by Régis Soavi
A vocation?
I do not really believe in vocation, because the term vocation is too easily associated with religion, a semantic location from which we need to distance ourselves as much as possible, because our society has long since muddied the waters. If there is a vocation, it must be primary, materialistic and pragmatic; it will rather be an aptitude, a talent. Atmospheres such as “saving people who have not understood anything, bringing them to the light” etc., are absolutely unsuitable for teaching an art like Aikido, although this does not mean that we should turn it into a commonplace or even prosaic art, a kind of “self-defence”. The act of teaching should flow naturally from the research you have been able to do during your own practice, and in that way it is a transmission. It often starts with the desire to share what you have discovered, what you have understood, or thought you understood, and even if it is not a vocation, there are people who have a talent for explaining, for showing. People who in addition have a taste for looking after others, helping them to progress in an art or a profession, who “know” how to do it because they understand others, because they have a sensitivity that is oriented in that direction, and an affinity with that path.
Pedagogy
Pedagogy in school education most often consists of sweetening the pill, because both pupil and teacher are expected to achieve results. In Aikido, I would say that there are no good or bad teaching methods, there are good, less good and even bad teachers, and what is more, among these, what is perfect for one student can be deplorable for another and vice versa, even, and perhaps especially, when it comes to transmission. People who start practising often arrive with ideas or images about martial arts. Either because they have seen videos, or action films, and have been enthralled by the spectacle. Or because of their personal lives, in which they have experienced difficulties, constraints and harassment, and they want to get out of the state of fear that these situations have produced. Some discover Aikido through philosophical texts, sometimes ancient ones such as those on Taoism or Bushido. No one starts out by chance; there is almost always a reason, conscious or unconscious, always a common thread. We therefore need to adapt our answers, shape our words without betraying their deeper meaning, show and demonstrate, using a refined technical approach, how to circulate our energy, which will allow the discovery of the tool “Respiration” in the sense used by Tsuda sensei, i. e. the use of ki through technique, movement, position shifts, instinct, etc.
The path I have been following
The Aikido that my master Tsuda Itsuo taught me is something like a martial dance, with the difference that, unlike Capoeira, it does not have a form that stems from the need to hide its origins or its effectiveness. Of dance, it has the beauty, finesse and flexibility of reaction. Of music, it has the ability to improvise on the basis and the solidity of the themes played. Of martial arts, it has the strength, intuition and research into the physical lines drawn by the human body. The richness of the teaching I received cannot be measured. Guided by Tsuda sensei, through his words and his gestures, I was able to grow, thirsty as I was to live fully, to go beyond the ideologies proposed by the “spectacular and commercial” world in which we live. Being a post-war child, I discovered myself full of hope during the events of that historical period that were the years 68 and 69. It was like an awakening to life.
This rebirth had ripened the fruit of my understanding of the world. In such a short time I had grown so much that all that was missing was the blossoming of what I really was. My meeting with my master was no accident. Attracted by the ki he emanated, I could not but meet him. “When the pupil is ready, the master comes” they say in Japan; I was not ready for what was going to happen to me, but I was ready to receive it. Though upset and turned upside down by what I saw, what I felt and what emanated from him, I was nonetheless approaching new shores, where a jungle stretched out that seemed inextricable to me, so great was my fragility in relation to this new world. Ten years with him were not enough, the work of clearing the way continues, even if today, nearly forty years later, I have been able to trace paths thanks to his indications, these “signposts” as he often said, that he left us.
Continuity
Every morning a new day begins. Teaching for an hour or an hour and a half twice a week does not correspond to my inner mission statement, nor indeed to my credo. I need more, much more, which is why the dojo is open every day, not for financial reasons (although the association that runs it would need it) but to allow continuity for everyone who can come regularly. Like everyone else, I began by giving lessons in various dojos, both public (gyms) and private. Before I really got to know my master, I even gave Aikido lessons in the back room of an oriental rug expert’s shop, and trained a young private detective in self-defence. I was twenty at the time, and a bit like in the Pink Panther films with Inspector Clouseau, I played the role of Kato, trying to surprise him in his home to test his fighting techniques and reflexes. Going further at every level, never stagnating, always moving forward. To discover and help others to discover, and through this to understand both physically and intellectually, in short to be alive.
It has always been important to me not to depend on my art to provide for my daily life. Financially, this has led me to struggle for many years, to be attentive to the smallest penny in everyday life, not to lead the life of a “self-satisfied” consumer, but perhaps that is why I have been able to go deeper into my research, and therefore to teach.
Freedom
Without freedom, no quality teaching is possible! The teacher is responsible for what she or he brings to their pupils, for the quality as well as the basis and the essence of their lessons. Nowadays, all disciplines are framed by rules defined by state structures, and this corrupts the value of an art, because an aikido session’s richness cannot come from trivialised, watered-down, “pedagogical” content, but rather from the commitment of the person leading it. If our masters have been our masters, it was thanks to their personalities rather than to the techniques they taught. That is why they recognised one another for the value that each of them brought, whatever their art, charisma or personality. Pupils had their own preferences, based on their own abilities, their taste for this or that trend they thought they would find here or there.
A reciprocal and asymmetric relationship
All learning must be based on trust between the one who provides knowledge and the one who receives it, but as Dante Alighieri already suggested in the 13th century, the relationship as well as the esteem between the “master” and the “pupil” must be “reciprocal and asymmetrical”.1 The important thing is that there is acceptance on both sides, there is no initial right or duty, no obligation to learn, no obligation to teach. The pursuit of one and the goodwill of the other create this asymmetry. At the same time, there is mutual recognition of one towards the other in connection with the value of each of them. Teaching is not a finished product that can be bought and consumed without moderation. It involves both the giver and the receiver. It is important that the giver is not in the rigidity of the one who “knows”, but in the fluidity of the one who understands and adapts, without of course losing the sense of what he or she is supposed to communicate and enhance. The recipient is never a blank page on which to print the teaching and its values; depending on the era or even simply the generation, distortions may arise and adjustments may be necessary. It is mutual trust that allows to go deeper into an art. If it is only the techniques we need to refine, a few months or a few years will suffice, and then you can move on to something else. But could we achieve real satisfaction with such a programme?
The mnemonic that consists of forgetting2
In Aikido, as in many other forms of learning, beginners are asked to remember, if possible precisely, the technique, its name and the form to adopt in a given circumstance. There is, of course, a certain logic in this educational process, but it has become an indispensable requirement in federations for passing grades, Dan and even Kyu. This cluttering up of the conscious mind is deeply detrimental to the awakening of spontaneity. After a while, learning becomes not only boring, but sometimes counterproductive, and you no longer feel like learning. If we address the conscious mind, it is because it is easier to manipulate, especially when it has been used to responding “present” through years of schooling and manipulation. But if we are content to guide the subconscious instead, we will be astonished to see the individual develop in harmony with himself and consequently with those around him, without the need to conceal his nature with social masks that are so disruptive for both organism and psyche. This passage from Tsuda sensei’s book Even if I do not think, I AM sheds light on the work of the subconscious:
‘Our mental activity does not only begin with the development of the gray matter, the conscious part that allows us to perceive, reason and retain. The conscious mind develops from the accumulation of experiences we have had since birth. We learn to speak and handle tools; for example, a spoon to begin with. Consciousness is not the totality of our mental activity. There are roads because there is land. Without the land, there would be no roads. The part of the mind that preexists consciousness is called “the subconscious”. The subconscious not only works from birth to death, but also during gestation, feeling and reacting in the womb, seeking what is pleasing, and repelling what is not. So the child kicks when he feels uncomfortable. Once a sensation or feeling enters the subconscious, it controls all involuntary behaviour in the individual, which he or she is unable to effectively combat through voluntary means.’ 3
The role of the sensei
The master, the sensei, is not perfect, nor does he have the vocation to be so or to pretend to be so. It is useless and even harmful, for him and for certain students, that the latter, despite their good faith and against the sensei’s will, project such an image of perfection, which can only be false, on his person and his work. Imperfect but solid, he is the link in a long chain of teaching and life accomplishment which, if broken, will be lost forever. His role is not to lock students into a school, to force them, sometimes insidiously, into a doctrine, but to enable each one to free themselves from routines so that they can feel the vital flow that runs through this immense chain, just as an irrigation canal is capable of watering large areas as well as small gardens. But the soil must have been worked, made permeable and ready to eventually grow what has been sown in the course of life. Since it cannot be reproduced or industrialised, teaching can never be used to grow what it was designed for if it is not understood in its essence and assimilated in depth by the successor(s), at the heart of their own lives.
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Article by Régis Soavi published in Self & Dragon Spécial Aikido n° 9 in April 2022.
Notes:
- Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy: Hell, Chapter XV
- Tsuda Itsuo, Even if I do not think, I AM, 2020, Yume Editions, Chap. VII, p. 51 (1st ed. in French, 1981, pub. Le Courrier du Livre (Paris), p. 59)
- ibid.