What’s Really Important, Anyway?
By Jeffrey
Agrell
Archery
Eugen
Herrigel was a German philosophy professor who went to
Tokyo for six years in the 1930s to study Zen. He was told
that he could not study Zen in the Western sense, that he
could only experience it through the study of a traditional
Japanese art. Since he was a hobby marksman at home, he
chose what he thought was the closest ‘art’: archery. As it
turned out, he might have made faster progress had he
chosen ikebana, the art of flower arranging, as his wife
did. He detailed his struggles in his classic book,
Zen in the Art
of Archery.
The professor was interested in mysticism, but he was
mystified by the approach to archery that he encountered:
for a long time, the novice archer was not even to try to
shoot at a target. The first entire year was devoted to
learning how to draw the bowstring back while breathing
‘spiritually’, that is, with effortless strength and
complete concentration. Then for another year Herrigel
worked on releasing the arrow. Just that. One year.
He suffered endless failures. His archery master told him:
“…you do not let go of yourself. You do not wait for
fulfillment, but brace yourself for failure. So long as
that is so, you have no choice but to call forth something
yourself that ought to happen independently of you, and so
long as you call it forth your hand will not open the right
way, like the hand of a child: it does not burst open like
the skin of a ripe fruit. … The right art is purposeless,
aimless! The more obstinately you try to learn how to shoot
the arrow for the sake of hitting the goal, the less you
will succeed in the one and the further the other will
recede. What stands in your way is that you have too much
willful will. You think that what you do not do yourself
does not happen.”
When I first read the book years ago, I had a lot of
trouble understanding the Master’s particular way of
describing the performance events. Purposeless? Aimless?
There was more.
Only after four (4!) years was Herrigel allowed to shoot at
a target. The process of drawing back the bowstring and
releasing had by now become an automatic ‘ceremony’. His
success was not measured by whether he hit the target or
not. A shot may have only grazed the target, but the Master
might say, “There! It shot!”
Huh? What was he talking about? It shoots? If I’m not doing it,
who is?
For ‘it’ to shoot, one must achieve ‘mushin,’ which
literally means ‘no-mind’. Herrigel said, “When mushin
functions, the mind moves from one activity to another,
flowing like a stream of water and filling every space.”
For some time I didn’t have much more luck than Herrigel
understanding this.
Herrigel: “And how does one attain this state of
no-mindedness?”
Master: “Only through practice and more practice, until you
can do something without conscious effort. Then your
reaction becomes automatic.”
Practice! Now there was something I understood. We were
getting somewhere. But I still had questions. What does it
means if you miss the target?
Master: “You can be a Master even if every shot does not
hit. … There are different grades of mastery, and only when
you have made the last grade will you be sure of not
missing the goal.”
What if you hit the target? Isn’t that really important?
Master: “The hits on the target are only the outward proof
and confirmation of your purposelessness at its highest, of
your egolessness, your self-abandonment.”
But Herrigel got into trouble when he gloried in making a
good shot.
Master: “What are you thinking of? You know already that
you should not grieve over bad shots; learn now not to
rejoice over the good ones. You must free yourself from the
buffetings of pleasure and pain, and learn to rise above
them in easy equanimity, to rejoice as though not you but
another had shot well. This, too, you must practice
unceasingly – you cannot conceive how important it is… What
stands in the way of effortless effort is caring, or a
conscious attempt to do well. To generate great power you
must first totally relax and gather your strength, and then
concentrate your mind and all your strength on hitting your
target.”
It was starting to make sense. The parallels with horn
playing were becoming clear, as were the lessons Herrigel
had learned:
•The key to success was learning and ceaselessly rehearsing
‘the ceremony’, which was a ritual of performance that
proceeded from a calm and focused mind.
•The key to the ceremony was focusing the mind on the (one)
thing the archer is doing in the moment. “The key is not to
think of doing things right every time; the thought seems
too overwhelming. Just do it right one time: this time,
right now. That’s all you ever have to worry about. Do what
has to be done, when it has to be done, as well as it can
be done, and do it that way every time.”
•The pursuit of archery (horn…) is not one of sport, where
you try to defeat an opponent or score bullseyes. The
target is yourself, mastery of yourself, to train the mind.
•”There is joy in the struggle.” See below.
Csikszentmihalyi
Many years after reading Zen in the Art of Archery, I came
upon the writings of Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi
(cheek-sent-me-high-ee), the University of Chicago
psychology professor who is known for his study of human
enjoyment. Csikszentmihalyi says that activities are
enjoyable when they have what he calls “flow.” Flow is
characterized by:
1.
Attention to a clearly defined goal. Achieving a higher
level goal requires going through a series of smaller,
easily achievable goals.
2. Pursuing the goals for their own sake, not for reward,
money, fame, etc.).
3. Feeling completely concentrated and absorbed in the
activity.
4. An altered perception of time – hours pass quickly.
5. Skills that match the challenge so that one has a sense
of control over one’s actions.
6. Actions during the activity are automatic.
7. No awareness of self. No thought of winning or losing.
8. Immediate feedback during the activity on how one is
doing.
This all adds up to a feeling: fun or enjoyment or
playfulness. Activities that produce flow produce
happiness.
It
might come as a surprise, but Csikszentmihalyi says that
you are most likely to get flow from your work, not from
entertainments. There is no flow in watching TV, for
example, because watching TV is passive. You need activity
and effort, challenges and goals. He also says that flow
results in personal growth, and that because of this you
need and want ever-greater challenges to continue the
development (when you can jump one rope easily, add another
jump rope!).
Put
Them Together and What Do You Got?
Although by the time I discovered Csikszentmihalyi I had
found ways of understanding Herrigel; it probably would
have been of much benefit to have read them at about the
same time, since they have much in common. Herrigel’s book
provides practical examples where Csikszentmihalyi gives us
a more familiar way of describing the process.
#1: Herrigel certainly had clearly defined goals. The
process was broken down into steps. Csikszentmihalyi says
steps between subgoals should be small and easily
achievable. Herrigel, however, was buffaloed for a long
time because he was applying his Western methods and
attitudes to a process that was profoundly different.
For some perspective, let’s imagine how a comparable
Western archery course might operate:
Day One
1.
Draw back arrow
2. Try to hit target
3. Repeat
Day
Two
Repeat
Day One
Note
that this approach barely breaks down the process; it does
not deal with breathing or concentration or making a
‘ceremony’ of the process. It has one value: hitting the
target, and striving for that goal happens with the first
shot and every shot. Consideration of the inner mental or
physical state of the archer does not enter in.
#2: Csikszentmihalyi says to achieve flow, goals should be
pursued for their own sake. Herrigel pursued archery for
knowledge and understanding, not strictly speaking for its
own sake. His ratiocination and desire to ‘succeed’ blocked
his surrender to the process for a long time and hindered
his learning the process.
#3 & 4: Concentrated… absorbed… time passes quickly. It
took time, but for Herrigel, by the time he mastered ‘the
ceremony’ of Japanese archery, this was certainly true.
#5: Matching the challenge to skills. Herrigel had
sufficient prerequisite physical strength and coordination
– his troubles were due to impatience, conflicting values
(hitting the target über
alles),
and trying too hard.
#6: Automatic actions. This is what ‘the ceremony’ was –
repeating the process calmly and well until it was
automatic and could proceed without interference from the
conscious mind.
#7: No thought of winning or losing, no thought of self.
Now the Masters’ statements ‘purposeless, egoless’ and
‘…rise above [hitting or missing shots] in easy equanimity’
make sense. The Master’s words “What stands in the way of
effortless effort is caring, or a conscious attempt to do
well” echo those of Western sage Dave Krehbiel, who
advocates what he terms ‘creative not caring’ to deal with
stressful performance situations.
#8: Immediate feedback. No lack of this for Herrigel.
Csikszentmihalyi says it all adds up to a feeling of
enjoyment or fun. Herrigel was not one to describe Zen
archery with a term as light-hearted as ‘fun’, but there is
no mistaking his keen enjoyment of the process at the end
of the story. He would very likely agree, however, with
Csikszentmihalyi’s word ‘flow’ to describe what happens in
doing ‘the ceremony.’
What’s
Really Important, Anyway?
One of the most important connections to me was the
Master’s ”There is joy in the struggle” – a simple and
elegant alternate definition of ‘flow’, and a statement of
the importance of the process over the product. The true
source of happiness by this light is losing yourself in the
process of learning the art. The antithesis of this is
valuing the product – the bullseye, the notes as depicted
on paper – exclusively. If Herrigel and Csikszentmihalyi
are correct, it suggests a revised value system of what is
important in the process of learning to play the horn.
‘Western’
value
•Product (accuracy of
re-creation of printed notes)
Student’s confidence and
self-worth rise and fall with the results of their accuracy
of reproducing pitches and rhythms on the printed page as
well as comparison with others (although every person is at
a different stage of his or her development); a player is
rewarded and esteemed at every at every step in the
educational process by this criterion. Breathing is
regarded as a technical aid, not as a focus for the mind.
Tension and stress are high for performers because of the
pervasive single criterion of accuracy. Overcoming this
stress and the negative physical and mental damages that
eventually accrue is the subject of many palliative
therapies, but none that address the cause rather than the
symptoms, i.e. a realignment of a fundamental approach that
values product over process.
Flow/Zen
art value
•Process, illustrated in horn playing terms:
–The
student is – from the beginning – impressed with the fact
that the
highest value is remaining calm, relaxed and
alert.
Comment:
1) This state is the basis for the correct process (the
‘spiritual’ way, the ‘ceremony’, ‘flow’). Product (the
notes and musicality) can flow with ‘effortless strength’
only from this basis. Product can, of course, be forced (as
the Master caught Herrigel attempting once), but this
amounts to reversing the entire value system and may lead
later to mental or physical breakdowns in the player and
greatly diminished enjoyment of the process. Food for
thought: Have you ever met folks who are really good
players but don’t really seem to enjoy playing that much?
Why do there always seem to be more job openings for high
horn than low horn…?
2) The goal of traditional Japanese arts is to train the
mind, i.e. to attain the state described above. The goal in
the West is to win. One of my favorite Zen sayings is “The
mind is drunken monkey,” i.e. something that is very
difficult to control. Why is it so difficult to control?
Although we often mistakenly consider the language-using
voice in our heads to be our personal identity rather than
something we can do, the highest value of the chatterbox in
our skulls is not necessarily what is in our best interest
– it is simply to keep making noise, and it doesn’t care if
the chatter is positive or negative. This leads us to a
corollary of the Zen quote: “Your head is not your friend.”
It is perfectly happy to natter on about negative or
irrelevant things when the best thing it could do might be
to be silent and observe the process of, say, picking out a
high note in a solo rather than criticizing, prophesying,
or regretting. The noted philosopher Frank Zappa said it
like this: “Shut up and play yer guitar.” Meditation is a
mental exercise in focusing the mind, one way to quiet the
internal radio, control the monkey. The archery ‘ceremony’
described by Herrigel does the same thing. We have great
need of rituals that bring us calm and quiet in a culture
that bombards us, floods our senses with information,
advertisements, endless sound and noise, hypernervous
half-second television edits, traffic jams, statistics,
overloaded schedules, short vacations, fast food taken on
the run, email/pagers/cell phones/laptops, work nights
& weekends, no time to say hello good-bye I’m late I’m
late I’m late–
We do in fact have ‘ceremonies’ in the West, although we
are not always aware of them or call them by that name.
Sports are replete with examples. Observe a major league
baseball player at bat some time: before every pitch he
will go through a ‘ceremony’, a ritual set of movements
that he uses to get himself in the proper alert,
concentrated, and relaxed frame of mind to face the orb
spinning at him at 90 miles per hour while millions of
people watch. Then think: what ceremonies could a horn
player have to face our difficult ‘pitches?’ Do we need
them any less than the baseball player? After all, he only
needs to hit the ball well three times out of ten to make
millions. Would your conductor be happy if you hit the
right note a mere nine out of ten times? It is very easy to
be seduced into going after the symptom, but we need to go
after the disease to cure the patient.
3) A yoga teacher of my acquaintance once suggested that
there are many ways to practice in everyday life what
Herrigel’s Master called the ‘spiritual’ approach. If you
are standing in a line at, say, the supermarket, and you
notice that the line next to you is moving faster and this
makes you frustrated and impatient – have a laugh at
yourself and go to the back of the line. Repeat until you
find detachment and can wait in line – go through the
process – with equanimity, calmness, and patience.
-All
playing begins with an easily attained goal, well within
the student’s capabilities.
Comment:
Southern Mississippi University horn professor Dennis Behm
tells a fascinating story about his encounter with a South
American principal hornist, who seemed to have no nerve
problems whatsoever when playing solos. When Dennis asked
him if he ever experienced dry mouth or shaky hands in
performance, the man answered, “Now why would I want to do
that?” When pressed to explain how he had achieved such an
enviable state of calm, the man said, in effect, where he
came from, Grade V players perform a lot of Grade III
music, at which of course they are very successful. In
North America it is more typical for a Grade III player to
attempt Grade V material with results that are less than
gratifying and which undermine confidence. Isn’t playing
with confidence another way to describe the ‘spiritual’
way, where a quiet mind does not interfere and allows the
process to happen?
–Many
repetitions of the successful passage (to automate the
process); then a small increment of difficulty is added.
Comment:
As with the South American example, it is easier for the
student to remain calm and not force since she experiences
repeated successes, and the repetitions make the process
effortless. The result is confident, enjoyable, accurate
playing – a prerequisite to be able to do what we all say
we’re here for: to make music. Perhaps our greatest enemy
in the West is impatience – if at first you don’t succeed,
force it. The entire force of the culture comes down on the
side of haste. We don’t think we have time to do it right.
We want to go on as soon as we finally get it right,
instead following it with “only 800 more correct
repetitions”, to use Richard Seraphinoff’s felicitous
recommendation (he’s kidding, but only a little).
–The teacher encourages the
student to remain detached from success or failure during
the process [playing].
Comment:
Nota bene: this not the same is ignoring success or
failure. It is simply awareness of the result without ego
attachment to it. A mind that makes the ego responsible for
inaccuracies tries to take over the process, to force. The
result is tension, stress, and increased inaccuracy. The
reaction should in fact be to re-examine the process to
return to the relaxed and alert state, and to reduce the
level of difficulty sufficiently to ensure success (see my
article “The Stepping Stone Approach” in the February 2002
issue of The Horn
Call). Success
without detachment
can be just as deadly. Ever suddenly noticed that it is
three-fourths of the way through a symphony concert and you
have not nicked a single note? And you start wondering if
you can keep up perfection all the way to the end? Guess
what is going to follow very soon after this?
In golf (which has many analogies to horn playing), the
only thing worse than a bad shot (after which you try to
force a good shot) is a good shot, where you try to force
re-creation of the success rather than returning to the
ceremony, setting up for the shot precisely the same once
again without a thought of the last shot or the next shot
or of failure or success. Just dance the dance once again.
Pro golfers are the Zen masters of the Western world in my
book.
In any case, detachment of the ego from the results of the
effort is essential to the correct process (= “spiritual”
approach). Rudyard Kipling in his poem “If” said it neatly
in one line: “If you can meet Triumph and Disaster and
treat those two imposters just the same…”
To sum
up: maximum effectiveness and maximum enjoyment are the
results of valuing process over product, a process that
includes relaxed alertness and focused concentration, many
accurate repetitions, small increments in difficulty over
time, detachment from success or failure, and eventual
automation of the process.