What's in a bow?

For the past several weeks, I have been having a discussion with a colleague about reishiki, the bowing ceremony at the beginning and end of practice. Reishiki, regardless of style, has a few things in common - bowing shows respect for the space, the teacher and fellow students. In iai, reishiki also involves paying respect to the sword. Reishiki sets off the practice time as being special time. It allows students and teachers to leave their non-dojo cares outside the dojo and concentrate on the practice at hand. At the end of practice, reishiki (generally done with the series of bows in reverse sequence from the way they were done at the beginning) returns participants to their outside, daily lives.

There are many other layers to reishiki, however. My teacher used to say that the first and last bow of our reishiki, which was made to a shinzen - a scroll of calligraphy hung in the dojo - was to acknowledge the presence of the divine. Bowing to the shinzen in this way is similar to some Japanese dojo, which have a small kamidana (lit. "god shelf," a small Shinto shrine, mounted high up on the wall, holding some sort of sacred object). In multi-religious America, the divine could be interpreted in any way an individual preferred. Our shinzen featured some of sensei's calligraphy with a very basic meaning: "Great universe, great god spirit." My teacher liked to say that since the divine was, in reality, everywhere, the shinzen itself simply provided a place to focus attention and bring it to mind. Other dojo bow to photos of teachers past (many aikido dojo have a photo of Ueshiba Morihei). Some even have a photo of a living teacher, which I find somewhat shocking (among some Japanese, a framed photo of a living person suggests death, and would therefore be bad luck), but that is their choice.

As the above example illustrates, reishiki vary widely, from style to style and even dojo to dojo. Federations have standardized reishiki, and learning to perform them properly is part of how students are judged for rank, and even competition, for those that hold them. Reishiki has even come under fire outside Japan for being overtly religious; one instructor who was renting a church basement for an iai class had to relocate after some parishioners mistakenly assumed that reishiki was some sort of pagan ritual, and therefore unacceptable in their space. A number of years ago some atheist judoka filed a lawsuit that they should not have to bow before stepping onto the mat at competitions, similarly claiming the performance of reishiki was forcing them to acknowledge Shinto as a religion. They dismissed the idea that a bow can simply be a way to show respect to the space where they were about to perform.

I find it intriguing that people attribute such power to an act that involves a simple bend from the hips, whether standing or sitting. The way a group approaches reishiki shows how the members view their practice, and what their practice says about them. For example, in one iaijutusu style, when recovering from a seated bow to the sword, the participant pulls back the right hand first, quickly, and the left hand more slowly. The way this movement is performed is to suggest that the participant has no intention of suddenly drawing his sword against anyone present. Some groups begin with the sword placed at the right side, making it difficult to draw; others place the sword on the left side, making it much easier. Edge facing away from the iaidoka (potentially easier to draw) or facing towards her (making it more difficult)? I've seen both.

Then there's adaptation. My colleague pointed out that in an old film of an iai demonstration before the Emperor of Japan, the great teacher Nakayama Hakudo, rather than having his sword at his side while performing a seated bow, placed it behind him, as if to say, emphatically, that he intended no harm to anyone there; and meant, instead, the utmost respect to his audience. This extreme formality also showed a sense of flexibility in adapting reishiki to specific circumstances, and not just following a choreographed ritual.

In addition to the formal bowing rituals at the beginning and end of practice, there are bows between partners who are working on kata together (in some styles, this is referred to as sonkyo). Like the group bows, these paired bows say a great deal about the nature of the practice. For example, in SMR jodo, the jo and tachi sides place their weapons on the floor, then step back from them. They bow to each other from a distance, then return to retrieve their weapons, all while maintaining eye contact. Other pairs, such as those who practice Tendo ryu naginata, advance towards each other. The naginata-holder touches the blade end of the weapon to the floor, but maintains control over it, and simply touches her non-weapon hand to the floor as a gesture of respect.

The way of accomplishing reishiki, sonkyo, or any other form of courtesy bow for a given style shows the attitude of the practitioners. Bowing in this case is filled with meaning, including issues of zanshin - the ability to maintain a sense of awareness even when not actively involved in a kata - as well as a sense of trust or lack thereof. Generally speaking, bowing is done with a bend from the hips, keeping the head and neck aligned with the spine. Dropping one's head shows a lack of awareness, as the person bowing will not be able to see her partner, or anyone else who may be peripherally in view. In contrast, keeping the head up while bowing is considered rude, perhaps a too-overt way of saying the partner should not be trusted.

Some teachers take a great deal of trouble to teach not only the proper movements of reishiki, but what the movements actually mean. In contrast, others only teach the most perfunctory of bowing rituals, as if reishiki was something to be tossed off and dispensed with as soon as possible before getting to the "good stuff" of actual practice. The emphasis (or not) placed on reishiki says a lot about the teacher's attitude towards what they have learned, and, in turn, the attitude of who they learned from, and so on. In contrast, there are also teachers outside Japan who insist on bowing at the beginning and end of every kata. In some ways, this is almost as bad as not bowing at all; as the students have no idea of what a bow really means. Ideally, one should bow at the beginning and end of practice, as a group. Otherwise, one should bow to a new partner in a rotation; though I would venture to say that when we only have 3-4 people in our jodo class, it seems redundant to bow amongst ourselves on every rotation, but I have trouble convincing my students of that. Perhaps it's just as well - better too much respect than too little.