The Legacy and Modern Practice of Hapkido

Nikky

Alright, let’s dive into this—Hapkido. To those who don’t know, it’s that lesser-known sibling of Taekwondo. But, in a way, it’s...kinda the cooler one. You know, less flashy, more versatile. Hapkido deals with joint locks, throws, and some seriously ruthless kicks—with this emphasis on adaptability in a fight, which is pretty wild when you think about it.

John

Exactly. And at the heart of it lies Choi Yong-Sool—the man often credited as the founder. He, uh...he returned to Korea after World War II, bringing with him techniques he purportedly learned during his time in Japan, under the instruction of a Daito-ryu Aikijujutsu master, Takeda Sokaku. Now, that connection has been a point of controversy—but there’s no denying the influence Japanese styles had on the joint manipulation and throwing principles we see in Hapkido today.

Nikky

Wait—let me get this straight, John. Are we talking about, like, a blending of martial traditions here? Because it sounds like Choi took these Japanese elements and fused them with distinctly Korean kicking techniques—which, honestly, are a beast of their own—

John

Precisely. Korea already had a rich history of martial practices, from Subak to Taekkyeon. These arts emphasized footwork and striking—skills that complemented what Choi brought back. And this synergy, this melding of techniques, really started the Hapkido we see today. It’s fascinating how it wasn’t just about, you know, the physical moves, but also about cultural reclamation.

Nikky

Cultural reclamation? Oh, you’re talking about post-war Korea, right? Yeah, that totally tracks. Occupation by Japan had suppressed Korean identity for decades, right? So after liberation, there was this...I don’t know, this fire to find and revive pieces of their heritage, and martial arts played a huge role in that.

John

Yes, martial arts became emblematic of that revitalization. Hapkido wasn’t just a combat style; it became a cultural statement. And it wasn’t just Choi driving this—Ji Han-Jae, one of Choi’s most prominent students, was instrumental in shaping what Hapkido became. He introduced key innovations—enhanced kicks, breathing exercises, and distinct philosophical threads tied to Korean traditions.

Nikky

Right, Ji Han-Jae! He’s the guy who really pushed Hapkido into the spotlight, isn’t he? Like, founding dojangs in Seoul, teaching military units...basically marketing the art to the world?

John

Exactly, and he also coined the term Hapkido—or at least popularized it in the 1950s. His contribution to articulating and spreading its philosophy can’t be overstated. I think his approach gave Hapkido the structure and—even identity—it needed to stand apart from other martial arts. Without him, it may have remained just a regional variation.

Nikky

It’s wild to think about how a handful of innovators can shape something so monumental. Hapkido isn’t just history, it’s philosophy, it’s tradition—and honestly, a little bit of rebellion...it’s just so layered.

Nikky

You know, John, speaking of Hapkido being so layered, there’s one part of it that’s always intrigued me—its philosophy. It’s not just about wrist locks and killer kicks, right? There’s this whole concept of “flow” and, uh, not resisting force—which is kinda counterintuitive when you think about fighting. Circular motion, adaptability...what’s up with that?

John

Ah, yes, those principles are at the heart of Hapkido’s ethos. Circular movement—or Won—is foundational. The idea is that rather than meeting force with force, you redirect it. It’s incredibly efficient because you use the opponent’s energy against them, disrupting their balance.

Nikky

So instead of, you know, brute strength, it’s like—I don’t know—judo for momentum? You’re just steering the action?

John

Exactly. And it goes hand-in-hand with Ryu, or adaptability—flowing like water. Situations change rapidly in combat. You can’t anticipate everything, but you can cultivate the ability to respond fluidly, without rigidity.

Nikky

Right, like water filling a gap, adjusting—

John

Precisely. And Hwa—harmony—is about blending with the attacker’s energy rather than opposing it. These concepts aren’t just techniques; they reflect a mindset. You control chaos by staying calm, almost meditative under pressure.

Nikky

Meditative—wait, is that where Ki fits in? Because, I’ve gotta admit, “harnessing energy” always sounded more...you know, Jedi than practical.

John

Fair take. But Ki in Hapkido functions more tangibly. It’s less mysticism, more synergy—your breath, posture, and focus aligning to produce control and precision. In a way, it’s like biomechanics wrapped in a philosophical bow. Though, yes, some schools do lean closer to esotericism.

Nikky

Okay, so we’re talking breathing, movement—it’s like fine-tuning a machine, but the machine is, well, you.

John

Beautifully put. This integration of mind and body cultivates resilience, both in combat and life. These principles didn’t exist in a vacuum—they were shaped by Korea’s culture and history, absorbing influences from Confucian hierarchy, Buddhist mindfulness, and even shamanistic elements.

Nikky

Wait, shamanism? Like rituals and spirit stuff?

John

In a sense, yes. The idea of unseen forces or energy—what we interpret as Ki—has roots in Korea’s spiritual traditions. And then there’s Buddhism, which brings the ideas of impermanence and mindfulness. That ties into adaptability—nothing is fixed, so you stay flexible. Confucianism adds structure and respect for hierarchy, which you see in dojang etiquette.

Nikky

Man, it’s like a philosophical buffet! Hapkido really pulls from everywhere to create something bigger than the sum of its parts.

John

It does. And these threads elevate Hapkido beyond a mere martial art—it becomes a way of moving through the world with balance and intention.

Nikky

And speaking of how it draws from so many influences, John, the sheer variety of interpretations in Hapkido is wild. Every teacher seems to emphasize their own philosophy or technique. But seriously, how do we even figure out what counts as “true” Hapkido?

John

Ah, the perennial question. Defining “true” Hapkido is as elusive as pinpointing its exact origins. Part of the issue lies in its fragmented history. Branches split early, with students diverging from their teachers, adapting techniques, and sometimes even rewriting the narrative of what Hapkido should be.

Nikky

Right, and some of it, let’s face it, feels like a political power grab. “My lineage is purer than yours!” It gets... messy.

John

Precisely. In many cases, the debates come down to ego and pride. But there’s also something fascinating about that chaos—it speaks to Hapkido’s adaptability. Each lineage can emphasize different elements: self-defense, traditional forms, or even modern practicality.

Nikky

Ah, yeah—that’s what I experienced traveling. Some schools? Hardcore on joint locks and throws. Others? It was all about these fluid, beautiful kicks. And still others were like, “No, no, no, we’re about ki and philosophy.” Honestly, it was amazing, but, uh, a little overwhelming, too. Like, where do you even start?

John

It depends on what you’re looking for. And that’s the beauty of it, really. Hapkido is a broad canvas. Some schools focus heavily on weaponry—adapting techniques for modern contexts, like baton and even firearm disarming. Others lean into the traditional, meticulously preserving forms and rituals.

Nikky

Yeah, I saw that in... what was it, Thailand? A dojang where they trained with short sticks and canes—and, honestly, it was wild how practical it felt. Like, self-defense you could actually use, even walking through a sketchy alley. No flashy kicks, just... efficient.

John

Exactly. And that practicality has been central to Hapkido’s modern appeal. It’s not about spectacle; it’s about efficacy. But still, at its core, the art retains its roots—principles of flow and respect, whether you’re practicing in a high-tech gym or a rural dojang.

Nikky

Which makes it such a cultural anchor, right? Like, everywhere I went, even in fringe or hybrid schools, you could feel this strong connection to an identity—a story being told through movement.

John

Yes, martial arts often serve as cultural vessels. Hapkido, with its rich heritage and diverse expressions, becomes a way for Koreans—and now the global community—to preserve and adapt tradition. It balances being grounded in the past while evolving for the present.

Nikky

And, you know, that’s what keeps it alive. It’s messy, sure, but it’s alive. Every wrist lock, every perfectly timed kick, every philosophical debate about ki—it’s all part of something bigger.

John

Well said. Hapkido reminds us that harmony doesn’t mean everything is uniform—it’s about finding balance in complexity. And that’s... quite profound when you think about it.

Nikky

Alright, so what’s the takeaway here, John? For you, what’s the essence of Hapkido?

John

For me, it’s the interplay of discipline and adaptability. It teaches you to control yourself first—your body, your mind—and then apply that to your interactions, whether combat or life. It’s deeply personal, but also universal.

Nikky

Couldn’t have said it better myself. And for anyone out there wondering if it’s worth stepping onto the mat—yeah, your wrists might hate you for a while, but trust me, it’s worth it.

John

Absolutely. On that note, thank you for joining us as we’ve explored the layers of Hapkido—from history to philosophy to its evolving practice. It’s been a pleasure.

Nikky

And that's a wrap. Catch you next time—same time, same dojang. Stay curious, folks!