Essays in Zen Buddhism · 39 of 66

Satori: The Revelation of a New Truth, Part 5

As satori strikes at the primary fact of existence, its attainment marks a turning point in one’s life. The attainment, however, must be thorough-going and clear-cut in order to produce a satisfactory result. To deserve the name “satori” the mental revolution must be so complete as to make one really and sincerely feel that there took place a fiery baptism of the spirit. The intensity of this feeling is proportional to the amount of effort the opener of satori has put into the achievement. For there is a gradation in satori as to its intensity, as in all our mental activity. The possessor of a lukewarm satori may suffer no such spiritual revolution as Rinzai, or Bukko (Fo-kuang) whose case is quoted below. Zen is a matter of character and not of the intellect, which means that Zen grows out of the will as the first principle of life. A brilliant intellect may fail to unravel all the mysteries of Zen, but a strong soul will drink deep of the inexhaustible fountain. I do not know if the intellect is superficial and touches only the fringe of one’s personality, but the fact is that the will is the man himself, and Zen appeals to it. When one becomes penetratingly conscious of the working of this agency, there is the opening of satori and the understanding of Zen. As they say, the snake has now grown into the dragon; or more graphically, a common cur—a most miserable creature wagging its tail for food and sympathy, and kicked about by the street boys so mercilessly—has now turned into a golden-haired lion whose roar frightens to death all the feeble-minded.

Therefore, when Rinzai was meekly submitting to the “thirty blows” of Obaku, he was a pitiable sight; as soon as he attained satori, he was quite a different personage and his first exclamation was, “There is not much after all in the Buddhism of Obaku.” And when he saw the reproachful Obaku again, he returned his favour by giving him a slap on the face. “What an arrogance, what an impudence!” Obaku exclaimed; but there was reason in Rinzai’s rudeness, and the old master could not but be pleased with this treatment from his former tearful Rinzai.

When Tokusan gained an insight into the truth of Zen, he immediately took up all his commentaries on the Diamond Sutra, once so valued and considered indispensable that he had to carry them wherever he went; he now set fire to them, reducing all the manuscripts into nothingness. He exclaimed: “However deep your knowledge of abstruse philosophy, it is like a piece of hair placed in the vastness of space; and however important your experience in things worldly, it is like a drop of water thrown into an unfathomable abyss.”

On the day following the incident of the flying geese, to which reference was made elsewhere, Baso appeared in the preaching hall and was about to speak before a congregation, when Hyakujo came forward and began to roll up the matting. Baso without protesting came down from his seat and returned to his own room. He then called Hyakujo and asked him why he rolled up the matting before he uttered a word.

“Yesterday you twisted my nose,” replied Hyakujo, “and it was quite painful.”

“Where,” said Baso, “was your thought wandering then?”

“It is not painful any more to-day, master.” How differently he behaves now! When his nose was pinched, he was quite an ignoramus in the secrets of Zen. He is now a golden-haired lion, he is master of himself, and acts so freely as if he owned the world, pushing away even his own master far into the background.

There is no doubt that satori goes deep into the very root of individuality. The change achieved thereby is quite remarkable, as we see in the examples above cited.