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 It is the responsibility of all budoka - Master or Student - ​

to maintain their dojo as a place for the noble use it was

intended​ a place for following the Way.

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The first thing you notice is the silence. It emanates from an atmosphere that seems to simultaneously draw you in, and yet, is a forbidding barrier, a warning that entrance will not be easy; that familiarity with this place will not be granted quickly. The traditional dojo (training hall) has the power to intimidate as well as intrigue, and for the beginner entering study there, it's likely to do both.

 

For its long-time inhabitants, the dojo is a site that borders on the sacred. It's a place for the battles against fears and egos. The dojo generates such a feeling of respect and reverence among veteran budoka (warriors) that a few years ago in Japan a class of them at a university dojo were horrified when a throng of rock fans cut through the training hall on their way to a concert. Police were called to halt the carnage that ensued.

 

All this austerity and semi-religious devotion might be hard to understand for martial artists whose dojos are littered with trophies, decorations and ornate furnishings. These are martial artists who've become accustomed to regarding their dojo simply as a gymnasium. Likewise, it's difficult to imagine coming to grips with one's ego and fears when surrounded by an array of saunas, hot tubs and weight training equipment.

 

But the dojo isn't a place for display, nor is it intended primarily as a building for physical fitness exercise. Those affectations, common to many contemporary martial arts schools, have nothing to do with training in the real budo (way of the warrior). At best they're a distraction; at worst they can completely destroy any opportunity for the martial ways to become a meaningful way of life. With traditional dojo at a premium for the martial artist in the U.S. and Canada, it's important to understand three things: 1) why the dojo must remain the way it was originally intended, 2) what the dojo represents, and 3) what budoka can do to maintain its traditions and purpose in the modern world.

 

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Dojo Origins

道場 起源 

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Of course, the first training ground for feudal martial artists was the battlefield, where instruction was negligible and a "good student" was synonymous with "survivor." As with many martial traditions that influence the budo today, the dojo as we know it is a result of the formulation of ryu (systems) in the late 15th century. This codified the fighting arts of the Japanese warrior and gave them stability, allowing their transmission to new generations. As distinctive ryu developed, specific buildings or areas were set aside in which schools for ryu could be maintained.

 

Were the original dojo vast palaces maintained by feudal lords for their samurai? Probably not. Actually, most lessons received by the samurai were given in small dojo found in their own quarters or outside in the castle gardens. The majority of the dojo were somewhat like private businesses (although their masters and students would never have thought of them that way) operated by families who taught. Such was the case with the main Yagyu shinkage~ryu dojo, built by the Yagyu family while they were still vassals of the Miyoshi daimyo (feudal lord). It continued as a private enterprise after the clan was granted diamyo status by the shogun. Other dojos were under the specific authority of a lord, such as the school of the itto-ryu, which was maintained under the patronage of the Tokugawa shogunate. Still other dojo functioned strictly as commercial schools of instruction, much like today's typical school.

 

 

By the end of the 15th century, when the martial arts were almost entirely under the purview of the ryu system, the average bujutsu (martial arts) dojo was a small, simple building, often hidden away in the forest or out in the fields. This distance allowed members of the ryu to learn in private, which was a considerable advantage when the secrets of one's school could mean the difference between life and death in a battle or duel. Then, too, the small size and simplicity of the dojo encouraged the student to fully concentrate on the action within.

 

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Why Dojo are Revered

道場は、崇敬さなぜ 

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Whatever the exact manner in which the dojo was operated, or whatever its size, as a center for martial arts instruction it was very important to old-time Japanese martial artists. As a hub for training in the crafts that could save his life and the fortunes of his daimyo, the samurai considered the dojo to be something special. This is one reason for the veneration of the dojo that began during that age. The other is the close connection between many of the classical martial disciplines and the native religions of Japan. ​

 

Because the ryu often depended upon a belief in divine guidance or on secret, religiously oriented rituals to reinforce its methods, the dojo assumed a elevated significance. In fact, the founders of many early ryu were believed to have had instruction from deities in the formation of their systems, thus giving to the school an added luster and appeal. In time, the founders were enshrined in their dojo as a kind of ancestor deity.

 

Ienao Choisai, for example, is said to have been granted the secrets of the Katori Shinto-ryu by a winged mountain spirit while he sat under a peach tree. In the original version of the story, Ienao was given those secrets by a kappa, an ugly little water sprite that inhabited boggy ponds, but the story was later changed to give it more class. Today, the carved effigy of Ienao rests on a special shelf at the Katori-ryu dojo.

 

The respect the classical warrior afforded his dojo is evidenced by the word itself, which is borrowed from Buddhist terminology. In that faith, the dojo is a temple's inner compound, a place of worship- a place (jo) to follow the Way (do). Although this origin might lead to the assumption that the dojo is a church or temple, that isn't entirely accurate. In truth, many early dojo were contained in Buddhist temples for the same reason that village meetings, weddings, and other social events were held there: Often a small hamlet's temple was the only large building around.

 

Therefore, they were used as repositories for official records, villagers' savings and for martial arts training halls.

 

This tradition has continued on. In the late 19th century, when Jigoro Kano established judo, he opened his first dojo at the Eisho Temple in Tokyo. He and his disciples stayed there until the vibrations of their falling bodies on the mats kept shaking ancestral tablets off the temple's altar, forcing the priests to ask him to leave. And it was no coincidence that the first dojo in Hawaii and California built by emigrating Japanese were housed in Buddhist churches as well, since those were the center of community social activities and were obvious sites for judo training.

 

 

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Modern-day Dojo

現代 道場 

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Nowadays in a traditional dojo, it's common to see certain objects that appear to have religious meaning, especially kamiza, small shrines on the wall that are usually adorned with votive offerings; and gohei, twisted strips of paper.

These shrines, however, are not dedicated to a god, but to the spirit of some master of the school. At one of the original aikido dojo of Morihei Uyeshiba, a kamiza houses his spirit, yet it, and other kamiza, isn’t really articles of religious faith.

 

The dojo isn't a church or temple; it's not a gym, either. In our fitness-conscious society, the local gym has become a gathering place, taking the role once played by neighbourhood bars. Members attend gyms to lift weights, run or swim - all the while chatting with old friends and making new ones. It's a festive atmosphere. The same, though, cannot be said of the dojo. It isn't a place for entertainment or for relaxing through exercise. Instead of an escape from the rigors of everyday life, which a gym provides, the dojo is a place for confronting these rigors.

 

In fact, all the fears, problems and worries of everyday life are concentrated in the atmosphere of the dojo. The office worker who's shy when dealing with fellow employees will find it even more difficult to be shy with others who are trying to throw him all over the room or are smashing kicks and punches at his body. The macho laborer with a condescending attitude toward women finds no haven in the dojo either, because he often meets females who are more skilled than he is. He takes instruction from them and must treat them as seniors.

 

This is a crucial distinction between a gym and a "place for following the Way." At a gym, although it might not be immediately apparent, most members indulge themselves. They engage in demanding exercise, but nearly all of it is self-directed. Even those who enroll in classes at a gym don't really think of themselves as submitting to an authority; namely, the teacher. The aerobics instructor, for example, is more of a guide, an equal who just knows more about one area of fitness than class members. And if business or personal matters come up, the time at a gym is pushed aside with perhaps a twinge of regret, nothing more.

 

But the situation is remarkably different at the dojo. There, no one is allowed to indulge themselves. Each person is expected to make a totally committed effort. Nor do budoka walk into the dojo saying, "Tonight I'll work on my kicks," or "This session I'll concentrate on sparring." The course of instruction is decided by the sensei (instructor). It's impossible to leave class if something arises during the lesson that isn't appealing.

 

The sensei, rather than merely being an instructor, is actually a monarch in the dojo. He must know what members need in their training and should direct even the more advanced students with a rigid discipline. Why? Because he believes, just as many martial artists have believed since there were dojos, that humans are basically lazy. They must be directed along a path, especially if, as in the budo, that path is uphill and rocky. So instead of indulging himself, the budoka confronts himself critically, starkly, and with an honesty which leads to improved skill and character.

 

Because of the severity of such an approach, it's no surprise that the dojo must meet requirements necessary to achieve the aims of those training inside it. Upon entering a dojo for the first time, most people are struck by its bareness. Walls are usually paneled in plain wood. The floor is wooden, too. A visitor's section may be provided with a few chairs, but it's rarely large or comfortable, because the budo is a discipline you do, not watch. There is little to distract from the goal of self-perfection sought by every student. If the dojo is used for studying a budo that includes weaponry, racks of weapons are unobtrusively hung on the wall. 

 

As mentioned earlier, the only ornaments are usually found at the front of the dojo, or the kamiza (kami means "up- per," and za is a seat or position). The kamiza is the position of the spirit of the dojo, or where the sensei himself is seated during training. It is often a shallow alcove in the wall or a shelf. But whatever its construction, it's considered to be the center of the dojo and is approached with special respect. The kamiza may be marked by a portrait of the founder of the particular budo being studied. It may have a small Shinto shrine, sometimes called a butsuden, and there might be a few other odds and ends. Karate dojo often have a row of makiwara (padded striking posts). Yet, the dojo's overall appearance is plain, which allows for minimum distraction.

 

Accordingly, the dojo is always kept clean. The students, crouched over, make long swinging sweeps with dampened towels, scouring the dojo floor with greater care than they probably show for the floors in their own homes. The reason for this ritual (known as soji) is purification, not so much for the dojo's sake, but for the budoka. The visitor watching the end of a training session may see only a class of students, whooping and charging up and down the floor, mopping with furious enthusiasm. But the martial artist's soji isn't all that different from the stern-faced Zen monk's samu, work done with a single-mindedness that's a kind of moving meditation. Through a ritual of cleaning his place of training, the budoka involves himself in prescribed action that cleanses his mind and instills sincere thoughts. When he leaves, the dojo floor is ready for the next class, and he is humbled and ready to face the outside world.

 

Modest, unadorned and spotlessly clean - these are the hallmarks of a traditional dojo. Surprisingly, though, they might require a bit of searching. Ten years ago, ornate trappings and a Chinese restaurant-like decor might have impressed prospective students, but as the public is becoming more informed about the real martial ways, such gimmicks lose their appeal. Visitors at a dojo who want to start training there are often interested in a long-time commitment. They want spiritual and mental development, exercise and skill in self-defense. They're more likely to be impressed by the somber, atmosphere of a traditional dojo than gimmicks. And once entered, they're more likely to continue training there because of that environment. It promotes the dignity and character that are the highest goals of the budo.

 

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*Don't be discouraged if your dojo isn't exactly like the ones described here. Such a condition doesn't necessarily mean the spirit of the martial ways isn't being upheld at your dojo. But just as the budo have a rigid path laid out for the development of their disciples, so too must the dojo conform to certain prescriptions if it's going to be used properly.