Striving towards any grade is a personal journey. Nevertheless, a grade is considered a demonstration of a certain standard of embodied kendo knowledge. Or is it? Can the standard be performed, without the knowledge or ethics being embodied? Is 7‑dan a standard you can perform well enough to pass?
I have always wondered whether it is responsible to reward grades with power when gradings are ultimately performances. Some individuals excel at the performance aspect of gradings. The power awarded with 7-dan―for example―can outlive the grading performance and can be more influential than the kendo knowledge, pedagogical skill, ethics and altruistic contribution that 7-dan signifies. Perhaps it is an ideal that fails to match how authority is maintained in kendo. Or maybe this is an idealised version.
For me personally, working towards 7-dan personally feels very different from the other grading processes. I am at another stage in my life, where I am less motivated by extrinsic reward and I feel calmer in myself. I care more about what I think and how I move through kendo and my life. This mindset is changing how I approach everything. The way I engage with my values have shifted. Maybe I am seeking authenticity and kindness now in an increasingly inauthentic and unkind world. What can we do but seek light and be kind in a time that grows darker around us.
For better or for worse, I see more clearly how power, people, and institutions work. As a nexus. It is difficult to unsee these things and to believe in the institutions you once had trust in when you see how power operates. What people do to keep power and accumulate power. Specifically how institutional cogs maintain themselves—most often at the cost to, and harm of others. The “others” being the smaller cogs that keep the big ones—the rusty and greasy ones that need replacing―turning. The ones where their gold plating thickens around their base of low density and cheap metal. How do these porous tin souled cogs come to operate the main machinery?
Institutions that cultivate a moral aura—whether religious or pseudo‑religious cultures like martial arts—often present themselves as ethical. We expect these institutions to be safe because they claim themselves to be safe and morally reliable.
Those who seek security and safety place unwarranted trust in institutions that brand themselves as structured by ethics and intrinsic reward. For example, the inner feeling of reward through autonomy, growth, competence, and genuine belonging that comes from the practice itself and being part of a healthy community. The validation comes from belonging and feeling that you are becoming a better version of yourself. Yet autonomy—one of the central qualities intrinsic reward is meant to foster—is notably absent often in martial arts. Which is why martial arts cultures thrive on people not being autonomous, as they are essentially built around authoritarian systems of power. You are awarded (allowed access) if you abide by the conventions and punished (denied access) if you don’t.
There is great harm when martial art institutions—for example—fail to live up to what they claim themselves to be. Especially when they position themselves on some kind of moral high ground, promising to open gate after gate to new levels of spirituality and competence through ascending martial art grades. Albeit that the opening of the gates is conditional and costly. These gates open with extrinsic rewards such as high grades, titles, praise and commendations. Institutional approval provides access, but access can itself become corrupting. Power holders continue to seek validation and accumulate power to preserve both the value of the rewards and their own relevance.
The distinction between intrinsic and extrinsic rewards matters because extrinsic rewards shape what people are motivated by and how people behave within hierarchically organised communities. Grades and competitive success become markers of status, and people “buy in” to these based on what those markers signify and promise to deliver. But what exactly do the grades and achievements deliver? What matters is what we perceive they give us—maybe they support us to feel better about ourselves or, paradoxically, show us what is lacking in ourselves.
Motivation can be strengthened when people feel they have opportunities for autonomy, competence, and belonging in martial arts. Motivation can be supported through both extrinsic and intrinsic rewards. However, an excessive focus on extrinsic rewards can make autonomy, competence, and belonging in martial arts appear fragile and fleeting. An emphasis on extrinsic rewards reinforces dependency and deepens institutional control.
Eventually, this can erode one’s motivation in martial arts and create a feeling of disillusionment and self‑blame—as individuals begin to internalise the institution’s failures as their own shortcomings, believing they were not disciplined enough, devoted enough, or worthy enough to access the rewards the system promised. Or because they could not accept their experiences of discrimination and harassment as something they were expected to endure alone, without support from those in power.
In this way, consumerism sneaks into even the more “sacred” spaces of martial arts. The branding of grades, titles, and competitive success becomes something that costs us with our trust, time and money. Once you see how these systems operate, it becomes difficult to unsee it and not become disillusioned.
The thing is, people can step into martial arts with the assumption that they can pursue intrinsic rewards and that this process will manifest personal meaning, competence and belonging with autonomy. Yet, just like any other institution, martial arts are in a generally extrinsic‑reward oriented. These rewards decide who is competent and who is entitled to lead. Who really belongs.
In this way, martial art organisations can be self‑deceiving. They believe they are different from other institutions, yet they also reproduce a reward‑based hierarchy. In some ways, institutions claiming to be ethical are more harmful because the power is blindly believed to be in trustworthy hands—hands assumed to be ethical simply because they belong to those who hold high grades..
With these changes and insights―and the state of the world right now―it has been difficult therefore to be motivated with the same drive as my previous grading, competitive and coaching goals in kendo. I know it is important to have goals, as they keep you on track―but they need to excite you and symbolise a meaningful reward that is worth the hard work, time and money. In the absence of such drive, sometimes the approach is what needs changing, not the goal itself.
Perhaps it is simply the difference between a goal being driven by intrinsic reward rather than extrinsic reward―with honesty and integrity. Once you see the fragile, performative veneer of extrinsic reward, it becomes clear how these rewards can mislead and manipulate people and keep the cogs turning.
I reflect on motivation and reward more so now that I am training to be a qualified high school sport teacher. I have always had an interest in coaching, specifically the psychological aspect, and I now find myself back where I started before my PhD path. I am very grateful for all the life experiences I’ve had in the 15- years between. This teaching course has poured some excitement back into my 7‑dan journey as I learn more about the importance of pedagogical competence.
As I continue on my path, I reflect on 7‑dan as a role with great pedagogical responsibility and on my own development. A strong focus on extrinsic reward—especially grades—can easily reduce intrinsic motivation. When the grade becomes the goal, the practice risks shifting from genuine development to performance. This is particularly visible at higher levels, where the symbolic weight of 7‑dan can overshadow the deeper purpose of the rank which I consider to be the ability to guide others—well and continue one’s own pedagogical and technical skill development
My path to 7‑dan now being more of an intrinsic reward centred adventure. I have become interested in kendo again—in mastering my skills through practice, observation, and reflection on my own kendo practice and teaching. I have also become more critical of what 7‑dan should embody and represent for myself. Seventh dan is, after all, a pedagogical role, a role of duty and service—not just a position of power that assumes a level of kendo.
A way to avoid getting pulled into status‑driven motivation is—with firm intention—to cultivate intrinsic motivation in myself and others, and through doing so—promote autonomy, competence, personal growth, and belonging. This, I believe, aligns kendo with its philosophical roots of self‑mastery through training and ongoing self‑reflection. It requires taking responsibility and genuine interest in one’s own development and in others, but in a way that encourages autonomy, competence, and belonging—not dependency. That is the compass I choose to follow in the day‑to‑day work of life‑long becoming—directed by my own guidance.
Blog Series: One Step Closer (Personal Journey to 7 dan)
#1 One Step Closer: Starting Again.
#2 One Step Closer: Standing Tall.
#3 One Step Closer: Being Comfortable in Open Space.
#4 One Step Closer: Connecting with Ki.
#5 One Step Closer: Connecting and Communicating.
#6 One Step Closer: Showing Myself.
Kate Sylvester Perspectives 