is not encouraged and is likely to be frowned upon by the teacher. Such uncritical acceptance and practice of standardized techniques is difficult for many Westerners, who are accustomed to questioning and modifying what they are taught to suit their own needs.
There is a Japanese word — ji — which refers to the technical aspects of a Zen art. In kyudo, ji refers to the techniques found in hassetsu, the eight stages of kyudo. However in kyudo, as in all of the Zen arts, mere mastery of ji, or techniques, is not seen as the endpoint. In order to understand this, it is necessary to consider another Japanese word that is closely related to ji. This term is ri and it has no English equivalent. Ri can best be understood as universal truths or as the underlying principles of the Universe.
Ri is formless and unchanging. Ri is ineffable; it is impossible to describe adequately underlying principles in words. Because principles have no form, the way they manifest themselves will vary from situation to situation. Specific manifestations of ri also are referred to as ji. Thus, in the Ways, techniques are seen as specific manifestations of the underlying principles. Ji is an embodiment of ri in specific situations, but is not itself ri in the same sense that a specific recipe is not in itself the underlying principles of cooking.
It is possible to gain a high level of proficiency in an art by mastering techniques. For example, one might be able to become skillful in self-defense by mastering the techniques of judo or karate-do, just as one might be able to become an accurate archer in kyudo. But this is not the intent of the Ways. Mere technical mastery is not true mastery. To rely on techniques means that one is limited to the specific techniques at which one is proficient. In this vein, Leggett writes:
The individual techniques learned in one of the arts will never fit the circumstances. Even in judo, where the techniques are very numerous, one tends to rely on certain ones which have been mastered, even if they are not absolutely appropriate. There are means of forcing the situation a little to bring off a favorite trick. This is skillful ji, but it cannot be said to be ri.2
True mastery comes when one understands the underlying principles of the art.
One example of ji and ri, techniques and underlying principles, in kyudo is found in the process of aiming. There are several accepted techniques of aiming. In one such technique, called the "moon at daybreak"3 the kyudoka (practitioner of kyudo4 ) positions the bow so that the area of the bow directly on top of the grip blocks the center of the target from the kyudoka's vision. Since that part of the bow is wrapped with thin pieces of cord, it is possible to count, or estimate, the number of wraps one sees below the center of the target when one hits the target. Through trial and error the kyudoka can find a sighting point on the wrappings which is likely to produce accurate shots, just as one adjusts the cross-hairs on a rifle sight. However, to rely on this technique has certain limitations. First, the level of wrapping used for sighting will vary from bow to bow depending on the thickness of the wrappings. Second, the thrust of a bow varies with the temperature and humidity. Thus, different sighting points would have to be established in accord with different climatic factors. Similarly, the speed and the direction of the wind can also affect the arrow's trajectory and thus would also have to be taken into account. Finally, to say that one can actually establish an exact sighting point is an oversimplification of what actually happens. No kyudoka, regardless of his level of proficiency, can hold the bow and arrow perfectly still. This is more true in Japanese than in Western archery due to the mechanical differences between modern Western bows and the traditional Japanese bow. Even with a kyudo master, at full draw one will notice that the tip of the arrow oscillates. While the range of the oscillations is slight, it is enough to mean the difference between hitting and missing the target. The kyudoka must somehow "decide" at what point in the cycle of oscillations to release the arrow. It is not possible to describe adequately how this is done, for it is done by feel, by intuition. Any technique, such as the moon at daybreak method of sighting, is only an approximation of what occurs in a proper shot. Such a technique can only bring a kyudoka to a certain point. After that, his intuition must take over. When done properly, the specific techniques of shooting are transcended as the kyudoka transcends ji and acts in accordance with ri. In the Ways, ji connotes skill and ri connotes inspiration. When one sees into the underlying principles, one's performance becomes inspired.
Understanding the principles underlying a Zen art is not based on cognitive or intellectual understanding. Rather, it is based on an intuitive awareness of the underlying principles of the Universe as they apply to that particular art. It is a form of Zen insight as it applies to that particular activity. For that reason, Leggett describes the Ways as "fractional expressions of Zen in limited fields."5
Because they are formless, the underlying principles of an art cannot be fully described nor directly taught. The philosophy of teaching in the Zen arts is to teach underlying principles through the repetitive practice of techniques. The techniques of the arts represent formalizations of the masters' understandings of the principles. They can be seen as approximations of the underlying principles. Thus, hassetsu is a set of techniques that are at best approximations of the naturally correct way to shoot an arrow. These techniques can only bring the student to a certain point. Each student ultimately must see into those underlying principles by himself. This can only be done by endless repetition of the eight stages of kyudo. This leads to a deeper explanation of the saying "thousands of repetitions and out of one's true self perfection emerges." In kyudo, as in the other Ways, Zen understanding—discovery of one's true self—comes only through disciplined, repetitious practice.
HASSETSU
(The Eight Stages of Kyudo)
CHAPTER 2
Breathing, Posture, and Concentration
Zen without realization of the body is empty speculation.
Omori Sogen Rotaishi
During my first week at Chozen-Ji, Tanouye Roshi gave a special lecture to the four of us who were live-in students. The topic of the lecture was the principles of zazen. It was then that I first heard the above quote of Omori Sogen Rotaishi. It is a fundamental reality of Zen and a corner stone of the philosophy of training at Chozen-Ji. The statement emphasizes that Zen is not just a philosophy or an intellectual system; Zen realization is physical as well as mental. This is a difficult concept for many Westerners, especially those exposed to Zen by books only. In fact, it is common for books on Zen to begin with caveats about overemphasizing the value of words. Unlike some of the other sects of Buddhism and other religions, Zen does not stress the study of written scriptures. Direct experience and action are the important things to the Zen student. The Zen student is not asked to accept to doctrine on faith. Rather, he is asked to train so that he might have personal experience of the Oneness of the Universe. The key to this
