I’ve been training in Aikido for about 20 years. I tend to agree with you, John.
On “ki,” I think it’s helpful to think of it as a description of a set of sensations one can learn to be conscious of. I think what’s really going on is that we’re subconsciously picking up on and sending subtle body cues, but that isn’t what it feels like. It actually feels like a kind of flow between the attacker and defender. That flow has certain characteristics, and it’s quite possible to learn to be very sensitive to those characteristics. As I’ve gained skill and awareness, I’ve found that it’s often most helpful to frame that sensation as “the flow of intention” and relate it to the sense of anticipation that is physically felt when you decide to, say, reach for an object to pick it up but haven’t yet physically moved.
I have to admit that the idea of teaching Aikido without any attention to it being effective in an actual fight sounds downright dangerous to me. Whatever we might say about philosophy, when someone trains hard and long enough, their reactions change. I’ve been training in Aikido for around two thirds of my life, so if someone pounces me I’m pretty likely to whip out my training and try to apply it before I even know what I’m doing. And this isn’t just theory: when someone jumps at me and surprises me, I first jump (thanks to the startle reflex) and then while still in the process of jumping reach out in a circular movement to take down whatever startled me. I can usually gain conscious control of my reflexes before I grind my poor unsuspecting friend’s face into the pavement, but the point remains: the reflexes are there. If I were to teach my students Aikido with the idea that it teaches them “principles of life” without attending to effectiveness, then I would feel personally responsible for the result of their attempts to defend themselves in, say, a knife attack.
One of the most beautiful things to me about Aikido is that you can go all-out, full-force, and if it’s done well no one gets hurt. Sure, there might be some pain involved, but no lasting damage virtually ever. You can actually have five or so people all taking real, meaningful swings at an aikidoka, and the occasional blow that lands becomes a lesson that improves his or her skill. Not only does this mean that there’s the potential for empirically testing real refinements in the effectiveness of Aikido techniques, but it also means that you can use the art in its full form in a civilized society. When Uncle Mortimer has a bit too much to drink and starts swinging around a kitchen knife as though conducting the drunken choir, you’d rather not whip out your well-honed striking skills and crush his larynx; instead, you want to disarm him safely without bringing harm to anyone. And if you get mugged but defend yourself by breaking someone’s limbs or killing someone, you then have to answer to a judge; but if you can defuse the attack without hurting anyone, any police involvement will probably just recognize you as a good citizen attacked by thugs.
I’m very, very biased, though. I’ve only ever trained seriously in Aikido, so there’s naturally a desire on my part to justify why it’s the best martial art to choose.
But with all that said, I totally agree with Gillian Russel’s main points. I see most Aikido dojos—in fact, virtually all American dojos I’ve ever encountered—saturated with this kind of “epistemic viciousness.”
If I were to teach my students Aikido with the idea that it teaches them “principles of life” without attending to effectiveness, then I would feel personally responsible for the result of their attempts to defend themselves in, say, a knife attack.
I find my approach to martial arts somewhat different to my philosophy of life. My preferred defense by far after i have been attacked by a knife wielder is to run the @#%! away. In fact that is my preferred (but not only) response in any situation my martial arts apply to. There is a time for doing this in life too but it’s not my preferred first choice in most cases.
I find my approach to martial arts somewhat different to my philosophy of life.
I’m under the impression that by “martial arts” here you’re referring to self-defense. If so, I find exactly the same thing about myself. I’d run from a knife, too! …Unless someone else I really cared about was with me.
But I still think there’s a serious danger in teaching students a martial art—which explicitly looks and feels very much like training our bodies in how to deal with attacks—without taking care to make sure that said art is actually effective. Even if these students should run away, they might actually come to believe that they don’t have to. Hopefully a normal untrained person with some wits would know to run away from a person with a knife and would yell “Run!” to his or her comrades. On the other hand, someone with 5+ years of Aikido training might think—much like I do—that it’s actually a better bet for the safety of their loved ones to stand their ground. After all, that’s what the training is for, right? But if the training is utter junk, you’ll just end up a bloody mess. And your family still gets attacked.
Also, you don’t always have the option of running away. Sometimes you have to fight, like when someone invades your home and you need to protect your family. And in such cases, bad martial arts can actually be worse than raw untrained instincts—especially if those martial arts teach calmness, so the person doesn’t even have the full benefit of a maximal adrenaline rush due to the delusion of competence.
If we wanted to train in Aikido as a form of yoga, then I’d say “effectiveness” shouldn’t be at all measured in terms of self-defense. But that isn’t how we train: we pretend someone is attacking us, and we pretend to defend in order to gain practice defending against that kind of attack. Similarly, most newcomers don’t join Aikido thinking that this is just another form of zen but more dynamic; they join because it sounds like an interesting martial art. The questions I most commonly hear after a training aren’t things like “How do I apply these principles to an argument with my spouse?” (although I do hear that one sometimes). The most common questions are things like “What if he comes at you with a roundhouse kick?” or “What do you do if you’re grabbed from behind while someone punches at your face?” I think it’s a very safe bet to say that these people believe they’re learning how to defend themselves against real attackers. Even if we try to tell them verbally otherwise, their bodies are still incorporating habits that will eventually start becoming their automatic reactions given enough training.
So I totally agree, running sounds like the best option for dealing with a knife attack. But if that turns out not to be the best option for one of my students in some situation, I’d like to make sure that he or she has some effective skills to lean upon so as to have a real leg up on an assailant. If I pretended to provide something effective and it ended up hurting my student or one of his or her loved ones as a result, I would feel horrible about that—and I think justifiably so!
But I still think there’s a serious danger in teaching students a martial art—which explicitly looks and feels very much like training our bodies in how to deal with attacks—without taking care to make sure that said art is actually effective.
I agree. My comment was specific to the difference between martial strategy and life strategy.
The questions I most commonly hear after a training aren’t things like “How do I apply these principles to an argument with my spouse?” (although I do hear that one sometimes).
If I found I needed to be applying what I learn in martial arts training to arguments with my spouse I think I’d hire a divorce lawyer. Come to think of it this is an example where the ‘run’ tactic is kind of perfect. (I do see what they are asking but I would find the question amusing anyway!)
If I found I needed to be applying what I learn in martial arts training to arguments with my spouse I think I’d hire a divorce lawyer.
Perhaps it is just a misunderstanding, and they meant to sign up for a marital arts class. Perhaps one involving an entirely different set of holds, pins, and takedowns.
I’ve been training in Aikido for about 20 years. I tend to agree with you, John.
On “ki,” I think it’s helpful to think of it as a description of a set of sensations one can learn to be conscious of. I think what’s really going on is that we’re subconsciously picking up on and sending subtle body cues, but that isn’t what it feels like. It actually feels like a kind of flow between the attacker and defender. That flow has certain characteristics, and it’s quite possible to learn to be very sensitive to those characteristics. As I’ve gained skill and awareness, I’ve found that it’s often most helpful to frame that sensation as “the flow of intention” and relate it to the sense of anticipation that is physically felt when you decide to, say, reach for an object to pick it up but haven’t yet physically moved.
I have to admit that the idea of teaching Aikido without any attention to it being effective in an actual fight sounds downright dangerous to me. Whatever we might say about philosophy, when someone trains hard and long enough, their reactions change. I’ve been training in Aikido for around two thirds of my life, so if someone pounces me I’m pretty likely to whip out my training and try to apply it before I even know what I’m doing. And this isn’t just theory: when someone jumps at me and surprises me, I first jump (thanks to the startle reflex) and then while still in the process of jumping reach out in a circular movement to take down whatever startled me. I can usually gain conscious control of my reflexes before I grind my poor unsuspecting friend’s face into the pavement, but the point remains: the reflexes are there. If I were to teach my students Aikido with the idea that it teaches them “principles of life” without attending to effectiveness, then I would feel personally responsible for the result of their attempts to defend themselves in, say, a knife attack.
One of the most beautiful things to me about Aikido is that you can go all-out, full-force, and if it’s done well no one gets hurt. Sure, there might be some pain involved, but no lasting damage virtually ever. You can actually have five or so people all taking real, meaningful swings at an aikidoka, and the occasional blow that lands becomes a lesson that improves his or her skill. Not only does this mean that there’s the potential for empirically testing real refinements in the effectiveness of Aikido techniques, but it also means that you can use the art in its full form in a civilized society. When Uncle Mortimer has a bit too much to drink and starts swinging around a kitchen knife as though conducting the drunken choir, you’d rather not whip out your well-honed striking skills and crush his larynx; instead, you want to disarm him safely without bringing harm to anyone. And if you get mugged but defend yourself by breaking someone’s limbs or killing someone, you then have to answer to a judge; but if you can defuse the attack without hurting anyone, any police involvement will probably just recognize you as a good citizen attacked by thugs.
I’m very, very biased, though. I’ve only ever trained seriously in Aikido, so there’s naturally a desire on my part to justify why it’s the best martial art to choose.
But with all that said, I totally agree with Gillian Russel’s main points. I see most Aikido dojos—in fact, virtually all American dojos I’ve ever encountered—saturated with this kind of “epistemic viciousness.”
I find my approach to martial arts somewhat different to my philosophy of life. My preferred defense by far after i have been attacked by a knife wielder is to run the @#%! away. In fact that is my preferred (but not only) response in any situation my martial arts apply to. There is a time for doing this in life too but it’s not my preferred first choice in most cases.
I’m under the impression that by “martial arts” here you’re referring to self-defense. If so, I find exactly the same thing about myself. I’d run from a knife, too! …Unless someone else I really cared about was with me.
But I still think there’s a serious danger in teaching students a martial art—which explicitly looks and feels very much like training our bodies in how to deal with attacks—without taking care to make sure that said art is actually effective. Even if these students should run away, they might actually come to believe that they don’t have to. Hopefully a normal untrained person with some wits would know to run away from a person with a knife and would yell “Run!” to his or her comrades. On the other hand, someone with 5+ years of Aikido training might think—much like I do—that it’s actually a better bet for the safety of their loved ones to stand their ground. After all, that’s what the training is for, right? But if the training is utter junk, you’ll just end up a bloody mess. And your family still gets attacked.
Also, you don’t always have the option of running away. Sometimes you have to fight, like when someone invades your home and you need to protect your family. And in such cases, bad martial arts can actually be worse than raw untrained instincts—especially if those martial arts teach calmness, so the person doesn’t even have the full benefit of a maximal adrenaline rush due to the delusion of competence.
If we wanted to train in Aikido as a form of yoga, then I’d say “effectiveness” shouldn’t be at all measured in terms of self-defense. But that isn’t how we train: we pretend someone is attacking us, and we pretend to defend in order to gain practice defending against that kind of attack. Similarly, most newcomers don’t join Aikido thinking that this is just another form of zen but more dynamic; they join because it sounds like an interesting martial art. The questions I most commonly hear after a training aren’t things like “How do I apply these principles to an argument with my spouse?” (although I do hear that one sometimes). The most common questions are things like “What if he comes at you with a roundhouse kick?” or “What do you do if you’re grabbed from behind while someone punches at your face?” I think it’s a very safe bet to say that these people believe they’re learning how to defend themselves against real attackers. Even if we try to tell them verbally otherwise, their bodies are still incorporating habits that will eventually start becoming their automatic reactions given enough training.
So I totally agree, running sounds like the best option for dealing with a knife attack. But if that turns out not to be the best option for one of my students in some situation, I’d like to make sure that he or she has some effective skills to lean upon so as to have a real leg up on an assailant. If I pretended to provide something effective and it ended up hurting my student or one of his or her loved ones as a result, I would feel horrible about that—and I think justifiably so!
I agree. My comment was specific to the difference between martial strategy and life strategy.
If I found I needed to be applying what I learn in martial arts training to arguments with my spouse I think I’d hire a divorce lawyer. Come to think of it this is an example where the ‘run’ tactic is kind of perfect. (I do see what they are asking but I would find the question amusing anyway!)
Perhaps it is just a misunderstanding, and they meant to sign up for a marital arts class. Perhaps one involving an entirely different set of holds, pins, and takedowns.
upvoted because puns don’t get enough love