by Ellis Amdur; Edgework, 2000, 219 pgs

Dueling with O-sensei (subtitled: Grappling with the Myth of the Warrior Sage) has got to be our favorite martial arts book of all time. Unlike most martial arts books, however, this one has no photographs or illustrations, and spends very little time discussing technique; instead, Mister Amdur shares with the reader bits of history, philosophy, anecdotes, personal observations, and his thoughts on how these topics are all interrelated.

"If there were an "ordinary martial arts book," this would be its evil twin. Unflinchingly honest, writing from a perspective both authoritative and unique, Amdur explores aspects of budo, its philosophies and dilemmas, its remarkable rewards and yes, its pathologies, in a way no other author has. He does so with humor, compelling creativity, and a wickedly sharp-edged insight that makes this book a delight."

— Dave Lowry, author of Persimmon Wind (from the back cover)

Mister Amdur’s company, Edgework, among other services, offers consultations and trainings concerned with people "on the edge" of suicide, violence, or severe character disorder. His unique perspective as an experienced mental health professional enables him to present the aforementioned topics in a whole new light. This book is brilliant.

Ellis Amdur

17171 Bothell Way NE, PMB 201

 Seattle, WA  98155

Most of the essays in this book were previously published in Aikido Journal over a four-year period. A few brief excerpts from this masterful work follow:

"More often than not, martial traditions deteriorate after only a few generations. There are several reasons for this: First of all, the conditions of the society change, and the art becomes an antique rather than an entity still actively part of the social network; second, successors imitate what is manifest in the tradition, but have no access to esoteria, including mystic practices and hidden applications that are essential to the real practice of the art.

Contrary to popular belief, rote learning has never been the central method of training in martial studies; it is only so at the beginning stages. If the art is not revivified in each generation, it will die. Giving life to a martial tradition is accomplished neither through lifeless imitation nor through immature innovation." (pp. 21-22)

"Although immensely skilled, he frequently injured his own students, who responded like abused children, idolizing him for his violence, and in turn abusing others weaker than they were. In other words, they reframed the implications of being abused, and rationalized it as "strong teaching." The main lesson they learned was that the acquisition of power was effected by means of violence against those who trusted you." (p. 43)

"I think he was aware that, at that time of my life, all I cared about was that my instructors were stronger and scarier than I. All I was interested in was whether they could teach me something new about combat. If they were violent with their families, untrustworthy in business, or anything else, I though that none of it would stick to me, that I would add their technical knowledge to my own solid, intrinsically moral personality, and all would be well. In the course of the conversation, (he) quietly said, "be careful with whom you choose to study. You will become who they are, and if you haven’t chosen wisely, you’ll suffer and other people will too."" (pp. 83-84)

"From the time my children were very small, I — like so many parents — began to teach them about not trusting strangers. I went beyond this, teaching a secret code word, without which they should never accompany anyone, even if they said I or their mother was sick or injured. It hurt my heart to damage their natural trust in other people, but I realized that I hadn’t stolen it at all. It was the perverts who would hurt my children, not me, who had stolen their innocence. When my younger boy was about four-and-a-half, someone tried to kidnap him. He bit his way free. Without my teaching him how to defend himself, where would that child be today?" (p. 81)

"New-Age America produces books and workshops on the "New Warrior," a man or woman who lives impeccably — austere, protecting the weak, willing, perhaps, to stand his or her ground and fight, but more important, calm and graceful — the warrior as metaphor. We imagine the warrior in bed, in the boardroom, in marriage, the warrior on the golf-course. But these writers seem to forget that the warrior’s values, as admirable as they may be, are won at terrible cost. The warrior as metaphor often offends me, because the battlefield stinks of blood and shit, and sings of screams and flies. Certainly the values that writers such as Dan Millman extol are admirable, but I would hesitate to call anyone a warrior unless we are not talking about a fellow ubermenschen, but instead a deeply flawed and guilty human being, who strives at the risk of the loss of comfort, of home, of even his or her own soul to protect what must be protected, to maintain a moral sense in a place where no morality can conceivably exist. (p. 121)