Getting To The Essence Of Aikido | Thorsten Schoo

What is Aikido?

It sounds like a simple question.

But the more seriously you ask it, the less simple it becomes.

Most of us have ready-made answers.

Aikido is blending with the attacker’s energy.

Aikido is conflict resolution.

Aikido is a peaceful martial art.

Aikido is harmony.

Aikido is non-resistance.

These answers may contain truth.

But they are also inherited.

We heard them from teachers.

Read them in books.

Absorbed them through the culture of the art.

So what happens if we take all of that away?

What remains when we stop repeating what Aikido is supposed to be and begin asking:

What is actually essential?

What Can You Remove And Still Have Aikido?

This was the inquiry I shared with two longtime Aikido teachers:

Thorsten Schoo Sensei and Patrick Cassidy Sensei.

We began with a deliberately provocative question:

What can you remove from Aikido and still have Aikido?

Can you remove Japanese culture?

Can you remove rank?

Styles?

Etiquette?

Specific techniques?

The dojo structure?

The uniforms?

The terminology?

At what point have you removed so much that the thing is no longer Aikido?

This is not merely an intellectual exercise.

The question has real consequences for how we practice, teach, and transmit the art.

Universal Principles And Relative Forms

Every tradition contains forms.

Forms give practice structure.

They make transmission possible.

They create continuity.

In Aikido, forms include technique, etiquette, dojo culture, rank, lineage, terminology, and specific training methods.

These forms matter.

But they are not necessarily the same thing as the essence of the art.

A useful distinction is between:

relative forms

and

universal principles.

Relative forms arise in particular cultures, historical moments, lineages, and teaching systems.

Universal principles point toward something deeper.

Center.

Connection.

Relationship.

Balance.

Timing.

Blending.

Transformation.

Awareness.

The capacity to meet conflict without simply reproducing opposition.

The question becomes:

Which is more important—the universal principles, or the relative forms through which those principles were originally transmitted?

Tradition As A Container

Tradition is valuable because it protects something.

A good form gives us access to an experience we may not yet understand.

At the beginning, we often need structure before we understand the principle behind it.

We bow.

We repeat technique.

We follow etiquette.

We imitate our teachers.

We submit ourselves to forms whose meaning may not yet be obvious.

Over time, if the practice matures, the principle begins to reveal itself through the form.

The danger is that we can confuse the container for what the container is holding.

We begin defending the form as though preserving the form itself were the ultimate purpose.

Then tradition becomes rigid.

When Form Becomes Identity

This is especially easy in martial arts.

Style becomes identity.

Lineage becomes identity.

Rank becomes identity.

The way my teacher does it becomes the definition of correct Aikido.

This is understandable.

Tradition gives us belonging.

It gives us history.

It gives us a way of locating ourselves.

But if we become too identified with the form, inquiry stops.

We stop asking what the form is actually serving.

And once inquiry stops, a living art can become a museum.

What Is Non-Negotiable?

A useful way to get closer to the essence is to ask:

What is non-negotiable?

If we remove a particular technique, is it still Aikido?

Probably.

If we change the uniform?

Probably.

If the teacher speaks English instead of Japanese?

Certainly.

If we train without rank?

Possibly.

But what happens if we remove connection?

What happens if we remove center?

What happens if we remove the capacity to transform conflict?

What happens if we remove relationship?

At some point, something essential has been lost.

The deeper work is discovering where that point actually is.

Asking The Question Changes The Practice

For Thorsten, Patrick, and me, allowing ourselves to seriously ask this question had consequences.

Once you ask what is essential, certain assumptions stop being protected.

Things that had once seemed fixed become available for examination.

Some elements of the art become more important.

Others become less important.

And your relationship to Aikido can begin to change.

For me, this connects directly to one of the most important turning points in my own life.

My encounter with Sayadaw U Pandita forced me to confront the difference between Aikido’s martial form and the spiritual source I had been seeking through it.

That distinction changed everything.

I did not have to reject Aikido.

But I had to stop asking the form itself to give me something it could not give.

That opened the door to a much deeper relationship with the art.

The Essence Is Not A Slogan

It would be tempting to finish this inquiry with a new definition of Aikido.

Something clean.

Memorable.

Final.

But that would miss the point.

The value of the question is not necessarily that it gives us a definitive answer.

Its value is that it keeps the art alive.

What is Aikido?

What is essential?

What can change?

What must remain?

Which parts belong to culture?

Which belong to universal principles?

Which parts of my practice are genuine?

Which parts are imitation?

Those questions can continue for an entire lifetime.