Essays in Zen Buddhism: First Series

One day Ōbaku was weeding with a hoe, and seeing Rinzai without one asked, “How is it that you do not carry any hoe?” Answered Rinzai, “Somebody has carried it away, sir.” Thereupon, Ōbaku told him to come forward as he wanted to discuss the matter with him. Rinzai stepped forward. Said Ōbaku, lifting his hoe, “Only this, but all the world’s unable to hold it up.” Rinzai took the hoe away from the master, and lifted it up, saying, “How is it that it is now in my own hands?” Ōbaku remarked, “Here is a man doing a great piece of work to-day!” He then returned to his own room.[7.16]

Another day, observing Rinzai resting on a hoe, Ōbaku said to him, “Are you tired?” Rinzai replied, “I have not even lifted my hoe, and how should I be tired?” Ōbaku then struck him, who, however, snatching the stick away from the master, pushed him down. Ōbaku called out to the Yino (karmadāna) to help him up from the ground. The Yino responded to the call and helped up the master, saying, “Why do you permit this crazy fellow’s rudeness?” As soon as the master was again on his feet, he struck the Yino. Rinzai then began to dig the earth and made this announcement, “In other places they cremate, but here you will all be buried alive.”[7.17]

The story of Isan and Kyōzan while they were out picking tea leaves has already been told in one of the preceding Essays. Zen history indeed abounds with such incidents as here referred to, showing how the masters try to discipline their pupils on every possible occasion. The events of daily life manifestly trivial on the surface, thus handled by the masters, grow full of signification. At any rate all these “mondoes” most eloquently illustrate the whole trend of the monastery life in olden days, where the spirit of work and service was so thoroughly and harmoniously blended with the high thinking on matters deeply spiritual.

The monks thus develop their faculties all round. They receive no literary, that is, formal education which is gained mostly from books and abstract instruction. But their discipline and knowledge are practical and efficient; for the basic principle of the Zendo life is “learning by doing.” They despise the so-called soft education which is like those predigested foods meant for the convalescent. When a lioness gives birth to her children, it is proverbially believed that after three days she will push them down over a deep precipice and see if they can climb up to her. Those that fail to come out of this trial are not taken care of any more. Whether this is true or not, something like that is aimed at by the Zen master who will treat the monks with every manner of seeming unkindness. The monks have not enough clothes to put on, not enough food to indulge in, not enough time to sleep, and, to cap these, they have plenty of work to do, menial as well as spiritual. The outer needs and the inward aspirations, if they work on harmoniously and ideally, will finally end in producing fine characters well-trained in Zen as well as in the real things of life. This unique system of education which is still going on at every Zendo is not so well known among the laity even in this country. And then the merciless tides of modern commercialism leave no corner uninvaded, and before long the solitary island of Zen may be found buried, as everything else, under the waves of sordid materialism. The monks themselves are beginning not to understand the great spirit of the successive masters.

Theoretically, the philosophy of Zen transcends the whole range of discursive understanding and is not bound by rules of antithesis. But this is very slippery ground, and there are many who fail to walk erect. When they stumble, the result is sometimes disastrous. Like some of the Medieval mystics, the Zen students may turn into libertines, losing all control over themselves. History is a witness to this, and psychology can readily explain the process of such degeneration. Therefore, says a Zen master, “Let one’s ideal rise as high as the crown of Vairochana, (the highest divinity), while his life may be so full of humility as to make him prostrate before a baby’s feet.”[7.18] Which is to say, “if any man desire to be first the same shall be last of all, and servant of all.” Therefore, the monastery life is minutely regulated and all the details are enforced in strict obedience to the spirit already referred to. Humility, poverty, and inner sanctification—these ideals of Zen are what saves Zen from sinking into the level of the Medieval antinomians. Thus we can see how the Zendo discipline plays a great part in the teachings of Zen and their practical application to our daily life.

When Tanka[7.19] (Tan-hsia T‘ien-jan, 738–824) of the T‘ang dynasty stopped at Yerinji of the Capital, it was so severely cold that he finally took one of the Buddha-images enshrined there and made a fire with it in order to warm himself. The keeper of the shrine seeing this was greatly exercised.

Though one may doubt its historical occurrence, this is a notable story, and all the Zen masters agree as to the higher spiritual attainment of the Buddha-desecrating Tanka. When later a monk asked a master[7.20] about Tanka’s idea of burning a Buddha’s statue, said the master,

I cannot help quoting another comment on the story as this is one of the most significant subjects in the study of Zen. When Suibi Mugaku (Ts‘uiwei Wu-hsiao)[7.21], a disciple of Tanka, was making offerings to the Arhats, probably carved in wood, a monk came up and asked, “Tanka burned a wooden Buddha and how is it that you make offerings to the Arhats?” The master said, “Even when it was burned, it could not be burned up; and as to my making offerings, just leave me alone as I please.” “When these offerings are made to the Arhats, would they come to receive them, or not?” “Do you eat everyday, or not?” the master demanded. As the monk remained silent, the master declared, “Intelligent ones are hard to be met with!”

Whatever the merit of Tanka from the purely Zen-point of view, there is no doubt that such deeds as his are to be regarded as highly sacrilegious and to be avoided by all pious Buddhists. Those who have not yet gained a thorough understanding of Zen may go all lengths to commit every manner of crime and excess, even in the name of Zen. For this reason, the regulations of the monastery are very rigid that pride of heart may depart and the cup of humility be drunk to the dregs.

When Shukō (Chu-hung)[7.22] of the Ming dynasty was writing a book on the ten laudable deeds of a monk, one of those high-spirited, self-assertive fellows came to him, saying, “What is the use of writing such a book when in Zen there is not even an atom of thing to be called laudable or not?” The writer answered, “The five aggregates (skandha) are entangling, and the four elements (mahābhūta) grow rampant, and how can you say there are no evils?” The monk still insisted, “The four elements are ultimately all empty and the five aggregates have no reality whatever.” Shukō, giving him a slap on his face, said, “So many are mere learned ones; you are not the real thing yet; give me another answer.” But the monk made no answer and went off filled with angry feelings. “There,” said the master smilingly, “why don’t you wipe the dirt off your own face?” In the study of Zen, the power of an all-illuminating insight must go hand in hand with a deep sense of humility and meekness of heart.

Let me cite, as one instance of teaching humility, the experience which a new monk-applicant is first made to go through when he first approaches the Meditation Hall. The applicant may come duly equipped with certificates of his qualifications and with his monkish paraphernalia consisting of such articles are already mentioned, but the Zendo authorities will not admit him at once into their company. Generally, some formal excuse will be found: they may tell him that their establishment is not rich enough to take in another monk, or that the Hall is already too full. If the applicant quietly retires with this, there will be no place for him anywhere, not only in that particular Zendo which was his first choice, but in any other Zendo throughout the land. For he will meet a similar refusal everywhere. If he wants to study Zen at all, he ought not to be discouraged by any such excuse as that.

The persistent applicant will now seat himself at the entrance porch, and, putting his head down on the box which he carries in front of him, calmly, wait there. Sometimes a strong morning or evening sun shines right over the recumbent monk on the porch, but he keeps on in this attitude without stirring. When the dinner hour comes, he asks to be admitted in and fed. This is granted, for no Buddhist monasteries will refuse food and lodging to a travelling monk. After eating, however, the novice goes out again on the porch and continues his petition for admittance. No attention will be paid to him until the evening when he asks for lodging. This being granted as before, he takes off his travelling sandals, washes his feet, and is ushered into a room reserved for such purposes. But most frequently he finds no bedding there, for a Zen monk is supposed to pass his night in deep meditation. He sits upright all night evidently absorbed in the contemplation of a “kō-an.”f142[7.23] In the following morning he goes out as on the previous day to the entrance hall and resumes the same posture as before expressive of an urgent desire to be admitted. This may go on three or five or sometimes even seven days. The patience and humility of the new applicant are tried thus hard until finally he will be taken in by the authorities, who, apparently moved by his earnestness and perseverance, will try somehow to accommodate him.

This procedure is growing somewhat a formal affair, but in olden days when things were not yet settled into a mere routine, the applicant monk had quite a hard time, for he would actually be driven out of the monastery by force. We read in the biographies of the old masters of still harder treatments which were mercilessly dealt out to them.

The Meditation Hall is regulated with militaristic severity and precision to cultivate such virtues as humility, obedience, simplicity, and earnestness in the monkish hearts that are ever prone to follow indiscriminately the extraordinary examples of the old masters, or that are liable to put in practice in a crude and undigested manner the high doctrines of a Śūnyatā philosophy such as is expounded in the Prajñā-pāramitā class of Mahayana literature. A partial glimpse of such life we have already gained in the description of the table manners as above.

There is a period in the monastic life, exclusively set apart for mental discipline, and not interrupted by any manual labour except such as is absolutely needed. It is known as great “Sesshin” (Chê-hsin)f143[7.24] and lasts a week, taking place once a month during the season called the “Summer Sojourn” and the “Winter Sojourn.” The summer sojourn begins in April and ends in August, while the winter one begins in October and ends in February. “Sesshin” means “collecting or concentrating the mind.” While this period is lasting, the monks are confined at the Zendo, get up earlier than usual, and sit further into the night. There is a kind of lecture every day during the period. Text books are used, the most popular of which are The Hekiganshu and Rinzairoku,[7.25] the two being considered the most fundamental books of the Rinzai School. The Rinzairoku is a collection of sermons and sayings of the founder of the Rinzai Zen sect. The Hekiganshu, as has been noted elsewhere, is a collection of one hundred Zen “cases” or “themes” with critical annotations and poetical comments. It goes without saying that there are many other books used for the occasion. To an ordinary reader, such books generally are a sort of obscurum per obscurius. After listening to a series of lectures, he is left in the lurch as ever. Not necessarily that they are too abstruse, but that the reader is still wanting in insight into the truth of Zen.

The lecture is a solemn affair. Its beginning is announced by a bell, which stops ringing as soon as the master appears in the hall where what is known as “Teisho”f144[7.26] takes place. While the master is offering incense to the Buddha and to his departed master, the monks recite a short dharani-sūtra called Daihiju,f145 which means “the dharani of great compassion.” Being a Chinese transliteration of the Sanskrit original, mere recitation of the Sutra does not give any intelligent sense. Probably the sense is not essential in this case, the assurance is sufficient that it contains something auspicious and conducive to spiritual welfare. What is more significant is the way in which it is recited. Its monotone punctuated with a wooden time-keeper known as “mokugyo,” (Wooden Fish), prepares the mind of the audience for the coming event. After the Dharani which is recited three times the monks read in chorus generally the exhortatory sermon left by the founder of the monastery. In some places nowadays Hakuin’s “Song of Zazen” is often chanted. The following are translations of Hakuin and of Musō Kokushi,f146 whose last exhortatory sermon is one of the most popular.

I have three kinds of disciples: those who, vigorously shaking off all entangling circumstances, and with singleness of thought apply themselves to the study of their own [spiritual] affairs are of the first class. Those who are not so single-minded in the study, but scattering their attention are fond of book-learning, are of the second. Those who, covering their own spiritual brightness, are only occupied with the dribblings of the Buddhas and Fathers are called the lowest. As to those minds that are intoxicated by secular literature and engaged in establishing themselves as men of letters are simply laymen with shaven heads, they do not belong even to the lowest. As regards those who think only of indulging in food and sleep and give themselves up to indolence,—could such be called members of the Black Robe? They are truly, as were designated by an old master, clothes-racks and rice-bags. Inasmuch as they are not monks, they ought not to be permitted to call themselves my disciples and enter the monastery and sub-temples as well, even a temporary sojourn is to be prohibited, not to speak of their application as student-monks. When an old man like myself speaks thus, you may think he is lacking in all-embracing love, but the main thing is to let them know of their own faults, and, reforming themselves, to become growing plants in the patriarchal gardens.