful to the world than a martial art that is not effective in actual self-defense."
Today, Karate suffers from this confusion more than most, as it has been pulled in every direction:
Transformed into budō in Japan.
Repackaged as sport karate.
Watered down into fitness classes or choreography.
But its origins are still there, buried under the surface: a civilian survival system, developed in a unique cultural context, and meant to deal with the unpredictable real-world violence.
Before we can reclaim Karate for what it truly is, we need to be honest about what it's not.
Because what most people think is a martial art—probably isn’t.