Dojo Reishiki
Philosophical Foundations, and Psychological Implications
“Shinza ni… Rei!”
“Sensei ni… Rei!”
“Yudansha ni… Rei!”
“Mokuso…”
These commands echo throughout countless schools around the world, and for many of us, they are just as important a part of our Way as the uniforms we wear.
While such classical reishiki has all but disappeared from such modern arts as judo and karatedo, it remains an intrinsic part of the more traditional styles. But, although students adhere to the rituals, in all too many cases that is all they do - the reishiki has lost its true meaning and people merely walk through the ceremony with little understanding, and less appreciation, of what it is that they are actually doing.
So, let us take our dojo reishiki apart and see what is really happening, going past the surface actions and looking at the essence of the various rituals.
The dojo
We start and finish every training session with reishiki to the dojo itself, reaffirming its importance in our lives. This begins with a ritsurei as we enter the room, continues with a zarei after we step onto the mat, and culminates with a formal zarei during the class-opening ceremony. Three bows, but are they three different bows? And, if so, is the difference qualitative or quantitative?
Let’s start with the standing bow at the door. Exactly what are you doing, and why are you doing it?
This reishiki is to the room in general and you are merely showing, with a simple physical action, that you acknowledge its existence as a special place: you set it apart from kitchens and closets, offices and conference rooms. When you bow you are, in effect, declaring, “This room is different from all other rooms in my life.” The ritsurei, therefore, should be toward the center of the dojo and directed to the room in general.
Philosophically, this action is based on the earliest form of Shinto. In ancient times a sacred place was designated by planting four posts in a square and stringing a rope between them to act as a simple fence, and entering this area was always preceded by a purification ritual. We continue the tradition by removing our shoes, donning a clean uniform, and washing our hands prior to entering the dojo.
This Shinto heritage is why hardcore traditionalist become very upset when they observe a student wearing a soiled uniform or, even worse, with a dirty body. Even if they don’t understand why they feel this way, they tend to regard such students as a personal insult. And well they should, for you cannot retain the purity of a special place if you allow impure people to have access to it.
The psychological implications of this attitude should be obvious. By acknowledging the unique nature of the dojo, you also accept the fact that it places unique requirements on your behavior and act accordingly. Please note, however, that this psychological transformation will only occur if you do your reishiki with the proper attitude - If you merely bow (with your body), you remain the same person as you were prior to entering the dojo.
There is a secondary aspect of the initial reishiki that comes into play if other members of the dojo are present. In this event, your bow is also an acknowledgment of their presence. You are greeting your dojo family, not just bowing to students of the school, so this contributes to your psychological transformation as you enter the room.
So, your actions when you enter your dojo have a purpose far beyond that of simply showing respect to the place. Rather, these actions are designed to transform the individual. Based on ancient Shinto rituals, every stage of the ceremony should contribute to the purification of the spirit and the discipline of mind that is required for proper study.
Having said that, I should also note that donning your uniform is an important part of this ritual. Quite simply, it should not feel like putting on any other form of clothing and it should have a profound effect on your mental attitude.
Now let’s move on to your second bow, which is just after stepping onto the mat. Although many students merely do a quick ritsurei to show respect at this point, that negates the essential purpose of the reishiki. You have already shown respect to the room (when you entered the dojo), so there is no need to do so again.
The second bow should be qualitatively, different from the first one. Whereas the initial ritsurei was essentially Shinto in character, now you must shift to Butsudo. In other words, this bow should be of a zen nature. You step onto the mat, sit in seiza, and with a few controlled breaths bring your spirit to Center. Then, maintaining this focus, you carefully bow to the center of the room.
Again please note the fundamental difference between the first and second bows. At the entrance, your focus was external; on the mat, your focus is internal. You are preparing yourself and, when you do the zarei, you are stating, “Now I am ready for a proper training session.” And, as was the case with your initial bow, if this one is not done with a proper mental attitude it will be a complete waste of time.
Once this stage has been completed, one or more other bows may be required if there are seniors on the mat. This reishiki is Confucian in style, as it affirms the hierarchy of the dojo family. Your zarei to a senior, therefore, it’s not so much a sign of simple respect as it is a reaffirmation of relative status. When you bow, you acknowledge the authority of a person who will teach you; when the senior returns the bow, he acknowledges that it is his responsibility to teach you. You bow more deeply than the senior because his knowledge will have a profound influence upon your martial arts career; the senior does a small bow because you only represent a tiny fraction of his teaching responsibilities.
Next we come to the actual class-opening ceremony, and this again is pure Shinto.
The ritual begins with a sound: hyoshigi, a drum, a bell, or at least a clapping of hands. Although this serves as a signal for everyone to line up, it is based on the traditional approach to a Shinto shrine: the sound is intended to alert the resident kami to your presence.
Once everyone is in position—note that lining up in order of rank is a repeat of the Confucian affirmation of hierarchy, with its associated responsibility and authority—there may or may not be some additional ceremony. This may take the form of opening the doors to the shrine (often done only on special occasions) or lighting incense (although normally a part of Buddhist ritual, as the entire dojo reishiki is a blend of several different philosophies, incense may be regarded as appropriate if desired). These additional ceremonies are always done in a formal manner, and with great dignity.
Finally comes the command, “Shinza ni… Rei!”
“Bow to the shrine.” So, what’s the big deal? Well, that sentence is supposed to be more than just words, and the bow is supposed to be more than just a physical ritual.
This is important, and it rates a much closer look than most people give it. Did you ever stop to consider what these words actually mean? Their exact meaning?
神
座
に
礼
Shin - za ni rei
Although your kanji dictionary probably defines shin as “God,” you let this definition become colored by your western religious education. While the kanji is used when writing about Western religions, it has a much more general meaning than Western words such as God, Christ, or Allah.
If you break the shin kanji apart, you will find that the left position is the radical form of shime(su), “to show.” (The right side is used for its sound, shin.) Therefore, a better translation of shin which has a kundoku reading of kami, would be “the non-physical aspect of something.” (i.e., that property which may not be seen or measured.)
The second part of the word, za, also has a more general meaning. Although this kanji may be used when discussing the physical act of sitting or when talking about a chair, it may also denote a platform, a pedestal, or even “the seat of power” of a government. In combination, these two kanji give us a meaning of “the location of the non-physical aspect of the dojo.”
It is important to note at this point that there is no one-to-one correspondence between Japanese and English, and anytime you attempt to make such a direct and literal translation you are committing a grave error. Kanji are, after all, ideographs. They are designed to transmit ideas, not words, and you should adopt a poetical rather than a scientific attitude when dealing with them.
The theory behind the shinza is actually quite simple, and it is a variation on the Shinto theme:
By definition, there is more to a person than a physical body. You may call this non-physical portion the life force, the soul, ki, or anything else you wish, but it is hard to deny its existence.
They are varying degrees of this life force.
If the life force of a group is intense, it tends to infuse the room.
If this infusion of spirit is focused, the resulting “hot spot “is what we call the kami.
A common mistake is to define the kami as the spirit of the dojo. This is not quite correct. It is the unified spirit of the people within the dojo that creates the kami, and the spirit of the kami is its Tama.
Simply put, the Shinza is the residence of the kami, it is the seat of the spiritual power of the dojo.
It should be obvious from this discussion that there are several things which can interfere with the process of creating a dojo kami.
If the spirits of the students are weak, the kami will never form.
If the individual spirits of the students are disorganized, the kami will never form. This is why you never find a dojo kami in a nontraditional school. In addition to doing the same physical things, the students must be forced to think the same and feel the same, which requires the discipline and ceremony of a traditional dojo.
If a proper Shinza has not been provided the kami, although present, will be so diffused as to be unnoticeable. It doesn’t take much: just a simple little wooden house, with a door for privacy, is enough.
The question now must be, is there really such a thing as this non-physical aspect of the dojo? “Of course there is,” you say. OK, now prove it.
Can this be proven, or is it something which should be accepted on faith? Remember, we are Budoka, not mystics, and that means we must test our techniques. We test everything in this business, from methods of breathing to mental attitudes, to see if they will improve physical techniques, and the existence of the dojo spirit should be no different.
Actually, it’s not hard to convince anyone of the existence of the kami. I can well remember doing so some years ago after the consecration of the shrine at a new dojo.
At the completion of the ceremony I requested the audience to turn to the left, close their eyes, and compare the way the skin on the left and right sides of their faces felt. (When you do this, if there is in fact a kami present, you will always feel a sense of warmth and pressure on the side of your face which is toward the shinza.) I can still see the visiting judo instructor, with a very strange expression on his face, shaking his head in amazement, and I could almost hear him thinking, “No! No! I simply will not believe this.”
So much for the first word of our command.
Ni is simply the particle of location and, in this usage, it means “toward.”
Finally, there is rei. Although this may be translated as a “bow“ or a “salutation,” like the other kanji it too has a broader meaning. So, when you think of this word, make sure you include the concepts of propriety, courtesy, respect, and appreciation.
This, then, gives us a true meaning for the command, “Shinza ni rei!“ This is not just a bow to honor the dojo; it is a group ceremony of respect to ourselves. The dojo kami is nothing but the focal point of the group spirit. It was created by the group and it is the group.
Visualize this: the entire shomen wall of the dojo is one huge mirror and, when you bow, you are bowing to the reflections of your fellow students (and also to your own reflected image). Now increase these images to include those of every person who has ever set foot on the mat in this dojo since the day it was founded. Now compress the mirror to a single brilliant point of light, then put the light in a wooden box. That is what you were bowing to.
What about the instructor who simply can’t make himself believe in the existence of a dojo kami? Or the one who, despite the non-religious, Shinto nature of such a thing, still feels that it conflicts with his Western religious beliefs? In such cases, a tokonoma (alcove) is normally used, and the command would be, “shomen in rei!” There is nothing whatsoever that is religious about such an alcove--it is purely an artistic device used to create a physical focal point in a room.
When a tokonoma is used in place of a shinza, it will typically contain a kakimono (hanging scroll) of relevance to a spiritual aspect of the art. The scroll in the Hoshin Dojo in San Diego, for example, has the phrase “No path, no gate.” So, the reishiki to a tokonoma would be a reaffirmation of your dedication to the philosophy it expresses.
Is it possible to combine these divergent philosophies, and possibly toss in a few more (such as Christianity) for good measure? Sure. Why not?
The Japanese have been doing so for centuries. There was a time when almost every shrine of any size also contained a Butsudan, and Buddhist sutras were even read during Shinto ceremonies. Actually, Buddhism, and especially Zen Buddhism, with its “pull yourself up by your own bootstraps” philosophy, fits in quite nicely with the mind-set of classical budo.
The critical point is that, no matter what the precise philosophical base of the dojo reishiki happens to be, it should also have a definite psychological goal. Properly executed, the ritual should force the student into an awareness of where he is, what he is going to be doing, and how he should do it.
At a simple level, such an awareness is required for physical safety - without it, people get hurt. However, at a higher level, this reishiki serves as both a guide and a motivation to the inner realms of the way.
The Hierarchy
Upon completion of that portion of the ritual which is focused on the dojo, it is time to honor the hierarchy.
“Sensei ni… Rei!”
“Yudansha ni… Rei!”
Again, as we did with the previous command, let’s take a closer look.
先
生
に
礼
sen - sei ni rei
Sen means “priority” or “precedence” and sei is “birth.” A literal translation, therefore, indicates someone older than you are and who has more experience. This word has a very Confucian flavor, and it implies a social as well as an intellectual superiority.
A word about Confucianism before we continue: Most Westerners, although they have heard of Confucius, are a little vague about his philosophy. Basically, Confucius (Koshi in Japanese) believed that social harmony could only be achieved if there was “a place for everyone, and everyone in his place.” This meant that individuals on the lower rungs of the social ladder should show proper respect and obedience to their seniors, and those on the upper levels should be considerate and responsible for their juniors. Note that the philosophy works equally in both directions: it is just as concerned with how a ruler behaves towards his subjects as it is how the subjects behave toward the ruler.
So, the word sensei, although it may be used as a generic term to designate any person who knows more than you do about the martial arts, also may indicate quite a bit more than that. In the case of your sensei, the term designates the person who is the head of your dojo family. And, as the head-of-household, this places some great responsibilities on the person so designated.
Actually there are many more similarities between the father of a family and the sensei of a group of deshi than there are differences. Like the father, the sensei must always place the needs of the group above his personal desires. As the Japanese saying goes, “Death is lighter than a feather; duty is heavier than a mountain.” Both the Sensei and the parent soon come to understand this.
The “… ni rei“ of the command has the same meaning as before, and you must still remember to include the concepts of propriety, courtesy, respect, and appreciation.
Therefore, when the class bows to the sensei, they are doing more than simply showing respect. There is also an appreciation for what he has done and what he will do, a show of courtesy to a person who is their elder (in dojo years if not an actual years), and a demonstration of their acceptance of the dojo hierarchy.
Much the same can be said of “Yudansha ni… Rei.” The command signaling the bow to the black-belts. A literal translation of yudansha is “exist-rank-person,“ indicating that these people actually hold rank in the ryu. (Mudansha hold rank in the dojo, but not in the ryu.) As the sensei occupies a higher social status than these people, your bow to the black-belts should not be quite as deep. It is, however, still done with the previously noted mental attitudes.
The psychological purpose of reishiki to the hierarchy of a dojo is simple: it accelerates both the teaching and the learning process. When you honestly acknowledge that your seniors are in fact senior, you accept whatever they say and your life becomes very simple - one question, one answer, no discussion and no doubt.
A note for kyokaii: in study groups where everyone is junior, the term sensei should not be used. As the leader of the group isn’t farther up the ladder than the other students, treating him like the sensei would be disastrous. A kyokai should be run like a committee, and you want everyone to feel free to question things.
Yourself
Now comes the final command of the ceremony: “Mokuso…“ The literal meaning of the word is “silent-thought” and, although we commonly use this time for zazen, that is not its true purpose. Zazen is done with a goal of mushin (elimination of all thought). Mokuso, however, implies thinking. This means that it should be an active process, not an attempt to bring everything to a stop.
This period should be used for some silent introspection. Now is the time to look at what you have accomplished in the past, set your goals for the future, and dedicate yourself to giving this class the very best that you have got.
Note that mokuso is essentially Buddhist in character. You are “pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps.” Your sensei can’t help you, your sempai can’t help you, and your fellow deshi can’t help you—you must do it all by yourself.
In schools teaching the sword, mokuso saw may be replaced by “katana ni rei” which has much the same purpose, but focuses your attention on your sword. Yes, the ritual does show respect for the sword, but the true purpose is simply to increase your awareness of it. A three-foot razor blade is not, after all, something which should be treated casually.
This, then, is our dojo dojo reishiki. It starts when you step through the door and continues to the final, “Yame!” And, if you have conducted the ceremony properly, you are now psychologically prepared for what is to come.
As I said at the beginning of this article, there is a lot more to it than a few simple, physical actions.
The End
