Morihei Uyeshiba, the founder of aikido, was a master of almost mystical mien, with a demonic determination to transform his art into a true Do. Training daily until his death at 86, his stamina was far greater than young experts half his age and his grip was so powerful it left bruises on the wrists of those with whom he practiced. But according to Uyeshiba, the Way of aiki or "spiritual harmony" as the word is best translated, is not concerned with strength or physical defense. Instead, wrote Uyeshiba, "The Way of aikido is the way of harmony; with oneself, society, and the universe. It's techniques are the resonance of mind and body in complete unity."

This unity figures prominently in mastering the Ways, for the calligrapher with his brush and ink, the abstruse beauty of the tea master's ceremony, and for the aikidoka who blends and deflects his attacker's force in a subtle flow. Each moves with control and feeling, the commands of the conscious intellect in tune with the actions of the entire body. It is not then the technique itself, whether it emerges as a scroll of calligraphy, a cup of tea, or a throw, but the spirit behind it, which is the center of the Ways, a spirit in control and in accord with the Tao, the Do.

Recently, as they've gained the attention of the world outside Japan, some of the Ways have been subjected to scientific analysis in an attempt to coax from them their essence. A microscopic examination of the calligraphy of the masters has revealed that the particles of ink in the strokes themselves show a more cohesive alignment on the paper after enlightenment was achieved in the calligrapher's life. The kicks and punches of karate-do, best known of the martial Ways, has been the object of intense kinesiological study in an effort to better explain and teach them. However, such efforts are only marginally useful and they miss, at any rate, the whole point of the Ways which, by their very nature, defy rational analysis or transmission. The martial Ways are not, no matter how firmly entrenched the Western image, primarily a means of self defense, no more than chado's purpose is to produce a cup of tea. Neither does the calligrapher need a microscope to recognize a masterpiece of shodo. He needs only to feel it. Most masters of the other Ways concur. They regard scientific investigations of their art as entertaining and mildly interesting at best; at worst, such activities serve as a distraction to the real aim of the Do, which is attained only through practice and tireless effort.

And while the Occident is exposed to more and more of the Ways, encouraging the growing participation of those who have only the vaguest understanding of the culture that fostered and supports them, these fundamental differences in perception are growing more obvious as well.