“Martial effectiveness is often trotted out as the ultimate arbiter, in spite of the fact that within the system of Aikido, this is ideologically taboo from the outset.”
Aikido arose from the ashes of post-war Japan, but there was a time when its survival was in serious doubt. It almost didn’t make it, and there have been some serious issues to face along the way. Have those concerns been resolved, or is the baggage still there trailing along behind and stunting Aiki growth? More importantly, perhaps, are we clear about what that baggage consists of and can we cut it loose? Do we need to, or is it all part of the birthing pains of Aikido that will resolve itself in the fullness of time as Aikido reaches maturity?
Let me start out by being provocative and stating from the beginning that Aiki and Aikido are not the same thing. ‘Heresy’, all might cry, but this is something I am going to insist on as a way of moving the discussion forward. My reasons will become apparent as I proceed.
Aiki is a term that is used quite frequently, almost glibly, but what does it actually mean? When reviewing the literature, it does seem to mean different things to different people. For some it is about love, for others it is about harmony, spirituality and peace. People often argue about it and disagree, quite passionately at times to the point of futility and mutual intransigence – fighting for peace?
Research, of course, is on-going and I am sure there will be many arguments over its findings, but early indications would suggest that China is the point of Aiki’s origin. This should not really surprise us, after all China exerted an influence in the region that is comparable to the Greco-Roman civilisation in European culture.
Naturally, like all cultural assets imported into Japan, this ‘skills set’ was assimilated and given a Japanese flavour by the dominant Samurai caste system of the time. The same thing happened with Ch’an Buddhism brought by Dogen from China, and Shinto, the national religion of Japan, is made up of many disparate elements that include Taoist cosmology. Why should the martial arts of Japan be any different in that respect?
For historians and pragmatists concerned with facts and martial efficacy Aiki is a skills set. It is not, contrary to received wisdom, the gift of Morihei Ueshiba to the world, nor in all probability is it something that was gifted to the Founder by Sokaku Takeda – time and research will tell on that issue. In any case, Aiki is not something that can be given to anyone; it takes time and effort to develop and having the appropriate training methodology is critical.
At the heart of Aiki is ‘in’ and ‘yo’ (yin and yang) and how those principles are utilised in a martial context to help create a structure that integrates mind and body. And this is the nub of the problem. There are profound and deep seated disagreements about what is the most efficacious training methodology.
The problem is further compounded when the criterion of comparative martial efficacy is introduced into the picture as a means to evaluate competing training paradigms. Martial effectiveness is often trotted out as the ultimate arbiter, in spite of the fact that within the system of Aikido, this is ideologically taboo from the outset. Aikido is not about competition, or is it?
In reality, Aikido is full of competition, riddled with politics and factional disputes and interests. There are in excess of some thirty styles of Aikido, and from what I can see, they all have a ‘good conceit’ about themselves, with each believing they are on ‘the cutting edge’ of Aikido – a busy blade indeed.
But how do we decide? Do we really want to see all the top teachers getting together in a gladiatorial arena and slugging it out to see who is left standing? I don’t think so. We seldom, if ever, see the ‘names’ in Aikido practicing together and taking ukemi from each other, except during the odd PR exercise.
And there is a good, but unspoken, reason for this that goes to the heart of what is missing in the Aiki debate – Aiki itself. Aiki left the building when the Founder departed. As the Founder exited through the door never to return, schism came in through the window and Aiki leaked out through the cracks.
To illustrate, a quote from Koichi Tohei shows his view of what separated him from Kisshomaru Ueshiba:
“The second Doshu interpreted Aikido as the Way of fitting in with another person’s Ki. However, it seems to me that Aikido is Uniting body and mind and becoming one with heaven and earth. Specifically, the Way of fitting together the Ki of heaven and earth.”
Regardless of whether Tohei or Kisshomaru’s perspective is right or wrong, and I don’t know how this can be judged, it seems to me that even if we accept Tohei’s ‘at one’ view, it still doesn’t alter Kisshomaru’s position: two ‘at one’ partners still need to find a way to practice together. I think what we have here is a case of mutual intransigence, of two individuals who were unable to reconcile their differences. This is not without irony, given what they were arguing about.
Even if we were to introduce, by way of arbitration, the test of comparative martial effectiveness, this crude mechanism would not resolve the issue since both models eschew competition. Like sticklebacks determining territorial boundaries, the lines have been drawn and a head-on confrontation has been avoided. How could they do otherwise without losing face?
In actuality, they were not so far apart. Ki has an undifferentiated and individual character – that’s the yin and yang of it. Tohei did acknowledge this in one of his Principles for practicing Ki Aikido: “Respect Your Partner’s Ki.” Their differences were essentially political, and motivated by reasons that had more to do with material interests than ideological considerations – it was a bun fight.
But what has been the consequence in terms of Aiki? Stalemate. To understand the nature of this ‘Mexican stand-off’ and the consequences for the development of Aiki skills in Aikido, we could usefully borrow some common sense from Yukiyoshi Sagawa and Kuroiwa Sensei, both quietly getting on with their training while empire builders clashed.
Sagawa’s comments from Kimura’s Transparent Power are very relevant here when he talks about students reaching a level where their techniques are no longer effective on each other, and how at an advanced level qualitative differences between higher grades are negligible. The way forward, for him, was through Aiki. This breaks down the deadlock and permits progress and improvement.
In Aikido an opportunity for research and development into Aiki was lost as the main body broke into two camps, each unable to reconcile differences either on the mat or in life. This has left a lasting effect on Aikido, and helps explain why many senior Aikidoka went surreptitiously to other students of Sokaku Takeda to find what was missing and what they needed – Aiki.
The reason why – mentioned earlier – that the ‘names’ of Aikido do not openly and freely practice together, as Sagawa suggests, is because without Aiki they would not be able to do so very successfully. Their practice would be limited in every way, with each unable to have much effect on the other.
In relation to Ki, Koroiwa Sensei pointed out: “Ki is not something you take out and put back in. Ki is something that manifests spontaneously depending on the degree of one’s training. If you practice for one year, then you will have one year’s Ki. Ten years, ten year’s Ki.”
The baggage that Aikido carries is of its own making, and prevents Aikido from reaching maturity. But the road of Aiki can be less bumpy. All we have to do is recognise what we are carrying and put it down. There are some who are already doing this.