Question: whats your experience with stuff that seems new agy at first look, like yoga, meditation and so on. Anything worth trying?
Case in point: i read in Feynmans book about deprivation tanks, and recently found out that they are available in bigger cities. (Berlin, germany in my case.) will try and hopefully enjoy that soon. Sadly those places are run by new-age folks that offer all kinds of strange stuff, but that might not take away from the experience of floating in a sensory empty space.
Chinese internal martial arts: Tai Chi, Xingyi, and Bagua. The word “chi” does not carve reality at the joints: There is no literal bodily fluid system parallel to blood and lymph. But I can make training partners lightheaded with a quick succession of strikes to Ren Ying (ST9) then Chi Ze (LU5); I can send someone stumbling backward with some fairly light pushes; after 30-60 seconds of sparring to develop a rapport I can take an unwary opponent’s balance without physical contact.
Each of these skills fit more naturally under different categories, but if you want to learn them all the most efficient way is to study a Chinese internal martial art or something similar.
I can take an unwary opponent’s balance without physical contact.
This sounds magical at first reading, but is actually not that tricky. It’s just psychology and balance. If you set up a pattern of predictable attacks, then feint in the right direction while your opponent is jumping at you off-balance, you can surprise him enough to make him fall as he attempts to ward off your feint.
I used to go to a Tai Chi class (I stopped only because I decided I’d taken it as far as I was going to), and the instructor, who never talked about “chi” as anything more than a metaphor or a useful visualisation, said this about the internal arts:
In the old days (that would be pre-revolutionary China) you wouldn’t practice just Tai Chi, or begin with Tai Chi. Tai Chi was the equivalent of postgraduate study in the martial arts. You would start out by learning two or three “hard”, “external” styles. Then, having reached black belt in those, and having developed your power, speed, strength, and fighting spirit, you would study the internal arts, which would teach you the proper alignments and structures, the meaning of the various movements and forms. In the class there were two students who did Gojuryu karate, a 3rd dan and a 5th dan, and they both said that their karate had improved no end since taking up Tai Chi.
Which is not to say that Tai Chi isn’t useful on its own, it is, but there is that wider context for getting the maximum use out of it.
That meshes well with what I have learned—Bagua is also an advanced art, and my teacher doesn’t teach it to beginners. The one of the three primary internal arts designed for new martial artists is Xingyi.
It’s too bad I’m too pecuniarily challenged to attend the singularity summit, or we could do rationalist pushing hands.
There may be a correlation between studying martial arts and vulnerability to techniques which can be modeled well by “chi.” But I have tried the striking sequences successfully on capoeristas and catch wrestlers, and the light but effective pushes on my non-martially-trained brother after showing him Wu-style pushing hands for a minute or two.
That suggests an experiment. Anyone see any flaws in the following?
Write up instructions for two techniques—one which would work and one which not work, according to your theory—in sufficient detail for someone physically adept but not instructed in Chinese internal martial arts (e.g. a dancer) to learn. Label each with a random letter (e.g. I for the correct one and K for the incorrect one).
Have one group learn each technique—have them videotape their actions and send them corrections by text, so that they don’t get cues about whether you expect the methods to work.
Have another party ignorant of the technique perform tests to see how well each group does.
I like the idea of scientifically testing internal arts; and your idea is certainly more rigorous than TV series attempting to approach martial arts “scientifically” like Mind, Body, and Kickass Moves. Unfortunately, the only one of those I can think of which is both (1) explainable in words and pictures to a precise enough degree that “chi”-type theories could constrain expectations, and (2) has an unambiguous result when done correctly which varies qualitatively from an incorrect attempt is the knockout series of hits, which raises both ethical and practical concerns.
I would classify the other two as tacit knowledge—they require a little bit of instruction on the counterintuitive parts; then a lot of practice which I can’t think of a good way to fake.
Note that I would be completely astonished if there weren’t a perfectly normal explanation for any of these feats; but deriving methods for them from first principles of biomechanics and cognitive science would take a lot longer than studying with a good teacher who works with the “chi” model.
The problem is that a positive result would only show that a specific sequence of attacks worked well. It wouldn’t show that “chi” or other unusual models were required to explain it; there could be perfectly normal explanations for why a series of attacks was effective.
That’s why I suggested writing down both techniques which should work according to the model and techniques which should not work according to the model.
I used to go to a Tai Chi class (I stopped only because I decided I’d taken it as far as I was going to), and the instructor, who never touted “chi” as anything more than a metaphor or a useful visualisation, said this about the internal arts:
In the old days (that would be pre-revolutionary China) you wouldn’t practice just Tai Chi, or begin with Tai Chi. Tai Chi was the equivalent of postgraduate study in the martial arts. You would start out by learning two or three “hard”, “external” styles. Then, having reached black belt in those, and having developed your power, speed, strength, and fighting spirit, you would study the internal arts, which would teach you the proper alignments and structures, the meaning of the various movements and forms. In the class there were two students who did Gojuryu karate, a 3rd dan and a 5th dan, and they both said that their karate had improved no end since taking up Tai Chi.
Which is not to say that Tai Chi isn’t useful on its own, it is, but there is that wider context for getting the maximum use out of it.
Question: whats your experience with stuff that seems new agy at first look, like yoga, meditation and so on. Anything worth trying?
The Five Tibetans are a set of physical exercises which rejuvenate the body to youthful vigour and prolong life indefinitely. They are at least 2,500 years old, and practiced by hidden masters of secret wisdom living in remote monasteries in Tibet, where, in the earlier part of the 20th century, a retired British army colonel sought out these monasteries, studied with the ancient masters to great effect, and eventually brought the exercises to the West, where they were first published in 1939.
Ok, you don’t believe any of that, do you? Neither do I, except for the first eight words and the last six. I’ve been doing these exercises since the beginning of 2009, since being turned on to them by Steven Barnes’ blog and they do seem to have made a dramatic improvement in my general level of physical energy. Whether it’s these exercises specifically or just the discipline of doing a similar amount of exercise first thing in the morning, every morning, I haven’t taken the trouble to determine by varying them.
I also do yoga for flexibility (it works) and occasionally meditation (to little detectable effect). I’d be interested to hear from anyone here who meditates and gets more from it than I do.
I’ve had great results from modest (2-3 hrs/wk) investments in hatha yoga, over and above what I get from standard Greco-Roman “calisthenics.”
Besides the flexibility, breathing, and posture benefits, I find that the idea of ‘chakras’ is vaguely useful for focusing my conscious attention on involuntary muscle systems. I would be extremely surprised if chakras “cleaved reality at the joints” in any straightforward sense, but the idea of chakras helps me pay attention to my digestion, heart rate, bladder, etc. by making mentally uninteresting but nevertheless important bodily functions more interesting.
I’ve done yoga every week for the last month or two. It’s pleasant. Other than paying attention to how I’m holding my body vs. the instruction, I mostly stop thinking for an hour (as we’re encouraged to do), which is nice.
I can’t say I notice any significant lasting effects yet. I’m slightly more flexible.
Hard to say—even New Agey stuff evolves. (Not many followers of Reich pushing their copper-lined closets these days.)
Generally, background stuff is enough. There’s no shortage of hard scientific evidence about yoga or meditation, for example. No need for heuristics there. Similarly there’s some for float tanks. In fact, I’m hard pressed to think of any New Agey stuff where there isn’t enough background to judge it on its own merits.
Meditation can be pretty darn relaxing. Especially if you happen to live within walking distance of any pleasant yet sparsely-populated mountaintops. I would recommend giving it a shot; don’t worry about advanced techniques or anything, and just close your eyes and focus on your breathing, and the wind (if any). Very pleasant.
To have the experience.
I dont mean it as a treatment, but something that would be exciting, new and worth trying just for the sake of it.
edit/add: the deleted comment above asked why i would bother to do something like floating
Question: whats your experience with stuff that seems new agy at first look, like yoga, meditation and so on. Anything worth trying?
Case in point: i read in Feynmans book about deprivation tanks, and recently found out that they are available in bigger cities. (Berlin, germany in my case.) will try and hopefully enjoy that soon. Sadly those places are run by new-age folks that offer all kinds of strange stuff, but that might not take away from the experience of floating in a sensory empty space.
Chinese internal martial arts: Tai Chi, Xingyi, and Bagua. The word “chi” does not carve reality at the joints: There is no literal bodily fluid system parallel to blood and lymph. But I can make training partners lightheaded with a quick succession of strikes to Ren Ying (ST9) then Chi Ze (LU5); I can send someone stumbling backward with some fairly light pushes; after 30-60 seconds of sparring to develop a rapport I can take an unwary opponent’s balance without physical contact.
Each of these skills fit more naturally under different categories, but if you want to learn them all the most efficient way is to study a Chinese internal martial art or something similar.
This sounds magical at first reading, but is actually not that tricky. It’s just psychology and balance. If you set up a pattern of predictable attacks, then feint in the right direction while your opponent is jumping at you off-balance, you can surprise him enough to make him fall as he attempts to ward off your feint.
I used to go to a Tai Chi class (I stopped only because I decided I’d taken it as far as I was going to), and the instructor, who never talked about “chi” as anything more than a metaphor or a useful visualisation, said this about the internal arts:
In the old days (that would be pre-revolutionary China) you wouldn’t practice just Tai Chi, or begin with Tai Chi. Tai Chi was the equivalent of postgraduate study in the martial arts. You would start out by learning two or three “hard”, “external” styles. Then, having reached black belt in those, and having developed your power, speed, strength, and fighting spirit, you would study the internal arts, which would teach you the proper alignments and structures, the meaning of the various movements and forms. In the class there were two students who did Gojuryu karate, a 3rd dan and a 5th dan, and they both said that their karate had improved no end since taking up Tai Chi.
Which is not to say that Tai Chi isn’t useful on its own, it is, but there is that wider context for getting the maximum use out of it.
That meshes well with what I have learned—Bagua is also an advanced art, and my teacher doesn’t teach it to beginners. The one of the three primary internal arts designed for new martial artists is Xingyi. It’s too bad I’m too pecuniarily challenged to attend the singularity summit, or we could do rationalist pushing hands.
Interesting. It seems that learning this art (1) gives you a power and (2) makes you vulnerable to it.
There may be a correlation between studying martial arts and vulnerability to techniques which can be modeled well by “chi.” But I have tried the striking sequences successfully on capoeristas and catch wrestlers, and the light but effective pushes on my non-martially-trained brother after showing him Wu-style pushing hands for a minute or two.
That suggests an experiment. Anyone see any flaws in the following?
Write up instructions for two techniques—one which would work and one which not work, according to your theory—in sufficient detail for someone physically adept but not instructed in Chinese internal martial arts (e.g. a dancer) to learn. Label each with a random letter (e.g. I for the correct one and K for the incorrect one).
Have one group learn each technique—have them videotape their actions and send them corrections by text, so that they don’t get cues about whether you expect the methods to work.
Have another party ignorant of the technique perform tests to see how well each group does.
I like the idea of scientifically testing internal arts; and your idea is certainly more rigorous than TV series attempting to approach martial arts “scientifically” like Mind, Body, and Kickass Moves. Unfortunately, the only one of those I can think of which is both (1) explainable in words and pictures to a precise enough degree that “chi”-type theories could constrain expectations, and (2) has an unambiguous result when done correctly which varies qualitatively from an incorrect attempt is the knockout series of hits, which raises both ethical and practical concerns.
I would classify the other two as tacit knowledge—they require a little bit of instruction on the counterintuitive parts; then a lot of practice which I can’t think of a good way to fake.
Note that I would be completely astonished if there weren’t a perfectly normal explanation for any of these feats; but deriving methods for them from first principles of biomechanics and cognitive science would take a lot longer than studying with a good teacher who works with the “chi” model.
The problem is that a positive result would only show that a specific sequence of attacks worked well. It wouldn’t show that “chi” or other unusual models were required to explain it; there could be perfectly normal explanations for why a series of attacks was effective.
That’s why I suggested writing down both techniques which should work according to the model and techniques which should not work according to the model.
It’s conceivable that imagining chi is the best (or at least a very good) way of being able to do subtle attacks.
I used to go to a Tai Chi class (I stopped only because I decided I’d taken it as far as I was going to), and the instructor, who never touted “chi” as anything more than a metaphor or a useful visualisation, said this about the internal arts:
In the old days (that would be pre-revolutionary China) you wouldn’t practice just Tai Chi, or begin with Tai Chi. Tai Chi was the equivalent of postgraduate study in the martial arts. You would start out by learning two or three “hard”, “external” styles. Then, having reached black belt in those, and having developed your power, speed, strength, and fighting spirit, you would study the internal arts, which would teach you the proper alignments and structures, the meaning of the various movements and forms. In the class there were two students who did Gojuryu karate, a 3rd dan and a 5th dan, and they both said that their karate had improved no end since taking up Tai Chi.
Which is not to say that Tai Chi isn’t useful on its own, it is, but there is that wider context for getting the maximum use out of it.
The Five Tibetans are a set of physical exercises which rejuvenate the body to youthful vigour and prolong life indefinitely. They are at least 2,500 years old, and practiced by hidden masters of secret wisdom living in remote monasteries in Tibet, where, in the earlier part of the 20th century, a retired British army colonel sought out these monasteries, studied with the ancient masters to great effect, and eventually brought the exercises to the West, where they were first published in 1939.
Ok, you don’t believe any of that, do you? Neither do I, except for the first eight words and the last six. I’ve been doing these exercises since the beginning of 2009, since being turned on to them by Steven Barnes’ blog and they do seem to have made a dramatic improvement in my general level of physical energy. Whether it’s these exercises specifically or just the discipline of doing a similar amount of exercise first thing in the morning, every morning, I haven’t taken the trouble to determine by varying them.
More here and here. Nancy Lebovitz also mentioned them.
I also do yoga for flexibility (it works) and occasionally meditation (to little detectable effect). I’d be interested to hear from anyone here who meditates and gets more from it than I do.
My spreadsheet about effects of the Tibetans
I’ve had great results from modest (2-3 hrs/wk) investments in hatha yoga, over and above what I get from standard Greco-Roman “calisthenics.”
Besides the flexibility, breathing, and posture benefits, I find that the idea of ‘chakras’ is vaguely useful for focusing my conscious attention on involuntary muscle systems. I would be extremely surprised if chakras “cleaved reality at the joints” in any straightforward sense, but the idea of chakras helps me pay attention to my digestion, heart rate, bladder, etc. by making mentally uninteresting but nevertheless important bodily functions more interesting.
I’ve done yoga every week for the last month or two. It’s pleasant. Other than paying attention to how I’m holding my body vs. the instruction, I mostly stop thinking for an hour (as we’re encouraged to do), which is nice.
I can’t say I notice any significant lasting effects yet. I’m slightly more flexible.
Hard to say—even New Agey stuff evolves. (Not many followers of Reich pushing their copper-lined closets these days.)
Generally, background stuff is enough. There’s no shortage of hard scientific evidence about yoga or meditation, for example. No need for heuristics there. Similarly there’s some for float tanks. In fact, I’m hard pressed to think of any New Agey stuff where there isn’t enough background to judge it on its own merits.
Meditation can be pretty darn relaxing. Especially if you happen to live within walking distance of any pleasant yet sparsely-populated mountaintops. I would recommend giving it a shot; don’t worry about advanced techniques or anything, and just close your eyes and focus on your breathing, and the wind (if any). Very pleasant.
Every time I try to meditate I fall asleep.
There are loads of times I would like to be able to fall asleep, but can’t. I envy your power.
I guess this is another reason for people to give meditation a try.
I find a meditation-like focus on my breathing and heartbeat to be a very effective way to fall asleep when my thoughts are keeping me awake.
Why would you want to do that, I mean, what are the supposed advantages? You might want to look it up and see if theres anything about it on the internet. Most alternative medicines are BS, but not necessarily all.
GRRRR! I wish it would let me comment faster then every 8 minutes. Guess I’ll come back and post it.
To have the experience. I dont mean it as a treatment, but something that would be exciting, new and worth trying just for the sake of it. edit/add: the deleted comment above asked why i would bother to do something like floating