The Unique Methods of the Eight Trigrams Palm
Among the most intriguing styles of Chinese martial arts — particularly those distinguished by a unique conceptual foundation — I would single out Baguazhang, often translated as the Eight Trigrams Palm. The unusual character of this school, in the author’s view, lies in its distinctive approach to working with the body in training and its more subtle mechanics of interaction with an opponent in combat.
Personally, I first encountered this system through the famous work of Sun Lutang, Baguazhang Xue, after many years of training in comparatively hard-style martial traditions. Against that background, the style’s seeming eccentricity became especially striking.
The symbolic correspondence between concepts of traditional Chinese natural philosophy and martial arts practice is nothing new in China, as I have noted more than once in previous articles (here or here). Many modern practitioners tend to view this connection as merely symbolic — something that lends various martial arts styles an aura of greater “authenticity.”
I must admit that at a certain stage in my life I thought the same. However, personal experience gradually led me to reconsider this view, especially as growing doubts emerged about the competence of many “masters.” Today I have little doubt that the natural philosophy associated with the Daoist–Confucian tradition, together with the sophisticated discipline of mind cultivation developed within Buddhism — traditions that eventually formed the syncretic framework known as the Three Teachings — constitutes a clear training algorithm for developing qualities essential to a genuine martial arts master, and indeed to practitioners in many other fields as well.
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The unusual character of Baguazhang begins, of course, with its use of circular body movement in both solo and partner training. This alone makes the system resemble a wrestling-oriented art more than a purely “striking” school. In reality, however, the implication of a much broader technical repertoire than simple “boxing” is characteristic of many Chinese martial arts styles, as well as traditional karate. In Baguazhang, however, this diversity becomes particularly evident even at the formal level. As a result, the system places especially high demands on the body’s ability to function as a coordinated and powerful whole — qualities that arise from the development of structural integrity and mastery of the body’s center.
Yet there is another notable feature that distinguishes this style from the vast array of other martial traditions: the previously mentioned “eccentricity.” In Baguazhang, attention is shifted toward the work of the constantly changing open palm, which functions as a kind of “driving gear” for the rest of the body’s coordinated mechanism. While many martial systems emphasize generating movement from the center, Baguazhang organizes unified motion through the changing configurations of the palms. In this way, movements such as the “piercing” and “drilling” palms, as well as the “striking” and “overturning” palms — among the fundamental principles of body mechanics in the system — help refine the coordination of the entire body, fully engaging the center of gravity as well.
For someone whose background included Shaolin traditions, Okinawan tōde, aikijujutsu, kenjutsu, and even some experience with Xingyiquan — as was the case with the author at the time of encountering Baguazhang — this approach felt like the final piece completing the “mosaic” of methods for developing bodily qualities and internal power. But that was not all.
The connection between Baguazhang methods and the structure of the Eight Trigrams carries an even deeper meaning. Without delving into the complex intricacies of the I Ching and Daoist cosmology, the symbolism of the trigrams offers a more detailed description of the pulsation of Yin and Yang, touching more deeply upon the structure of change itself. It depicts dynamic processes operating on three levels. In the most general sense, these correspond to Heaven, Human, and Earth; at a more practical level — within martial arts — they may be understood as the upper, middle, and lower levels of combat interaction.
The “changes” initiated by the opponent evoke corresponding responses according to the distribution of “fullness” and “emptiness” created by the aggressor. The defender’s task is therefore expressed through the Daoist principle of non-action: to attentively “listen” to the opponent’s attack — recognizing intention — and seamlessly integrate into the flow of movement. By entering the “empty spaces” in the opponent’s structure — spaces created by the aggressor’s own activity — the defender turns the force of the assault back against its originator.
All of this may sound somewhat idealized. Yet that does not mean it is unattainable. Moreover, is not the very process of finding ways to put an idea into practice a genuine art in itself?..
