18/06/2026
The Best Martial Art for What?
This is truly a laughable question.
When people ask, “What is the best martial art?”, they rarely stop to think about what they are actually asking. More often than not, they are looking for confirmation that the style they already practice is superior to others. Some follow the latest trend. Others point to the success of a particular fighter or organisation and conclude that the matter has been settled.
The truth is far more complicated.
Ultimately, the best martial art is the one that best serves the life of the practitioner.
Before anyone can answer the question honestly, they must first clarify the context. The best martial art for what? Self-defence? Military combat? Competition? Fitness? Personal development? Cultural study? Spiritual growth? Different goals require different approaches.
Many people today conclude that MMA or Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu are the best martial arts because of their success in modern combat sports. I have great respect for both and recognise their effectiveness within their intended environments. However, effectiveness in one context does not automatically make an art superior in all others.
The martial arts are, at their roots, studies of conflict and survival. Once we begin looking beyond the boundaries of sporting competition, the picture becomes much larger.
What if there are multiple attackers?
What if weapons are involved?
What if the terrain is uneven, slippery, confined, or crowded?
What if the confrontation can be avoided entirely through awareness, communication, or good judgement?
What if the attack is never seen coming?
Throughout history, warfare has involved far more than direct confrontation. Intelligence gathering, deception, ambushes, strategy, logistics, and psychological operations have often played a decisive role in victory and defeat. The battlefield has never been limited to two opponents facing one another under agreed conditions.
As Hatsumi Sensei once remarked:
“Quite simply, Budō is teaching the top techniques of murderers.”
The statement is confronting, but it reminds us of an important truth. Martial arts were born from the realities of conflict, not from sporting contests.
Many martial artists become trapped by success within a particular environment. A person who dominates on the mat may unconsciously begin to believe that all confrontations resemble a match on the mat. A person who excels in striking may see every problem through the lens of striking. Familiarity can create confidence, but it can also create blind spots.
No matter how skilled a person becomes, there are always situations beyond their preparation. A sniper firing from hundreds of metres away, an unseen weapon, an ambush, or a simple accident can render years of training irrelevant in an instant.
This is not pessimism. It is humility.
Every martial art possesses strengths and weaknesses. Every technique has situations where it excels and situations where it fails.
Ground fighting is an excellent example. It is a highly developed and effective area of study. Yet one must still ask practical questions. Are there multiple attackers? Are weapons involved? Is the surface safe? Can others intervene? The same questions can be asked of striking, throwing, kicking, or weapon-based systems.
Context determines value.
This is why the search for a universally superior martial art is ultimately futile.
Classical martial arts understood this reality well. Techniques were developed in response to specific environments, cultures, weapons, and battlefield conditions. A school developed by warriors operating aboard ships naturally emphasised different principles than one developed in mountains, forests, or urban environments.
Modern combat sports have also evolved according to their own objectives. Rules were introduced to allow practitioners to test themselves while reducing unnecessary injury. This created highly refined methods for particular forms of competition. There is nothing wrong with this. The problem arises only when people mistake success within a ruleset for universal superiority.
A martial art is not defined solely by what it includes.
It is also defined by what it excludes.
The same principle applies to the practitioner.
Many debates about martial arts are driven by ego. People criticise other systems not because they truly understand them, but because they seek validation for their own choices. Yet many modern systems are descended from older traditions, and all martial artists owe a debt to those who came before them.
Koryū were not developed in theory.
They were forged through blood, hardship, and survival.
People lived and died discovering what worked and transmitting those lessons to future generations. Whether one chooses to practise a classical art or a modern combat sport, respect for that history should remain.
As Hatsumi Sensei teaches:
“Remember that for every technique you think you can fall back on, there is a counter for it, or there are times when it cannot be used. When real battle comes, you must remember that some things will not be applicable. Don’t think that any one technique is quintessential.”
This lesson extends beyond technique.
It applies equally to martial arts themselves.
No style is complete. No method is perfect. No practitioner is invincible.
There is only what is appropriate for a particular moment.
People often say that a certain martial art is the best. BJJ is the best. MMA is the best. Karate is the best. Krav Maga is the best. Bujinkan Budō is the best.
In reality, there is only the best choice for a given circumstance.
There is only the best in the moment.
The deeper question is not what makes the best martial art, but what makes the best martial artist.
Is it the person with the most victories?
The highest rank?
The greatest strength?
The fastest techniques?
Perhaps not.
A superior martial artist is someone who continues training despite setbacks. Someone who remains humble despite success. Someone who develops character alongside skill. Someone who seeks understanding rather than validation.
Most importantly, a superior martial artist understands that the highest expression of martial skill is not winning fights.
It is avoiding them.
A person who has lived a good life, protected others when necessary, avoided unnecessary conflict, and contributed positively to their community has achieved something greater than victory in combat.
The purpose of Budō is not merely to learn how to fight.
It is to learn how to live.
Without philosophy, ethics, and self-reflection, martial training can become little more than a study of violence. The practitioner may become a fighter, a competitor, or a collector of techniques, but not necessarily a martial artist.
Budō seeks something deeper.
It seeks the protection of life, the cultivation of character, and ultimately the attainment of peace.
For this reason, the best martial art is not the one that wins the most arguments online, dominates a particular competition, or claims superiority over all others.
The best martial art is the one that helps the practitioner become a better human being and supports the way they wish to live their life.
Yours in Budō,
Duncan
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