Aikido Center

The following article was posted on the old 24 Fighting Chickens site. It was originally written about karate, but applies so well to Aikido that I’ve posted it here, with appropriate adaptions.

If you’ve ever given a young child a new toy as a present you may have witnessed the curious phenomenon of the child appearing more interested in the box the toy came in than the toy itself.

The toy has distinct features and attributes. It probably has a theme of some sort that dictates how the child will likely use it to play. The toy is what it is; if it’s a doll, it’s not a video game and so on. Most kids won’t pretend that a truck is a doll or that a doll is a video game. The nature of the toy defines – and in many ways limits – how most kids will play with it. The empty box however is adaptable to any kind of re-use, limited only by the child’s imagination. The box can be a cave, a castle, or a sailing ship. It can hold a pirate’s treasure, a genie, or anything else the child dreams up. What the box maker originally intended the container for is of little concern to our young adventurers who freely adapt the box to suit their fantasies and fit their own rules of play.

The box has far more potential for individual interpretation than the toy and, as long as the child and his playmates agree on what the box “is” for the purpose of their shared fantasy, all is well. For one group of kids the box might be a castle simply because they all agree it is. Another group of kids might decide that it’s a cave, and yet other groups may decide it’s an airplane. For the box manufacturer it was simply Corrugated #7, size 4.

Aikido practice outside of Japan shares many characteristics with the example above. In the box, we have the techniques of Aikido. Stances, movements, pins and throws, along with instructions on how to string them together like beads (techniques or kata) or connect them with one another like Legos (single or multiple attackers) or use them strategically in opposition to one another like a game of table tennis (free sparring, where it exists). We can take the individual contents out of the box and polish them – make them more stable, stronger, faster, more fluid – but the individual parts in the box all have their own distinct features and attributes.

Our particular brand of Aikido came in a Japanese box. The techniques were painstakingly assembled by Japanese master craftsmen, labeled, carefully wrapped, and sent here for us to open. To help us get the most out of our box of Aikido some of the craftsmen moved here to help us unpack and explain the contents. The box itself, addressed in Japanese writing and covered with Japanese stamps, evoked feelings of great affection and nostalgia in the craftsmen. This was certainly understandable as the craftsmen, far from home, remembered their many years spent in the place where the box came from.

Some craftsmen noticed that a substantial number of folks seemed to be just as fascinated with the box as they were with the contents. Instead of gently refocusing everyone on the contents that had been the original point of their journey here from Japan, some of these craftsmen permitted – and eventually enthusiastically supported – the notion that the box should be considered as important as the contents. In some cases they even went as far as to say that the most important part of the original shipment was the box!

They knew that over time almost everyone could come to understand the contents. Some would even continue to develop the contents to a higher level. But only the craftsmen could interpret the meaning of the writing and the stamps on the box. Their familiarity with the origins of the box, common and utterly unremarkable in Japan, gave them great prestige and status here as long as the box was regarded as highly as the contents.

What is the box that Aikido came in? It’s the language, customs, culture, and behaviours of Japan – all naturally and understandably of great personal pride and importance to the creators of our “present” because that’s where they were from. Also, understandably, of some interest to those who enjoy learning as much as possible about what was in the box. But the box, for all of its mystery and exotic appearance, is not the essential part.

The curious phenomenon of Aikido is the practitioner who, like the small child, becomes more interested in the box than the toy. For these western Aikido experts, Japanese culture and behaviour provides the same outlet for fantasy that the empty box provides for the three-year-old on Christmas morning. They feel liberated to play samurai, ninja, or 1950’s-era Takushoku bullet-head by paying more attention to the box than the contents. Their fixation on the box can lead to them developing their own interpretations of what the mysterious writing and stamps on the box mean and their own mythology about the origins and importance of the box. And just like the group of kids who all must agree that “today the box is a pirate ship” such Aikidoka work hard to enforce a common understanding of Aikido’s box among their fellow practitioners. It’s not terribly important to them how accurate this understanding is so long as it supports the fantasy that they want everyone to participate in with them. In contrast, the rational practitioner of Aikido understands the box and can even appreciate the box for what it is, but practices to understand the contents – not to elevate the importance of the box. Those who have met practitioners of both types may ask how these differences develop.

Most of us were initially attracted to Aikido for one of three reasons: because we thought it was cool (i.e. Steven Seagal movie fans), because we thought it was practical (to protect ourselves or others), or because we thought it was exotic (philosophically, morally, and/or spiritually superior to one’s own culture). Whatever our initial attraction to Aikido was, the initial attraction/appeal stays with us for a long time, becoming the filter we process the rest of our instruction through. Three new students, all attracted to one of the three different elements (cool, practical, or exotic) will experience the very same Aikido class quite differently from one another. After several years of practice, what’s important about Aikido will be very different for each of these students. Those initially attracted to “cool” are generally most concerned with the appearance of their performance. Those attracted to “practical” are more concerned with the effective outcome of their performance. And those attracted to “exotic” are generally most concerned with the context of their performance.

“Exoticness” (“intriguingly unusual or different or excitingly strange”) as one’s basis for studying Aikido by definition has to evolve into something else over time; as one becomes more familiar with Aikido it’s no longer unusual or strange to the practitioner!

Aikido’s exotic first impression results from our initial exposure to Japanese cultural elements like filial piety, bushido, Zen, and so on – concepts that are not typically a part of our own culture. We watch a Aikido class and don’t understand why everyone is lined up kneeling on the floor, bowing to a picture of an old man on the wall. We don’t understand why everyone yells “OSU!” or “HAI!”. We don’t understand why certain people are called “sensei” or “sempai” or why certain people get bowed to all the time and others don’t. But it’s unfamiliar and mysterious – it’s exotic – and so we sign up for some classes to find out more.

As we learn about these things, usually from native Japanese instructors or diehard Japanophiles, explanations are almost always given in terms of how well these concepts work to organise society and/or provide meaning and structure for one’s life. When you think back on how you became familiar with these concepts, were they explained to you objectively, like an encyclopaedia entry, or evangelically, like someone trying hard to convince you of their value? The evangelical approach is far more common in the Western Aikido world because without it – without a firm belief that imitating these foreign customs and folkways is superior to the way everyone else around town behaves – the instructor’s behaviour would seem downright ridiculous.

In Japan, there is no comparable evangelism for students from the local population. The process of “convincing” or “explaining” doesn’t happen because the cultural elements are native to the student. Between native Japanese, the value of Aikido has to be expressed and understood as something beyond “learn Japanese culture.” Preoccupation with Japanese culture as part of Aikido is a Western idiosyncrasy and a considerable barrier to approaching the science and practice of Aikido the same way Aikido’s founders did.

Western students either become converts to the Aikido evangelist’s faith or they don’t. Some might stick a toe in the water for a while and later back away. Others dive in headfirst and never surface again. It’s this latter group who have usually transitioned from “intrigued by the unusual and excited by the strange” to “convinced of the superiority of the newly familiar.”

For this third category of student, tidbits of information about “the box” are of particular interest in defining the context of Aikido practice and performance. As this student tries to assemble these bits of knowledge – mostly acquired incompletely and out of context – into a coherent whole, what they end up with is a self-constructed Aikido mythology rather than true knowledge. They strive for internal consistency based on the fractions of information they’ve collected over time and as long as the story makes sense it’s as good as true for them. Many times this mythology is constructed as a specific counterpoint to the things the student is consciously or unconsciously unhappy with in their own culture. With no direct experience to rationalize their viewpoint, they can fantasize that the people from the land of the box are wise, honorable, brave, tough, determined, creative, artistic, peace-loving, compassionate, shrewd, innovative, and disciplined – unlike the chumps and slouches they have to put up with all day long at school or at work. The farther this Aikidoka climbs into the box, the more they believe they’re like their heroes and less like the mortals around them.

At some point, students like this will reach a rank they equate with “expert knowledge” and although the rank is almost always based primarily on physical performance, many will also believe it to be an affirmation of the mythology they’ve built around the box. At this point they will stop looking for the truth about the box. They will have developed their own understanding of the Aikido universe – right or wrong – and will have been awarded an expert rank. For them, it’s case closed.

Over time, facts usually surface that conflict with the carefully constructed mythology our imaginary friend has built. Instead of simply acknowledging that their understanding of the box is superficial – and of little importance in understanding the contents of the box – they will ferociously defend their mythology. Attacking their understanding of the box, to them, is no different than attacking their mastery of the contents. These two things have become inseparable in their eyes.

If the arguments against the false mythology prevail, our friend will probably become disillusioned with the entirety of their practice. It was, after all, based on that initial attraction to the exotic. Finding out that it was just a bunch of normal guys overseas – not gods, saints, or wizards – who designed the contents and packed the box is devastating to our friend because it ultimately means that he’s just a normal guy too, not on his way to certain enlightenment because he’s learned to throw and pin people really well.

If our friend somehow manages to continue with Aikido after such a revelation about the box, he will have to find new ways to justify the time and effort spent practicing and improving his performance. It’s at this stage, ironically, that our friend will come closest to the mindset and approach of the original box builders. People experience their own cultures largely as background noise to their everyday lives – they’re not constantly consciously aware of it the way a visitor from another place might be. Absent a preoccupation with one’s own culture – or one’s adopted culture – the tangible benefits and rewards of practice are more easily recognised and appreciated.

As kids like those in our example above get older they all eventually come to realize that if the present inside is any good, there’s no reason to play with the box.