- Dave Lowry
- Aug 12
- 4 min read
There's something powerfully intimidating about a traditional dojo. It looks like nothing we have in the West.
What is intimidating is the emptiness of it all. There’s nothing to distract, nothing to divert one’s attention. The emptiness, severe and silent, can work on the mind.
This emptiness is deliberate. Life is full of distractions. Many of them serve to keep us from looking into ourselves, a process that can be uncomfortable. We can distract ourselves with video games, sports and entertainment of all sorts. The budo can be distractions, as well, if we dress them up with unnecessary stuff. Instead of that quiet, utterly simple space, the dojo can turn into a carnival of distractions.
Then, too, there are those additions to the dojo that are well-meant, that are supposed to make it look more “authentic” but that are really inappropriate. Here are a few examples.
The Torii
Sometimes, the front wall of the dojo is decorated with a torii, a familiar part of Shinto shrine architecture. A torii is a “gate,” a pair of horizontal lintels stretched across a couple of upright posts.
One usually stands at the entrance to a shrine or somewhere on its grounds. It signifies that you're passing through a barrier, a transition into an area that’s sacred or special.
In some dojo, a torii is built against the front wall, meant to frame the kamiza, or altar. But if it’s against the wall, it’s no longer a gate. You can’t pass through it.
In this context, it makes no sense.
Further, “dojo” is originally a Buddhist term for a part of a temple.
Yes, the boundaries between Shinto and Buddhism are vague — a dojo typically has that Shinto-based kamiza at its front — but a torii in a dojo is a weird combination, one virtually never seen in Japan.
Fountains
Fountains are another dojo distraction one sees frequently. Gurgling fountains, with water pumped over rocks and sometimes with plants arranged nearby, are found in many a dojo corner. I’m not sure why.
Perhaps it’s because running water is somehow associated, in the Western mind, with the Asian affinity for nature. Maybe it’s a nod toward Taoist thought. Maybe it’s supposed to have a calming, meditative effect.
Again, the intention may be good, but fountains and other decorative garden art don’t have any place in a dojo. If the property has room for a garden outside, that’s nice. Within the dojo? Limit the fountains to the drinking kind.
Buddhist Statuary
Buddhist statuary also shows up in some dojo. Replicas of the Buddha statue at Kamakura, Japan — seated in a cross-legged position, hands in his lap — seem to be a particular favorite.
Buddhism has a deep relationship with Japanese martial arts. Most classical koryu arts have strong ties to specific Buddhist deities. It’s not uncommon to see, usually depicted on scrolls that hang in the alcove, images of them. Marishiten, the goddess of the Pole Star, is a common Buddhist deity associated with the traditional arts.
However, the connection between modern budo like karate and Buddhism is pretty thin. No matter how deep my devotion to Christianity might be, I wouldn’t have a cross in my dojo. Most sincere Buddhists would feel the same about statues of the Buddha.
Kakemono
Kakemono, or hanging scrolls, are a common feature of dojo space. They’re usually calligraphic, something brushed by the art’s founder or a senior teacher. The characters may be nothing but the name of the art. Or they might express a fundamental principle.
These have value — in addition to the fact that they’re a personal connection with a teacher or a master — in that they express a unifying concept of that art. As such, they’re appropriate.
What is not appropriate is some scroll that’s generic or mass-produced and that has no specific connection to your art or lineage.
Trophies
Trophies. OK, I’ll give you this one. If you want to display a shelf of trophies collectively won by your dojo, fine. I have to wonder why, however. The average person who walks into your place — and if you’re a dojo owner, you should never forget this — is motivated by fear.
He has come there because he’s afraid of violence and worried about his ability to meet it. He wants a solution to that fear, a way to address it. He does not come because he wants to be a champion or win contests.
For many people, the rows of trophies they see walking into a dojo for the first time is intimidating. “Gee, if the people here are that tough and skilled, is there really any place for me?” they might wonder.
Dragons and Other Décor
Next are dragons. Yes, they look cool. No, they don’t belong in the dojo. Neither do those smiling, waving little cat statues — or tigers, cobras, “Sumo cat” posters or other supposedly Asian things like gongs, rattan furniture and “Zen pillows.”
They make the space look less like a dojo and more like a corner of a Pier 1 store.
There’s a starkness to the traditional dojo. It seems empty. It’s not. The need to fill it is natural, but you should avoid it.
Go to the dojo not for the distractions. Go to look deeply into yourself.
