Essays in Zen Buddhism · 60 of 66

The Meditation Hall and Monastic Life, Part 7

During the “sesshin,” they have besides lectures what is known as “sanzen.” To do “sanzen” is to go to the master and present one’s views on a kō-an for his critical examination. In those days when a special “sesshin” is not going on, “sanzen” will probably take place twice a day, but during the period of thought-collection—which is the meaning of “sesshin”—the monk has to see the master four or five times a day. This seeing the master does not take place openly, the monk is required to come up individually to the master’s room, where the interview goes on in a most formal and solemn manner. When the monk is about to cross the threshold of the master’s room, he makes three bows prostrating himself on the floor. He now enters the room keeping his hands folded, palm to palm, before the chest, and when he comes near the master, he sits down and makes another bow. Once in the room, all worldly convention is disregarded. If absolutely necessary from the Zen point of view, blows may be exchanged. To make manifest the truth of Zen with all sincerity of heart is the sole consideration here, and everything else receives only a subordinate attention. Hence this elaborate formalism. The presentation over, the monk retires in the same way as before. One “sanzen” for over thirty monks will occupy more than one hour and a half, and this is the time of the utmost tension for the master, too. To have this four or five times a day must be a kind of ordeal for the master himself, if he is not of robust health.

An absolute confidence is placed in the master as far as his understanding of Zen goes. But if the monk has sufficient reason to doubt the master’s ability, he may settle it personally with him at the time of sanzen. This presentation of views, therefore, is no idle play for either of the parties concerned. It is indeed a most serious affair, and because it is so the discipline of Zen has a great moral value outside its philosophy. How serious this is, may be guessed from the famous interview between the venerable Shōju and Hakuin, father of modern Zen in Japan.

One summer evening when Hakuin presented his view to the old master who was cooling himself on the veranda, the master said, “Stuff and nonsense.” Hakuin echoed this loudly and rather satirically, “Stuff and nonsense!” Thereupon the master seized him, boxed him several times, and finally pushed him off the veranda. It was soon after the rainy weather, and poor Hakuin rolled in the mud and water. Having recovered himself after a while, he came up and reverentially bowed to the teacher, who then remarked again, “O you, denizen of the dark cavern!”

Another day Hakuin thought that the master did not know how deep his knowledge of Zen was and decided to have a settlement with him anyhow. As soon as the time came, Hakuin entered the master’s room and exhausted all his ingenuity in contest with him, making his mind up not to give way an inch of ground this time. The master was furious, and finally taking hold of Hakuin gave him several slaps and let him go over the porch again. He fell several feet at the foot of the stone-wall, where he remained for a while almost senseless. The master looked down and heartily laughed at the poor fellow. This brought Hakuin back to consciousness. He came up again all in perspiration. The master, however, did not release him yet and stigmatised him as ever with “O you, denizen of the dark cavern!”

Hakuin grew desperate and thought of leaving the old master altogether. When one day he was going about begging in the village, a certain accident made him all of a sudden open his mental eye to the truth of Zen, hitherto completely shut off from him. His joy knew no bounds and he came back in a most exalted state of mind. Before he crossed the front gate, the master recognised him and beckoned to him, saying, “What a good news have you brought home to-day? Come right in, quick, quick!” Hakuin then told him all about what he went through with that day. The master tenderly stroked him on the back and said, “You have it now, you have it now.” After this, Hakuin was never called names.

Such was the training the father of modern Japanese Zen had to go through. How terrible the old Shōju was when he pushed Hakuin down the stone-wall! But how motherly when the disciple after so much of ill-treatment finally came out triumphantly! There is nothing lukewarm in Zen. If it is lukewarm, it is not Zen. It expects one to penetrate into the very depths of truth, and the truth can never be grasped until one comes back to one’s native nakedness shorn of all trumperies, intellectual or otherwise. Each slap dealt by Shōju stripped Hakuin of his insincerities. We are all living under so many casings which really have nothing to do with our inmost self. To reach the latter, therefore, and to gain the real knowledge of ourselves, the Zen masters resort to methods seemingly inhuman. In this case however there must be absolute faith in the truth of Zen and in the master’s perfect understanding of it. The lack of this faith will also mean the same in one’s own spiritual possibilities. So exclaims Rinzai: “O you, men of little faith! How can you ever expect to fathom the depths of the ocean of Zen?”