Nyoho 如法
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Things done or made according to the dharma
Following our practice theme for 2024, lineage and legacy, in 2025 we embark on an exploration we're calling Tangible Thusness, a deep investigation of the teachings of nyoho, or things done or made according to the dharma. Here at Sanshin, we sometimes put a lot of attention on seemingly-abstract teachings from the Buddha, Dogen, and our 20th century ancestors; Tangible Thusness is our opportunity to experience the truth of these teachings in our concrete, everyday lives.
Over the course of 2024, we organized our understanding of the main practice points and themes this dharma family has inherited from our 20th century ancestors--Sawaki Roshi, Uchiyama Roshi and Okumura Roshi--and of course, those are based on teaching that go all the way back to Shakyamuni. They're not really new inventions, but taken together they outline a particular approach to practice. Sawaki Roshi was one of the driving forces of the 20th century nyoho-e (robes made according to the dharma) movement in Japan. Guidelines for making, wearing and encountering robes in this way are traceable to the Vinaya, some of the earliest Buddhist texts. In 2025, we're expanding on this direct connection to nyoho by considering all of its traditional three faces: clothing, food and shelter. Over three four-month segments, we'll explore each of these in turn, seeing what we can learn about the specific face and also how we can apply those teachings throughout our practice life. These three faces are three ways in which we give shape to the dharma. Yes, everything is already not separate from the dharma, or a complete manifestation of the dharma, but these things we encounter everyday are huge dharma gates for really experiencing and understanding that. The dharma isn’t something grandiose "out there." It’s right here in food, clothing and shelter. Everyone eats food, wears clothes and lives somewhere. What does it mean to approach our lives from the standpoint of the dharma of thusness? The central question of nyoho is: does this thing create attachment or clinging? As we know, grasping and clinging are the root causes of suffering, so we can see that embracing nyoho really gets to heart of our practice. Because we may associate it with exotic looking robes and formal meals, it can seem like something extra. In fact, it’s exactly the opposite. At Sanshin, our particular approach to ritual is "nothing extra." Likewise, nyoho is really radically nothing extra. It’s not something we layer over our practice: it’s about seeing all the way to the bottom, seeing everything as it really is. If nyoho is really radically nothing extra, then it’s certainly consistent with Sanshin’s style of practice. The three elements of nyoho
tai 体 : Materials
We use appropriate materials that aren't going to cause suffering, either because they're likely to create attachment or because they are procured in some unwholesome way. Generally, nyoho materials are unpretentious, fit for purpose, and often local. The kanji here usually means body or physical form; in everyday Japanese, it's karada. The sense here is shape, form or substance. It can also mean posture, so I immediately think not only of zazen but of deportment, form and ritual. How are we embodying or giving shape to the dharma? Shiki 色 : color
The colors we use are also those that don’t cause attachment and suffering. We sometimes think of these as broken colors, not clear primary colors, or white or black -- something indistinct, muddy, and not flashy. For instance, black is technically not a nyoho color because historically a truly black dye was expensive and fancy. Robes weren’t black, they were a very dark blue or rusty brown, and yet today we associate black with Zen practice in many ways. It 's just one of the many differences between nyoho and the Sotoshu standard; these two approaches have found ways to coexist. Shiki can also mean tone, personality or atmosphere, so again, nyoho applies to more than a concrete object with a visible color. However, it’s also the kanji we use for rupa, as in namarupa, name and form. Of course, we encounter namarupa in the most basic Buddhist teachings. This is the "form" element of the five skandhas, and it’s at the beginning of the twelvefold chain of causation, where we give things names, decide what their relationships are to us, and make them objects of our thinking. Are we encountering things and seeing their color simply because our eyes interpret the wavelength of light in a certain way, or are we immediately deciding whether this thing is pleasant, unpleasant or neutral, and adding an extra tone or quality? RYO 量 : Amount or size
Ryo points us to the first two elements of Dogen’s Hachidainingaku, or Eight Awarenesses of Great Beings
Under nyoho, when we think about ryo, there’s an expanding scale. We start with the individual: an okesa, for instance is made to the wearer's chu size (the measurement from elbow to fingertip), so we have to calculate the size for each person. At meals, we take as much as we need and not more. After the individual, we size things according to the group. How much space does this sangha need in order to function? How many chant books or parking spaces does it need? For the tenzo, awareness of amount is critical. Dogen reminds the tenzo to count not only all the people in the zendo, but also those who may be out of the zendo doing work, and everyone in the infirmary when planning for meals. Beyond the immediate group, we can think about nature. How much contamination can nature take before it starts to break down? How much warming can the ocean take on before it changes our weather? Nyoho characteristics
unpretentious and unassuming
One thing we notice immediately about nyoho objects is that they are unpretentious and unassuming. They’re usually sort of muted. They don’t stand out. They’re not flashy or shiny; they don’t call attention to themselves. That doesn’t mean they’re not made or used with a high degree of skill. During our sesshin, we try to be completely silent. That means more than just not talking--it means paying attention to how we're moving through the space and handling things, because it's when we stop paying attention that we make avoidable noise. The muted nature of nyoho objects might be the same. There’s nothing extra, but there’s nothing left out. They don’t make avoidable or unnecessary noise. They might look sort of shabby, but they’re not proud of looking shabby; that would be extra. In the Zuimonki, Dogen frequently mentions the importance of being poor or practicing poverty. He’s speaking to the ordained sangha in this case, but we can certainly take on board the reminders about nonattachment and not grasping. The challenge is to have a modest life and then not become attached to who we think that makes us. Sawaki Roshi used to say that every good act is a bad act: everytime we’re doing something we label as "good," we’re creating delusion and attachment. We have to just do, in accordance with the dharma, without some idea. Nyoho doesn’t look for any reward, like recognition or wealth. We make our robes out of cut up pieces of what used to be cast off cloth in order that they’re not worth anything monetarily. They create no desire or attachment, so the practitioner is safe from someone trying to steal it. Now, do we frequently become proud of our humble robes made of rags? You bet. Look how well I sewed this. Look what a nice broken color this is. Look how I’m a member of the in-crowd now that I’m wearing it. Yikes. We’ve gone completely off the rails, and we’ve probably convinced ourselves that our pride is really our devotion to Buddha in making sure robe is everything it’s supposed to be. We have to be really careful about virtue signalling and humble bragging in the name of a nyoho approach to practice. We can turn our virtues into real hindrances. Appreciating something in a selfless way can turn into attachment. Isn’t this old, shabby thing beautiful because of all the time and wear and use it’s seen and the fact that it’s still here? And on that basis, I want that thing for myself! Using what exists
Nyoho items are made from what we actually have. Rather than trying to find exotic materials, we use what’s readily available. During sesshin, for instance, we often eat what we grew in the garden rather than driving around looking for specialty foods. We also patronize local growers and have established direct relationships with some local farms. Whenever we can, we put wildflowers that grew in the yard on the altar rather than buying fancy flowers at the store. When we needed to make a han, one of our sangha members came up with a chunk of local poplar, and we had a local sign artist write the verse on it in English. What this means in terms of shelter is that space follows function and function follows space. We create a space that enables the practice activities we value and want to carry out here, and also, we adapt the practice to fit the space we have. We see this all the time in North America, with sanghas practicing in old houses, storefronts, living rooms and church basements. In order to practice this way, we have to give up clinging to ideas about what our practice should look like, and at the same time respect the Vinaya and other guidelines. We do what’s appropriate in this time and place. That also means reusing what already exists, or what we already have. Rather than making or acquiring a shiny new thing, first we look around to see if we can use what we have. Rag robes are a prime example of reusing what we can, but so is our dinner practice during sesshin, when the tenzo looks over the leftovers of the day and puts them all into a casserole dish or a soup pot, and that’s dinner. You could even say that composting our kitchen scraps and turning them into more vegetables is the same turning wheel. Reduce, reuse, recycle is not new in the world of Buddhist practice. This is basic sustainability, which feels very modern and forward-thinking--but our ancestors got there first. Another way reusing what we have shows up in our practice is that when we have a practice question to resolve, we can start by looking at the existing tradition. That brings us to the next characteristic. honoring and maintaining our connection to the past
When we have a practice problem to solve or a sangha need we have to meet, we can usually begin by looking to precedent in the Soto Zen or Buddhist tradition. Human needs don’t change all that much over time, so we’re probably not the first ones to ask whatever question we're facing. Often, our ancestors have had to solve it first, and we can learn from what they did rather than thinking we have to start from scratch. When in doubt, we can look to the source. That doesn’t mean we don’t adapt for our own karmic circumstances, but that context can be very important for our understanding. There’s a pattern here about things being reused, handed down, making some connection across time and space with others who practice. There’s something profound and meaningful about using something that saw a lot of practice before it ever came to us, and we also have such important themes and teachings from Dogen about authentic transmission, really seeing the through-line from the seven Buddhas before Buddha, through Shakyamuni and down to us. Those lines, threads and connections are what’s holding Soto Zen together as a tradition, and they’re what hold us together as a sangha that carries that tradition. When we decide to take precepts in some form and we sew a rakusu or okesa, we don’t just finish it and start wearing it. First we give it to a teacher, who adds to it by writing something on it, like a dharma name, or some sort of dedication, and then that teacher gives it back in a formal way. Something is being handed down: precepts, robe, lineage, dharma. Then the next day, when we arrive for zazen, again we don’t take that robe out of its case and just throw it on. We put it on our heads and chant a verse, which means we’re receiving it all over again, and we’re giving something back like aspiration, respect or sincerity. Every time we put on that robe, we’re receiving something and upholding something in return. This nyoho thing is the only thing
Now we have some humble nyoho item, unpretentious, made from what we actually have, with some connection to things that have gone before. Possibly it's made from reused materials, and it doesn’t represent more than is necessary. It might be a cup, a building, a robe, a ceremony, anything, and it doesn’t seem like much--but with the eyes of nyoho, we can see that this is Buddha’s cup or building or bell. There is only one of these things, and this is it. It’s a complete expression of everything. It’s not one cup in a group of cups: it’s the only cup. just like each person is a complete expression of Buddha nature, or awakening, even though we’re all different sizes and shapes and we all have different karmic circumstances. We’re not separate from anything else -- there is only this person. This is what Uchiyama Roshi means when he says that everything I encounter is my life. This cup is the only cup. This room is the only room. It’s a whole new way to think about ryo, or amount. Ryo is infinite and also, if you open the cupboard in the zendo kitchen, there’s a bunch of mismatched cups. When a new person comes to Sanshin and asks where the bathroom is, the zendo isn’t the only room in the building -- and still, the zendo is the whole universe. Setting things free
Looking for nyoho dharma gates and making use of them to investigate practice makes the dharma tangible. We can take care of food, clothing and shelter in this way and use that opportunity to see how the more abstract teachings reflect the real world. Nyoho practice is a chance to learn and experience with the body. If our understanding just stays trapped in our brains, it’s not a complete understanding. We can use our encounters with physical objects to deepen our understanding, and we also use the body to express that understanding in the world.
Echu Kyuma was a 20th century scholar of nyoho robes and he wrote a famous book called Kesa no Kenkyu, or Study of the Okesa, in 1967. Although he’s mainly talking about robes, what he says is also about nyoho in general and objects made by nyoho. Material, color, and size are all, essentially, components of “not arousing desire, separating from fame and fortune”; clearly, a kesa isn’t intended to satisfy our thirst for status. If a kesa does fulfill that human part of us that wants status, then perhaps something is actually wrong in the material, color, or size—or it may be that something is wrong with how we’re seeing the kesa. So the virtues of the kesa are completely distinct from how we ordinarily think about worldly virtues. Rather, when we speak of the virtues of the kesa, we’re speaking of something that doesn’t satisfy our expectations, either spiritually or materially. It’s a virtue that brings no reward. What, then, is a virtue with no reward? This profitless virtue is the essence of both the kesa and the buddhadharma itself. This virtue of the kesa that in no way satisfies the desire for status has a functioning that is both boundless and infinitely unfathomable—through it, the true value of the kesa and of the buddhadharma is revealed. We can apply what he’s saying to our entire practice life, whether we wear robes or not. How can we acquire, use and give up things not based on our thirst for status? Of course, that requires understanding the nature of self and the impermanence of the five skandhas. Kyuma Roshi says that if objects fulfill our desire for status, then something’s wrong with the components of that thing--material, color, amount--or else with how we’re seeing that object and thinking about it. The virtues of a nyoho object have nothing to do with what we want from it; they’re virtues with no reward, or profitless virtues, and that frees nyoho objects to be boundless and to be one with the dharma. This is why the real Buddha robe fits everyone, why the oryoki bowl can hold an infinite amount, why there’s space in Vimalakirti’s sickroom for millions of bodhisattvas. Once we stop grasping things, we set them free, and we set ourselves free, because we’ve removed the artificial constraints on the nature of that object. It’s now free to be exactly what it is, not bound by our expectations or needs or how we see that relationship. If we can practice this way with robes and bowls and temples, can we also learn to practice this way with other people, with difficult situations, with questions of discernment, with life and death? |
What does nyoho 如法 mean?
The kanji for nyo 如 can also be pronounced gotoshi in everyday Japanese. It means "like" or "in accordance with," but it can also mean “the same as.” That’s an important meaning that we’re going to continue to consider. Ho 法 is dharma. Nyoho is something consistent with, or the same as, the dharma. The opposite is funyo 不如法: fu 不 makes a word negative. Funyo is something out of step with the dharma, something that’s gone amiss or gone awry. Our focus January - April, 2025
Our focus May - August, 2025
Our focus Sept - December, 2025
Hoko's introduction to nyoho
Hoko on nyoho clothing, food and shelter
Further reading
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