The Zen Life by Koji Sato

14
Searching for the Way

One of the characteristics of Zen training is that as their training deepens the unsui will make pilgrimages to visit various masters and monasteries. At first a monk chooses a master, under whom he should train determinedly until he masters the essentials of Zen. Following this, it is the general rule to deepen one's training by studying under various other masters, becoming familiar with their individual styles. It should be noted, however, that in reality this is not always the case.

The founder of the Chinese Rinzai Zen sect, Lin-chi, studied devotedly under Hsi-yun of the Obaku Zen sect for three years. When asked by a brother disciple whether or not he had ever asked Hsi-yun any questions concerning Buddhism during this time, he answered, "No, I haven't. What should I ask him?""Ask him what the central point of Buddhism is," answered his brother disciple. When Lin-chi went and asked this question, instead of an answer Hsi-yun gave him a severe beating with a stick. After explaining what had happened to his brother disciple, he was told to go visit the master once more. Once again, however, he was struck when he asked the same question. Yet again his brother told him to go, and yet again he was struck. Finally, he became disheartened and because he thought there was no hope for him, he decided to leave the monastery. When he informed his brother disciple of his decision, he was told to notify Hsi-yun of his departure. Hsi-yun told him, "Go visit Ta-mo; he will certainly tell you something of value." Linchi went directly to Ta-mo's temple and there he was asked, "Where did you come from?" "I came from Hsi-yun's monastery," he answered. Being asked, then, what Hsi-yun had told him, Lin-chi explained how he had asked the same question three times and been beaten three times. He finished his account and asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

" Hsi-yun was so polite to you, and yet you ask such a foolish question as whether or not you did something wrong," thundered Taomo. At this Lin-chi realized enlightenment and said, "The teaching of Hsi-yun doesn't amount to much at all." This encounter marked the beginning of his extremely active dissemination of Zen.

Byakuin-zenji entered the Zen priesthood at the age of fifteen when he became a disciple of Tanryo-osho of Matsuin-ji. During a period of nine years he made pilgrimages to ten different temples. At the age of twenty-four, when he heard the temple bell of Eigan-ji (in Takada, Niigata Prefecture), he suddenly realized enlightenment. Soon after he visited Keitan Dokyo on Mount Han, overcame his self- conceit and, after training for a period of six months, was able to master the deepest secrets of Zen. Subsequently he returned to Shoin-ji, where as a result of devoting himself to severe post-enlightenment training, he damaged his lungs and began to suffer from dizziness and heartburn. After he was given up as a hopeless. case by a doctor, he went to the Shirakawa region, cast of Kyoto, where he visited a religious hermit by the name of Byak-ugen and received instruction from him concerning a method of meditative introspection. His subsequent miraculous recovery is recorded in the famous Yasen Kanwa. Byakuin was then recommended for the post of head priest of Shoin-ji, although he did not actually begin giving instruction there until nine years later, when he had completed pilgrimages to more than ten additional temples.

Gempo Yamamoto-roshi, who was called "the reincarnation of Byakuiii," and who died five years ago at the age of ninety-six, was afflicted with an eye disease when he was about twenty-one years old. He was told by his doctor that he was going blind, and he then divorced his wife and made repeated pilgrimages to various temples on the island of Shikoku. On his seventh pilgrimage, at the age of twenty-four, he fell ill at Sekkei-ji (I'll Kochi). While he was recovering there, he met Taigen Yamamoto-roshi, and subsequently entered the Buddhist priesthood as his disciple. Later he trained for periods of two years each at Eigen-ji, Shofuku-ji, and Hofuku-ji. At Hofuku-ji he was struck with a bow by Kyuko-roshi, who had the reputation of being the severest master anywhere. He went next to Eiho-ji at the age of thirty-two, and there he studied under Dokutan-roshi. At that time there were always more than one hundred monks in training there, and Gempozenji is said to have been put in charge of the monastery kitchen for a long time. As a result of this training he was able to boast, "I am an expert cook. Although I'm not able to do anything else, I am proud to say that I have no equal anywhere when it comes to cooking."

Due to Taigen-roshi's illness, Gempo returned to Sekkei-ji at the age of thirty-seven; and after the roshi's death he attempted to reconstruct the temple. When he was forty- three he turned over Sekkei-ji to a friend and made a pilgrimage to Empuku-ji, where he trained earnestly both day and night for the next eight years under the guidance of Sohan- roshi. Finally he was given permission to carry on this roshi's line of teaching and became the head priest of Ryutaku-ji when he was fifty years old. Gempo lived to the ripe old age of ninety-six. His instruction in Zen, which put emphasis on breath control, made a great impact on those around him. A year or two before his death he is said to have instructed Kozo Ushida to "lengthen his breathing." He also told his successor, Soen Nakagawaroshi, "I take about one breath every thirty minutes."

In Okina Takagi book, Gempo-roshi, there is an anecdote concerning Gempo when he was in training at Empuku-ji, one part of which I would like to recount here. Gempo was acting as Sohan-roshi's attendant and also as a supervisor of the other unsui. Among the unsui he was highly respected and they addressed him as Inkyo-san (retired master), referring to the fact that he had retired from his former position as head priest of Sekkei-ji. His responsiblities as supervisor were not at all easy. It was he who would order the unsui to go to present their "answer" to the roshi concerning the koan he had given each of them to "solve." Since Gempo was required to give the order only five or ten minutes after they had gone there the first time, many of the unsui refused to go again, feeling, naturally, they had not had sufficient time to form a new opinion. Some unsui would even wrap both arms around a pillar in the Zendo and Gempo would be forced to whack their hands with a keisaku, the long wooden stick generally used to wake drowsy monks during zazen. At other times he would go behind the pillar-clinging monks and tell them. "All right, go!" and to pull them loose he'd give a sharp jerk on the cord that all Zen monks have tied around their waists. One day, a clever monk tied his waist cord so that it would come undone if it were pulled. When Gempo gave the monk's cord a hard jerk, he ended up falling flat on his back on the stone floor of the Zendo.

There were also some unsui who liked to smoke. One monk, who thought he wouldn't be noticed, was smoking behind the toilet when Gempo discovered him. The unsui was afraid of being scolded and bolted into the nearby mountains. He didn't attempt to return to the monastery until time for the evening meal, which as it turned out, was a special treat of mixed rice and vegetables. Unfortunately for this unsui, Gempo was still standing sternly with keisaku in hand waiting for him. This frightened the monk again, and he fled back into the mountains and so he missed out on the special evening meal. It wasn't until late that night that he was finally able to sneak back into the monastery. I've been told that in spite of Gempo's harsh methods, all of the monks who were subject to his severe discipline eventually became distinguished Zen priests.

I cannot help thinking that the making of pilgrimages as emphasized in Zen is an extremely fine training method, whether viewed from the perspective of the present age or of the whole world. In Germany a student is able to graduate even if he has spent as many as two years out of four at universities other than the one in which he originally enrolled. And in the United States many students do their postgraduate studies at a different university from the one in which they did their undergraduate work. The universities there not only hire teachers from among their own graduates but also gather men of talent from a wide field, preventing the sterility of self-fertilization. These practices indicate to me that the ancient training methods of Zen are far more rational than those presently in use at such Japanese colleges as Tokyo University. As has been noted on page 133, Shikyo-zenji, who reestablished monastic facilities at Empuku-ji, showed an amazing degree of rational thinking in his plan to open Empuku-ji's facilities to true Zen masters possessing moral influence and to earnest unsui from all over the country. Unfortunately, however, as people's desire for enlightenment has weakened, the rigor of monastic training has gradually disappeared, making it difficult for Zen, too, to save itself from falling victim to self-fertilization.

15
Among the People: The Ten Oxherding Pictures

As the gardens and buildings of Zen temples, especially those having monastic facilities, are kept in good order, and the behavior of the monks is regulated so as to not admit any disturbance, the ordinary visitor is given the impression of a sacred area that is extremely difficult to approach. This order reflects good form, but the essence of Zen is to use form to go beyond form, to go beyond all discrimination and "let go of everything." The last of the familiar ancient The Ten Oxherding Pictures, which is entitled, Entering the Marketplace with Helping Hands, expresses this attitude very well. In describing this scene the twelfth- century Chinese Zen master Kuo-an states, "The gate of his [the enlightened man's] cottage is closed and even the wisest cannot find him. His illusory thinking has finally disappeared. He goes his own way, making no attempt to follow the steps of earlier masters. Carrying a gourd filled with wine, he strolls into the marketplace; leaning on his staff, he returns home. He leads innkeepers and fishmongers in the [Buddhist] Way."

"Entering the marketplace with helping hands" means to enter into the ordinary world of defilement and extend assistance to the masses. If a superior man lives in a wretched- looking hut no one is aware of how fine a person is present in their midst. At times such a person will go barechested and barefooted into the marketplace to buy wine or other goods, always smiling, showing absolutely no concern even if his face is dirty or mud clings to his clothing. When other people see his smiling face, they, too, can't stop smiling and they forget all their troubles. According to the poem by Kuo-an that accompanies this picture:

Barechested, barefooted,

He comes into the marketplace.
Muddied and dust-covered,
How broadly he grins!
Without need of mystic powers,
He swiftly brings
Withered trees to bloom.

This is the same attitude Lao-tsu has expressed in his teaching, "Doing nothing, and yet leaving nothing undone," and in his concept of equality. But this attitude should not be confused with simple idleness. If it is necessary, the "helping hands" of such an enlightened person are not beyond wielding an iron bar to destroy resolutely and thoroughly all forms of illusion. In Shakko-zenji's commentary on this picture he writes, "Such a man, wielding an iron bar with incredible speed, is able to distinguish all and penetrate all."

Nanzen-ji's Shibayama Zenkei-roshi, has made a comparative study of the various commentaries that have been written about these pictures. In his book, Ju Gyu no Zu (The Ten Oxherding Pictures), he says that the true dwelling place of a Buddha, i.e., an enlightened person, lies beyond the realm of a saint, a place where, "being freed from discriminative thinking, his true Self can emerge." Furthermore, the conduct of a Buddha does not exist in some supramundane sphere; on the contrary, he lives in the quite ordinary world in such a way that "the wisest can detect about him no sign of perfection, his self having completely disappeared." Living his entire life in the natural world, it makes no difference to him what the circumstances he finds himself in may be. Leaving no traces of his passing, he continues to live in unity with himself and the universe. In the life of that rustic saint, Toku'un, who in the course of succeeding experiences finally achieved full enlightenment, we can see that seemingly miraculous power that "swiftly brings withered trees to bloom." Shibayama-roshi goes on to say that the refreshing nature of Zen- influenced painting, literature, and other arts is derived from the freedom that is expressed in this power which, in reality, is no power.

This state is also the ideal of Zen and a goal to which the Zenists' efforts should be directed. However, it is not something which can be easily or quickly achieved. The Ten Oxherding Pictures teach us that there are nine stages through which one must pass before arriving at the final goal. As each of these stages has been carefully explained in other books I would like to present only a brief explanation of each one.

In picture one, Seeking the Ox, the ox symbolizes the seeker's true Self, or "Buddhanature." At this point he can only learn about this nature by going around and asking others. In picture two, Finding the Tracks, he is able to realize in which direction his goal lies. Picture three, First Glimpse of the Ox, describes the stage in which he first catches sight of the goal; but it is only a quick glance and the details are still unclear. He would be making a big mistake to think that what he had seen was the whole ox. Omori-roshi has said that if one's enlightenment did not go as far as Catching the Ox, which is picture four, it could not be said to be genuine. Even though the seeker has caught the ox, it is still unruly, and it is still necessary to use a whip for its domestication. In picture five, Taming the Ox, the ox has been thoroughly domesticated. Omori-roshi explains this by saying, "Frequenting the realm of discrimination [i.e., discriminative thinking] a man goes beyond all attachment [to things] by becoming one with the objective world. It is this tamed ox that represents the tempering of his selfless Self, and corresponds to post-enlightenment training." In picture six, Riding the Ox Home, the ox is no longer able to run away, the rider and the ridden becoming one. Picture seven is Ox Forgotten, Self Alone. Having searched for [and found] the ox, the seeker comes to realize that from the very beginning this ox was none other than oneself. Consequently, the ox disappears. Passing beyond the stage of Ox Forgotten, Self Alone he arrives at picture eight, Both Ox and Self Forgotten, in which even the holy position of a saint is denied. Or, as stated in Sanzen Nyumon, "Absolute negation, bereft of both subject and object, is provisionally represented in the form of a circle." In picture nine, Returning to the Source, the seeker passes even beyond absolute nothingness until he returns to the real world of discrimination, realizing that mountains are indeed mountains and rivers are indeed rivers. Unless one bears discrimination in mind and conforms to it, it will be impossible to accomplish the primary vow sustaining Buddhist training, i.e., the vow to save all sentient beings. The subject matter of picture nine is, however, still limited to natural scenery; ordinary men and women do not appear as yet. Even priests who have studied Buddhism in the mountains for as long as twelve years must return again to the ordinary lay world if they are to complete their training.

It is for this reason that picture ten, Entering the Marketplace with Helping Hands, must be added. "Always joyful, he spent his whole life walking as a mendicant, living alone in the mountains and listening to the voice of nature. However, he would also visit the nearby villages, playing with the children and drinking wine with the farmers. When playing with children, he would even forget the passing of time; and when drinking wine, he would go to sleep on the dike between the ricefields. And if he met a poet, he would talk about poetry; and if he were asked to, he would read his own poetry. He wrote more than four hundred poems in the Chinese style and more than one thousand in Japanese style. His critics all agree that his poems express the elegance of lonely mountains, and echo with the reverberations of the Man'yoshu (Japan's oldest anthology of poems, c. 7.). Likewise, people who have seen the poems in his own handwriting that have been preserved to the present day are unanimous in their praise of his skill as a calligrapher."

The preceding, which might well be called a description of a rustic saint, is the way in which Toyoji Togo, a noted scholar of Ryokan, introduces his readers to Ryokan-osho in the preface to his book by the same name Ryokan was born in Izumozaki in Niigata Prefecture. At the age of twenty-two he met Tokusen of Entsu-ji (in Okayama Prefecture), when the latter was on a preaching tour. Shortly afterward he entered the Buddhist priesthood, became Tokusen's disciple, and went to Entsu-ji, where he trained for nearly twenty years. Then, with no apparent purpose in mind, he returned to his birthplace and for the next thirty years led a life like that described above.

Ryokan lived alone in a hermitage called Gogo-an, and provided for his needs through mendicancy. He is recorded as having said, "The mission of people in religious orders is to devote themselves completely to the salvation of ordinary men and women. One should always be standing in the village streets, hands in the gassho position and bowing to the common people." At another time he said, "Not only the old farm people who braid straw while quietly waiting for their end but also the robust young men and women who work in the fields, and even the small children who play innocently in the woods by the village shrine, must become the objects of religious salvation."

At this point I would like to introduce three poems from Professor Togo's book on Ryokan. They are all concerned with how Ryokan loved to play with children. He has finished practicing mendicancy in the village streets and

1

He walks leisurely

Near the village shrine.
Spying him,
The children all shout:
"The funny priest
Has come again!"

2

Day after day after day,

He spends playing with children.
Two or three balls always in his sleeves,
Intoxicated by the balmy spring.

3

Hair unkempt, ears sticking out,

His tattered robes
Swirling like smoke,
He walks home--tipsy--
With hordes of children
Swarming all around.

It is generally accepted that the foremost worries of ordinary people concern poverty and sickness. If one more worry were added to these, it would probably concern human relationships. Awakening to one's true Self, thereby achieving fundamental peace, is the highest happiness there is. But for ordinary people the solution of their immediate problems takes first priority. It is no exaggeration to say that one of the strong points of Christianity, and the various so-called new religions of Japan (e.g., Soka Gakkai, Tenri-kyo, Rissho Kosei- kai) is that they devote a large part of their efforts to finding solutions to such problems. When Buddhism first came to Japan, Buddhist leaders like Prince Shotoku (reigned A.D. 5-93- 623) devoted a great deal of attention to building hospitals and schools, and providing assistance for the poor and the aged. In the Kamakura period priests like Ninsho, head of Shitenno-ji, carried on this tradition. On the whole, however, although Buddhist practice and belief were purified through the emergence of new Buddhist sects, its social concern was considerably weakened. A notable exception to this decline was the Obaku Zen sect, which was active in social work. And individual Zen priests, such as Tetsugen-zenji, also carried on various social enterprises.

Tetsugen-zenji was originally a priest of the Jodo (Pure Land) sect who later converted to Obaku Zen, which he studied under Ingen and Mokuan. Later, he decided to print a new edition of the whole Buddhist canon, the Tripitaka, and to obtain funds he made a pilgrimage through the entire country collecting donations from as wide a range of persons as possible. A thousand ryo (a unit of old Japanese coinage) of platinum was given to him as a donation by one nun; and, in all, he was able to collect quite a sum of money. But just as he was to begin printing, a tidal wave struck the city of Osaka, producing a great number of refugees. Tetsugen then decided to use the money for relief measures for the disaster victims rather than for printing the Tripitaka. Later he once more set about collecting donations for his original project, and in 1681 he succeeded in raising enough money to have wooden printing blocks carved for all 6956 volumes of the Tripitaka. But, once again, disaster struck. From the winter of that year an extremely severe famine gripped the country, and in February 1683 he began to organize relief measures. At the end of the same month, he was taken ill, probably the result of having caught the plague, which was then quite prevalent. He died shortly thereafter on March 7, having sacrificed his life in helping the famine victims.

Zen is a religion which is inclined to be somewhat high-browed and ascetic. However, if one truly takes seriously the Bodhisattva vow to save others even at the expense of throwing away one's own peace, then one ought to become even more earnestly engrossed in compassionate practices as expressed by "entering the marketplace with helping hands." In this regard I think Zen could learn a great deal from the social- oriented activities of the Quakers.

16
The Problem of Marriage

About ten years ago I met Alan Watts on one of his visits to Japan. During our discussion I asked why he believed that Japanese Zen in comparison with Chinese Zen is not true Zen. He replied that it was because Japanese priests get married. I then explained that although ordinary Zen priests do marry, the chief Zen masters, for the most part, remain unmarried. This is true even today. At the same time, even within the ranks of the highest Zen masters, there are some who are married, as are almost all ordinary priests. Because of this situation it is difficult to say what the true position of Zen priests is in regard to marriage. In China or Southeast Asia, on the other hand, a priest generally loses his status if he marries.

A Soto Zen head priest whose temple is located in the country and who is actively engaged in giving instruction in zazen, made the following lament about his celibacy: "I am not married and I have sent my disciples to school and looked after them in various ways. Recently, however, I seem to have become regarded as somewhat eccentric."

Even today Roman Catholic priests remain celibate, and until recently their celibacy was accepted as a matter of course. And the writer Tsutomu Minakami, who in his youth lived as a novice priest in a temple, has revealed the wretched life of obscurity that the common- law wife of a Zen priest was forced to live.

Many leading Zen figures of the past were married at one time or another. The seventeenth-century Zen master, Bunan-kokushi, for example, originally was the owner of an inn at Sekigahara and had both a wife and children. When he was more than forty years old, however, he left his family to enter the priesthood. Yamamoto-roshi divorced his wife before he entered the priesthood. Sugawara-roshi of Kencho-ji fell in love during the period he was in Zen training and eventually left the priesthood to get married. Soon after, however, he divorced his wife in order to resume his training. Thus, although it is true that many Zen masters in the past were married, it is also true that when they achieved the status of leaders none of them were bound by family encumbrances.

Sawaki-roshi has written in his autobiography, Living in Zen, that: "After I began my study [of Zen], I became so involved in it that I had no time to think about getting married.

In my case it wasn't a matter of trying hard to remain single, but simply that in endeavoring to go ahead in as straight a line as possible I have arrived at the present."

When one considers the necessity of Zen priests to make pilgrimages throughout the country to receive guidance from various Zen masters, it must be admitted that whether or not a man is burdened with family encumbrances can make a big difference. On the other hand, since in the course of having a family a man encounters much concrete human suffering it cannot be denied that such experience is useful in some respects in helping him to understand the life of ordinary people. I think that it is important that there be Zen masters who remain single, unbound by family encumbrances. Compared to married priests, such masters are far freer to devote themselves to their own training and the guidance of others. One step behind such masters there may be those priests who take a wife who is also interested in practicing Buddhism, bearing not more than two or three children. Having a helpful partner is often important in rendering assistance to others. Nevertheless, if one has many children they can become very great hindrances.