Did I find a path to spirituality through martial arts practice? Is an understanding of a philosophy akin to finding truth in religion? In the lecture on spirituality for Foucault, Dr. Jenkins qualifies these criteria as: “Number one, the subject does not naturally or automatically have access to the truth. Two, the subject must undergo a conversion process in order to access the truth, and three, the truth has return effects on the subject” (Jenkins 4:15). For the sake of this discussion, I’m going to assume that ‘truth’ means any form of knowledge that is attainable through a specific askesis. This could be religion, Zen meditation, asceticism and, in this case, Aikido.

Aikido is not a spiritual practice, itself, but Morihei Ueshiba, the founder of Aikido was a spiritual person who often undertook various ascetic practices in his quest for understanding. This included joining a militant religious cult at one point and, eventually, finding meaning in the understanding of the world through his Aikido practice. Aikido is a full-contact martial art. However, when training Aikido techniques of the martial variety that involve throwing several simultaneous attackers, it’s generally understood by intermediate-advanced students that we aren’t training for that specific situation, but we’re training above anything we might encounter in our everyday lives. If I can handle five black belts coming at me with knives, a spat at work will be easy to navigate. That said, like Miyamoto Musashi and Sun Tzu, many of Ueshiba’s writings can be applied to both battlefield arts and everyday interactions. His writing shifts unpredictably from the spiritual to the self-aware. He may go so far as to say, “The Art of Peace is the religion that is not a religion; it perfects and completes all religions” (Ueshiba 112), or remain more grounded when he says, “Instructors can impart only a fraction of the teaching. It is through your own devoted practice that the mysteries of the Art of Peace are brought to life” (46). Note that his use of the “Art of Peace” and Aikido are synonymous. His pre-translation ‘Art of Peace’ is 合(ai)気(ki)道(do). Aikido is frequently translated to conventional English as ‘the way to harmonious energy’, which lends to the mystique its physical and metaphysical properties.

Both of these quotes, and others from the collection, The Art of Peace, highlight the relationship between Aikido and Foucault’s three concepts of spirituality. When Ueshiba comments about Aikido being a non-religion that completes all religions or “To truly implement the Art of Peace, you must be able to sport freely in the manifest, hidden, and divine realms” (99), there’s an implication of some kind of truth that can be discovered. A secret that perhaps only he could unlock. But also one that requires relentless training, as his quote about devoted practice makes explicit.

Maybe Ueshiba, or O-sensei, as he is called by Aikido practitioners, was trying to secure his means of power or immortality. Through his expertise, he’d become influential. Ladelle McWhorter writes on Foucault, “Governmentality is the work of creating or maintaining oneself in a set of skills and style of existence, an ethos, that enables one to affect others’ actions, that enables one to exercise power in certain ways” (McWhorter 4). When I read McWhorter’s interpretation of Foucault’s governmentality, I think of purposeful self-discipline. I never, personally, felt like my practice was an exercise in power, but I can see that element of controlling behavior amongst other martial arts instructors. O-sensei and his black belts had live-in students who, in addition to their training, maintained a hierarchy that dictated who did all of the chores and maintenance on the dojos and who could interact with the masters. There was certainly an amount of control and power in that dynamic (which still exists at many dojos today). To expand this further around McWhorter’s writing, “Governmentality entails power/knowledge. One cannot deliberately influence others and transform oneself in the absence of knowledge—knowledge of self, of others, of management techniques or ascetic regimes, of the political situation, etc.” (9). This makes me think that even if the goal isn’t power, by having knowledge or authority, there’s an implicit power. Even without heading a chain of command or by using manipulation tactics, being a benevolent beacon of knowledge bestows power on the instructor (the same instructor that Ueshiba says can only impart a fraction of the teaching).

As a beginner, the more advanced students will try to coach your Aikido practice, often saying things like, “It’s easy, you just have to blend,” or something equally simplistic. The beginner thinks that it’s far more difficult than that, with all of the steps and timing and practiced movements – let alone consideration of any philosophical parables that exist in the practice. It’s only through this disciplined, repetitive practice that the beginner becomes more advanced and finds themselves saying, “It’s easy, you just have to adapt.” This could be common in any askesis. The master has learned the truth in its simplest form, while the beginner sees the training as many truths that all must be mastered. The Zen monk says, “You just have to empty your mind,” the Christian says, “You just have to accept Christ as your Lord and Savior.” It’s easy, it’s right there in the name – you just have to Ai (harmonize) your Ki (energy).

Over several years of diligent training, I came to understand the mental-spiritual benefits of Aikido – what was left when you took away the also-beneficial physical aspects of the training. I’d come to understand the ‘truth’, which came with a ‘the more I see, the less I know for sure’ truth of its own. The more I mastered the techniques and the concepts, the more I had to acknowledge the gaps in my knowledge, though they were miniscule when compared to the gaps I had as a beginner. The last bit of mastery would take a lifetime to obtain. I had received many return effects: stillness of mind, organization of body, adapting to change, conflict resolution, all of which I could apply to my greater truth. Though, McWhorter writes, “Political spirituality occurs he says, when people willfully—meaning “with alertness to the creative dimensions of their project”—seek a new way to establish a regime of truth and a regime of self-governance, each by and through the other. This project is different from taking a scientific theory or an ethical code already in existence and working out a regime of self-governance” (McWhorter 4). This makes me wonder if I’d established a regime of self-governance or if I’d taken a theory or code already in existence. Surely, I didn’t become a spiritual follower of Ueshiba and I’d considered his ideas at face value, which included a dismissal of some of his ideas. But if that was his intent, then he had worked out his means of power. One has to consider that contemporary philosophers are going to say a lot ‘on record’, so as McWhorter points out differences (or evolution) in Foucault’s own philosophy over time, it can be found in Ueshiba or anybody who has lived in an age where much of what they’d said could be easily recorded. It could be that in contemporary (and maybe classical) philosophy, the accumulation of this power comes from saying a hundred things for one good one to stick.

On the idea of power, McWhorter further elaborates, “In sum, governmentality is the point of intersection between two areas of concern: (1) ‘technologies of power, which determine the conduct of individuals and submit them to certain ends or domination’ and (2) ‘technologies of the self, which permit individuals to effect by their own means or with the help of others a certain number of operations on their own bodies and souls, thoughts, conduct, and way of being, so as to transform themselves in order to attain a certain state of happiness, purity, wisdom, perfection, or immortality’” (McWhorter 6). Comparatively, Ueshiba writes similar ideas on his own Aikido practice when he examines ideas of power and self-governance: “When an opponent comes forward, move in and greet him; if he wants to pull back, send him on his way” (Ueshiba 65). And “Techniques employ four qualities that reflect the nature of our world. Depending on the circumstance, you should be: hard as a diamond, flexible as a willow, smooth-flowing like water, or as empty as space” (59). I’d never really considered this idea of an intersection between power and Übermensch training. But when I use that latter term to describe it, it makes more sense that radical self-governance or practicing to perfection is a way to create a power – a power over self that even with positive intentions, can lead to a de facto power or governance of others. Even if my goal was to become a skilled guitar player or needle-pointer, choosing to expose my mastery would inevitably lead to some sort of admiration, mentorship, community, or other source of power imbalance. In the case of Aikido, I’d found ways to incorporating into a realm of expertise when it came to teaching other things, like 911 dispatchers. Zen and the Art of Emergency Dispacth.

Eventually, I’d ‘mostly-mastered’ Aikido as a physical art and philosophical practice. I’d taken Ueshiba’s teachings and those of others and created my own version of Aiki. But was it a spiritual conversion? I still retain many of the skills I learned in the dojo, like adaptability and stillness of mind. O-Sensei writes, “To practice properly the Art of Peace, you must:  Calm the spirit and return to the source.  Cleanse the body and spirit by removing all malice, selfishness, and desire.  Be ever-grateful for the gifts received from the universe, your family, Mother Nature, and your fellow human beings” (Ueshiba 25). And I’d understood these practices. As best as I could while participating in a capitalist world. To compare that to Noddings’ A Skeptical Spirituality, “And rising a little after sunrise, I was awestruck by the colors on our bookshelves and library walls. At that time of the day, every part of the house colored by the northeast light is like a Monet painting in pinks and gold. But there is no need to analyze any of these experiences. The aesthetic yields spontaneously to the spiritual” (Noddings 264). If that qualifies as a spiritual experience, then it is what I may have experienced through Aikido practice. But it doesn’t feel like a spiritual epiphany or ‘Come to Jesus’ moment or series of moments, so I don’t consider it an act of faith or belief. A major qualifying factor was the fact that I siphoned through ideas and beliefs to find those that were most applicable to me, which makes it feel more like a practice in logic and rationale than one of spirituality. ‘Truth’ was found through dedicated Aikido practice, which provided me with benefits in return, but it doesn’t feel special or mystical. More like a sub-Zen enlightenment that could have come from mastering chili cook-offs or stained-glass making. Zen and the Art of Mixology. Anything that would require dedicated practice to reach a level of mastery that transcended the mechanics of the actual practice. Maybe this same mastery is required to be fully committed to a religion or faith and it’s not as easy as a spiritual moment of transcendence.

Works Cited

McWhorter, Ladelle. “Foucault’s Political Spirituality”. Philosophy Faculty Publications, University of Richmond: UR Scholarship Repository, 2003. https://scholarship.richmond.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1035&context=philosophy-faculty-publications, Accessed 21 May, 2025.

Noddings, Nel. “A Skeptical Spirituality”. Philosophy, Feminism, and Faith, Indiana University Press, 2003. https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/osu/reader.action?docID=141471, Accessed 21 May 2025.

Ueshiba, Morihei. The Art of Peace. Translated by John Stevens. https://web.phys.cmu.edu/~sgaan/webfiles/THE%20ART%20OF%20PEACE.pdf, Accessed 23 May 2025.