Zen in the Art of Archery - Eugen Herrigel [21]
During these weeks and months I passed through the hardest schooling of my life, and though the discipline was not always easy for me to accept, I gradually came to see how much I was indebted to it. It destroyed the last traces of any preoccupation with myself and the fluctuations of my mood. “Do you now understand”, the Master asked me one day after a particularly good shot,” what I mean by: “It shoots, It hits?” “I'm afraid I don't understand anything any more at all,” I answered, “even the simplest things have got in a muddle. Is it “I” who draws the bow, or is it the bow that draws me into the state of highest tension? Do “I” hit the goal, or does the goal hit me? Is “It” spiritual when seen by the eyes of the body, and corporeal when seen by the eyes of the spirit — or both or neither? Bow, arrow, goal and and ego, all melt into one another, so that I can no longer separate them. And even the need to separate has gone. For as soon as I take the bow and shoot, everything becomes so clear and straightforward and so ridiculously simple. ...”
“Now at last”, the Master broke in, “The bowstring has cut right through you.”
IX
More than five years went by, and then the Master proposed that we pass a test. “It is not just a question of demonstrating your skill,” he explained. “An even higher value is set on the spiritual deportment of the archer, down to his minutest gesture. I expect you above all not to let yourself be confused by the presence of spectators, but to go through the ceremony quite unperturbed, as though we were by ourselves.”
Nor, during the weeks that followed, did we work with the test in mind; not a word was said about it, and often the lesson was broken off after a few shots. Instead, we were given the task of performing the ceremony at home, executing its steps and postures with particular regard to right breathing and deep concentration.
We practised in the manner prescribed and discovered that hardly had we accustomed ourselves to “dancing” the ceremony without bow and arrow when we began to feel uncommonly concentrated after the first steps. This feeling increased the more care we took to facilitate the process of concentration by relaxing our bodies. And when, at lesson time, we again practised with bow and arrow, these home exercises proved so fruitful that we were able to slip effortlessly into the state of “presence of mind”. We felt so secure in ourselves that we looked forward to the day of the test and the presence of spectators with equanimity.
We passed the test so successfully that the Master had no need to crave indulgence of the spectators with an embarrassed smile, and were awarded diplomas on the spot, each inscribed with the degree of mastery in which we stood. The Master brought the proceedings to an end by giving two masterly shots in robes of surpassing magnificence. A few days later my wife, in an open contest, was awarded the master title in the art of flower arrangement.
From then on the lessons assumed a new face. Contenting himself with a few practice shots, the Master went on to expound the “Great Doctrine” in relation to the art of archery, and to adapt it to the stage we had reached. Although he dealt in mysterious images and dark comparisons, the meagrest hints were sufficient for us to understand what it was about. He dwelt longest on the “artless art” which must be the goal of archery if it is to reach perfection. “He who can shoot with the horn of the hare and the hair of the tortoise, and can hit the centre without bow (horn) and arrow (hair), he alone is Master in the highest sense of the word—Master of the artless art. Indeed, he is the artless art itself and thus Master and No-Master in one. At this point archery, considered as the unmoved movement, the undanced dance, passes over into Zen.”
When I asked the Master how we could get on without him on our return to Europe, he said:
“Your question is already answered by the fact that I made you take a test. You have now reached a stage where teacher and pupil are no longer