Now we’re going to address Zen Buddhism, both Chinese and Japanese. You cannot have a logical exposition of Zen because Zen is not logical. What I’m going to try to do (and which I think will be sort of fun) is throw out a lot of snowballs and hope that they hit here and there. There’s a lot of humor in Zen and a lot of insight. I hope that it registers to the degree that it will help you in your spiritual practice.
Zen is down-to-earth and matter-of-fact. You’re going to have to change your whole orientation of thinking from the material on the Indian philosophies. I’m going to give you some examples of Zen’s earthiness to start. First of all, Zen is very definitely life-affirming. Yunmen, a great Chinese Zen Master, said, “Every day is a good day.” Even if you’ve got a bill since your car was banged up. “Every day is a good day,” Zen affirms life. When we get to Indian Buddhism, you’ll find that Indian Buddhism is life-negating. Indian Buddhism is only fit for monks and those willing to give up the world. But Zen, which is part of Buddhism, is a sect of Buddhism (such as Protestants, Catholics, and Baptists in Christianity) and believes life should be affirmed. My Zen Master used to get that across quite a bit. There’s no metaphysical speculation. It must come with your insight and your realization. I’m going to illustrate that with several stories.
A Story: Death
The Emperor of Japan said to the national Zen Master, “Where will you go when you die?” The Zen Master replied, “I don’t know.” The Emperor was surprised. He said, “You’re a Master, why don’t you know? And the Zen Master replied: “Because I haven’t died yet!” Pretty down to earth. It’s a good answer and good teaching, too, because it takes away all these preconceptions. If you ask the same question of an Indian teacher, he would probably go on for hours about all the probabilities even though you know he doesn’t know the answer. When a friend of mine from Japan, Genjin Suzaki (who taught Indian Buddhism at Otani University in Kyoto), went to India, he told me he came home one night and there was a group of students and a teacher discussing Indian philosophy downstairs. He said hello to them, went upstairs, had a night’s sleep, got up, took a shower, ate breakfast, and came downstairs. They were still talking philosophy. Lengthy discussions are not unusual in Indian culture. Characteristic of Indian Philosophy, teachers would give a lot of answers.
Now the same question about death was expressed when a student asked, “Where will you go when you die?” The Zen Master said: “Right to Hell.” The student was surprised. “Why would you, a Zen Master, go to Hell?” He answered, “If I don’t go to Hell, who will be there to teach you?”
A Story: Five Fingers
I’ll give you an example from my own Zen Master. This interaction occurred when I brought two people to meet him. The woman asked him a very nice, very logical question: “Roshi, why must there be English, French, German, and Russian? Why must there be wars?” He held up his hand and said, “I have five fingers; why do I have five fingers?” I went over to him. I counted, “One, two, three, four, five. Yes, he has five fingers.” Afterward when we’d left, this woman, who was from Latvia, said, “Why didn’t he answer my question?” I replied, “He gave you the only possible answer!” If you’re going to get into a discussion of why you have five fingers, you can see how ridiculous it is.
Spring Follows Winter
One time I asked Professor Wen-shan Huang, my great Chinese friend and a noted scholar, “What is a sage?” He said, “A sage is a man who wants springtime to come after winter.” Well, of course, springtime does come after winter. A sage doesn’t want autumn to come after winter. It is the nature of things for spring to come after winter. So then I found out what a sage was, someone in accord with the nature of things.
Another example of how down-to-earth Zen is as follows: There is a sign in the famous rock garden temple, Ryoanji. It says in English, “We can protect you from your enemies, but who can protect you from yourself?” That’s pretty down to earth.
One of the most famous Zen statements was written by an enlightened layman in Zen. He said, “How wondrous, how miraculous, I draw water, I carry fuel.” That is Zen’s attitude. And another one said, “In spring the flowers, in autumn the moon, in summer a refreshing breeze, and in winter the snow. What else do I need? Each hour to me is an hour of joy.” That statement is not life-negating.
The purpose of Zen is to realize your true nature. Not to go to heaven or do something like that. Zen wants you to realize your true nature. One Zen master was asked by a student: “If I’m good all my life and help people, what will happen to me?” And the Master said, “Oh, you’ll go to some hovel called heaven.” That’s the attitude!
History & Purpose of Zen
Zen came to China in about 480 A.D. It was brought by a man called Bodhidharma. Bodhi of course means “wisdom” or “realization.” Dharma has many meanings. And in this case, he may have come from Persia. Buddhism had reached China around 44 A.D. and Bodhidharma didn’t get there until about 480 A.D. He defined Buddhism. He defined it this way: “A special teaching beyond scripture, beyond words and letters, pointing to the mind essence of man, seeing directly into one’s nature, and attaining enlightenment.” Bodhidharma tells you the purpose of Zen is to see into your own nature and attain enlightenment. It has nothing to do with the hereafter; it has nothing to do with what other religions think.
Bodhidharma
There are many, many legends about Bodhidharma. There’s no profit in our going over the legends, though they’re very, very interesting. One of the legends is that, soon after he got there, Bodhidharma came to see the Emperor. The Emperor had requested an audience with him. And the Emperor, who had become a Buddhist years before Bodhidharma had arrived there, said to him, “I have built many temples; I support many monks, I’ve done this; I’ve done that; I’ve built stupas to the Buddha. What merit have I acquired?” (You know he was speaking in a pretty satisfied way.) Bodhidharma said: “No merit whatsoever.” Of course, he was taking a big chance saying that. Then Bodhidharma explained, “Oh, you may have attained a few blessings that’ll help you go to heaven or something like that.” But the Emperor went on talking and didn’t understand anything the other said. Finally, the Emperor asked, “Who is it that says these things? Who are you?” Bodhidharma said, “I know not, your majesty.” Then the Emperor said, “What is the Holy Truth?” Bodhidharma said, “Vast emptiness and nothing Holy about it.” The Emperor was puzzled. So Bodhidharma crossed the river and went into another Chinese kingdom.
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As Bodhidharma explains, the purpose of Zen is to see into your own nature and attain enlightenment. It has nothing to do with the hereafter; it has nothing to do with what other religions think. Many do not think of Zen as a religion. However, if I had my back to the wall, I’d say for that reason it’s the purest religion. Teilhard de Chardin, a great theologian, said that religion is concerned with ultimates. Seeing your nature is the ultimate. Going to heaven and then coming back to earth or coming back a mammal – this is not it. The idea of Zen is to see your nature. Now the word Zen, in my estimation comes from the Pali word jana, which means meditation. Usually, books say it comes from dhyana which is Sanskrit and means meditation. Jana is a word the Chinese cannot pronounce – they don’t have that syllable. (This pronunciation issue also occurs in other countries. For example when I’m in Japan and someone is introducing an American to me, “Mr. Smith,” Japanese syllables represent “Smith” as “Mr. Su-mi-San” since there’s no way for the Japanese to say “Smith.” In the same way, an American going to France has difficulty saying different French words. French pronunciation is different from our pronunciation.)
Bodhidharma points out, and what Zen and Buddhism both point at, is Void or Shunyata in Sanskrit. Void is the basis of the Buddhist personality and it’s called shunyata personality. Shunya, in the Indian language, means “emptiness.” Void in the Buddhist sense doesn’t mean the absence of anything. In the Void of Shunyata, there are mountains and rivers, streams and cities. What Void means (and we’ll get into this when we discuss Indian Buddhism) is Void of Self Nature. Nothing stands independently, like the three legs of a tripod. Take one away and they all fall. This arises, that arises. All is due to concurrent causes. When we get to Indian Buddhism, you’ll see exactly what that means. It’s going to be very hard for you to adjust your thinking to it.
Bodhidharma, one of the greatest religious figures in history, had only three disciples. His answer to them before he died, when he answered his own question, “What is your understanding?” was, “You have my flesh; you have my bones; you have my marrow.” (And that’s why Paul Reps called his book Zen Flesh, Zen Bones.)
The begging bowl and robe were handed from one patriarch to another (that is, one Zen Master to another) until the Sixth Zen Patriarch, Hui Neng, was told not to pass it along as there might be contention over it. Zen has, as I think, a fictitious history going back to early India and many stories about it. However, Zen is so Chinese and Japanese in character and so out of character with the Indians that I can’t see it coming from India, hence the sense of fiction around its early Indian history.
Incidentally, Bodhidharma was buried, I think, with the two slippers he wore. Later, a man who had traveled from China to India, said he had met him on the path walking back to India with one shoe on his head. This story is another example in which we don’t know what to believe.
More Zen Stories
In Zen, “Nowness” is the important thing. I’m going to tell you a couple of stories along those lines. As I said when I began tonight, I’m going to throw out a lot of darts and hope that some of them hit the target. They’re all such great stories. Some of them are in my audiotape Spiritual Stories of the East. At the risk of repeating those and killing sales, I’m going to tell you some. For instance, the Zen Master is always pulling the rug out from under you. Whenever you get set in a nice comfortable concept, he’s going to pull it out from under you. You’re going to suffer for it. And he’s got to do that – he has to clean your mind of all concepts. For instance, the concept of “What is Zen?” I would never dare talk to a group of Zen people and tell them even the little definition that I just gave to you – Zen: “Nowness.” Please think of the “Nowness” in terms of this story I’m about to tell you, which a couple of you know.
Tokusan & Soso
There was a Chinese Zen Master called Tokusan. Tokusan had a big temple, or, rather a monastery in China. His favorite disciple was called Soso. One night Tokusan was strolling through the various halls: the meditation hall, the Buddha hall, and the dining hall. And he came upon Soso, his disciple, sitting zazen, Japanese meditation. You keep your eyes open in Zazen. Tokusan stopped in front of Soso and raised one eyebrow. Soso looked up at him and said, “A dark night and no travelers.” (A pretty good image!) Then Tokusan raised his other eyebrow and suddenly, after saying it was a dark night, implying the dark night of the soul, Soso blurted out, “Master, I am cold.” Well, anyone who’s been through this type of spiritual malaise is going to feel sympathy with him and understand. What did the Master do? The Master took his hand and cracked him across the face, hard! Soso wasn’t expecting it; it hurt! Then the Master raised his other hand and cracked him again. Next, Soso did what you would do and I would do: He ran! He ran down the hall with the Master chasing him. They went out the door, through the Buddha Hall, the dining hall, and came out into a garden. And finally, they came to a dead end. Soso huffed and puffed and sweat poured down his face. He turned around to face his pursuer. The Master came up to him and said, “Well, are you warm now?” That’s pretty good teaching.
Drinking Tea
Zen teaching, however, is not always obvious. One time I took two very close friends to meet Roshi Joshu Sazaki in Los Angeles when he was there. He was nice enough to invite us into the kitchen to drink some tea; we had a couple of crackers and talked. At the end of the hour and a half, my friend Dick Bock (who founded the Sai Baba Foundation here in this country) was very impressed with Roshi Sasaki. Dick turned to Roshi and said, “Roshi, I want you to teach me.” Roshi, surprised, said, “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past hour and a half?” Zen teaching is very practical. Drinking tea with Roshi is just as practical as when Tokusan chased Soso, sweat pouring down his face, and asked, “Are you warm now?”
Some of the stories I could tell you can seem very cruel that way. But Zen is about matters of life and death. In front of every temple, it says: “Only those concerned with life and death should enter here.” It also says alcohol is forbidden, a fact I pointed out to Alan Watts when I came upon him with a flask in his pocket. But people don’t always act the way they’re supposed to act.
Neither / Nor
Now Tokusan, the same Master, illustrated another point. Our world, if it isn’t big, must be small. Either/or, isn’t that the logical way of thinking? Should I go? No. Well then, I don’t go. Yes or no. But that’s the common way of thinking. That’s either/or. Zen has been defined as neither/nor. In that way, wiping away all the negatives, finally, you come to the positive. Of course, there are many ways of looking at things, but we always look at just one way. We see it the way we want to see it. As Tokusan walked through a hall, he came upon two monks who were having a bitter quarrel; they were about to fight. Of course, fighting is against discipline. Tokusan stopped, crossed his arms, and waited for an explanation. One monk stepped forward and said, “Yesterday you gave a talk to us and you said so-and-so. Isn’t that right?” “Yes,” replied Tokusan. The monk continued, “And you said under no circumstances should we do such-and-such. Isn’t that right?” Tokusan answered, “Yes, you are right.” The other monk was astounded. He said, “That wasn’t the way I heard it. I thought you said so-and-so and we should do such-and-such….” The second monk’s perception was completely the opposite of what the first monk expressed. Tokusan turned to him and said, “I perceive you, too, are right.” Then the young attendant with Tokusan turned to his Master and said, “Well, they can’t both be right.” And Tokusan replied, “Yes, I perceive that you, too, are right.” Different ways of looking at things. That’s good training.
A Samurai & His Sword
These fellows use what is called “expedient means” to teach their students. In India, they are very formal, “Yes, my son.” Zen masters are not like that. A Samurai warrior with two swords came to the Zen Master and said, “Master, I have to know. Is there a heaven and hell? I have to know the answer.” The Master ignored the question and said, “Who are you?” “I am a Samurai,” he said. The Master continued, “You, a Samurai, with that face? Who would hire you?” The Samurai started to get angry. The Master provoked further, “Oh, I see you have a sword. Your sword probably isn’t sharp enough to cut my head off!” With that the Samurai reached for his sword and started to pull it out. The Master said, “Now open the gates of hell!” Realizing what the teaching was, the Samurai pushed it back and bowed deeply and the Master said, “Now open the gates of Heaven.” Isn’t that some way to answer a question? Zen is so delightful because there’s so much humor in it.
A Sound or a Personal Disaster?
Zen says, “In what is seen, there should only be the seen; in what is heard, only the heard; in what is sensed, only the sensed; and in what is thought, only the thoughts.” And you say, “Well, isn’t that what we do?” No; it isn’t what we do! I’ll give you an example of how we impose thinking onto the sense perceptions. I was at a party in Westwood, Los Angeles. Everyone was having a good time. It was a very nice party. Suddenly we heard a high piercing sound in the distance, which you translate in your mind as a siren. It’s just a high-piercing sound. The sound was coming nearer. There was a man and woman there who had two children. One said, “It seems to be going in the direction of our house. Maybe there’s something wrong. Our children are home with the babysitter.” The siren went by and pretty soon they had themselves worked into a frenzy. They jumped in the car and took off from the party. They were back twenty minutes later looking very sheepish. Now actually nothing had happened. All they had heard was a high-pitched sound. Zen says what is seen – only the seen. And of course, this is not what the couple did.
Reason & Emotion: A Balance
Zen also says (and this is a very important point in the modern world) that reason and emotion must be in balance or there will be suffering. If there’s too much emotion and too little reason, there will be suffering. If there’s too much reason and too little emotion, there will be suffering. Emotion and reason must be in balance. Monk Senzaki put it another way: He said, “It is better to discipline yourself than to have life do it for you.” I think that’s a pretty good philosophy, don’t you?
Next, I’m going to give you a statement that two masters made to each other, and this is going to be difficult. Both of them, of course, are correct. The first one said, “When the water is clear, the moon appears.” Now I can understand that: When there are no clouds and the water is clear, the moon appears. The other one said, “No, when the water is clear, the moon disappears.” That’s a koan for you to think about. They’re both right, but they’re right on different levels. In the ordinary world, when the water is clear, the moon appears. But in the absolute world, when the water is clear, the moon disappears.
Hui-Neng
One of the most famous stories in Zen, which probably had a bigger effect on Zen than any other, has to do with Hui-Neng. He was the sixth Patriarch in Zen. It is usually felt that modern Chinese Zen began with him – that the other Zen before that was Indian, coming with Bodhidharma. Hui-Neng is one of the most interesting men in all history. He never learned to read or write, nor did he have an education. He supported his mother by cutting trees in the forest and bringing the firewood to town to sell. One day he brought some firewood to a particular establishment and, as he was making the transaction, he heard someone chanting a sutra, a scripture of Buddhism called the Diamond Sutra. It was saying, in a sense, “That abode which is nowhere, that is the true abode.” Suddenly something clicked with him. He said, “Who is that who teaches that?” He was told, “Oh, Master Hung Jen who lives 500 miles from here.”
Hui-Neng said, “I have to go see him.” I have a hunch that he was acquainted with the principles of Zen Buddhism before that or the Diamond Sutra wouldn’t have registered. By a happy coincidence (it wasn’t a coincidence), someone made a present of several pieces of gold to him, and he was able to give that to his mother so she could support herself. He took off on foot (500 miles on foot) and he eventually got to the monastery.
The Master made fun of him to test him. The Master said, “Well, you’re from the South? Then you’re a barbarian! ” Hui-Neng said, “Well, as to north and south, yes. But as to the true wisdom, what has that got to do with it?” The Master thought, “This guy is pretty glib.” (Actually, he was impressed.) He said, “Take him to the kitchen and have him pound rice.” For about eight months Hui-Neng worked in the kitchen pounding rice. He never went to a lecture; he never went to meditation. He was just an employee in the kitchen pounding rice.
But the Master, realizing he was close to death, said to the monks, “I am going to ask each of you to submit a poem telling me your understanding. The one who hits it on the nose will be my successor.” Well, all the monks said, “Shen-Hsiu, the head monk, was going to be the successor. There’s no reason for us to write a poem.” Shen-Hsiu had been praised many times and he was going to be the successor. Shen-Hsiu wrote one and it was written on the wall. Now listen carefully because you will see the difference between Zen and ordinary thoughts. Shen-Hsiu wrote, “The body is the tree of enlightenment; the mind is the stand of the bright mirror; wipe it constantly and with ever watchful diligence to keep it uncontaminated by the worldly dust.” (It could have been better translated than that.) In other words, wipe the dust from the mirror constantly. This is very common. In Japan, they speak of dust, wipe the dust from the mirror, keep it clean; wipe the sins off it. This is very standard religious thinking. The Master praised it, but he called Shen-Hsiu to his room and said, “You haven’t entered yet. Write me another one.” Shen-Hsiu was never able to write another poem. He couldn’t do it.
The monks said, “Isn’t this wonderful what Shen-Hsiu has written.” One of them walked through the kitchen quarters, reciting this poem. The moment Hui-Neng, who was illiterate, heard it, he knew the man who had written it hadn’t seen his nature. Hui-Neng said, “Will you do me a favor since I can’t read or write? Take me in so I can pay reverence to it.” So the monk led him in and Hui-Neng said, “Would you kindly write my poem?” The monk scoffed, “You, pounding rice in the kitchen? How could you write a poem?” Hui-Neng said, “Don’t deride others.”
Here was Hui-Neng’s poem. Answering the first one, which was the body is the tree of enlightenment, the mind is the stand of a bright mirror, Hui-Neng wrote, “Enlightenment is no tree nor is the bright mirror a stand. Since it is not a thing at all, where could it be contaminated by dust?”
The moment the Master saw it, he knew this was a man who had realized his true nature. Later Hui-Neng was famous for saying, “From the beginning, not a thing is.” The Master, in one of the most courageous moves in history, came to the kitchen and said, “Is the rice cooked yet?” Hui-Neng said, “The rice has been cooked for a long time.” The Master hit the table three times. Hui-Neng got the message: Come to my room at the third watch at night. On the third watch at night, Hui-Neng, the illiterate rice pounder, went to the Master’s room and the Master spent all night expounding the Diamond Sutra to him. Hui-Neng attained complete wisdom.
The Master said, “You’d better get out of here because you’ll be in a lot of danger from the other monks.” (The Master had given him the begging bowl and the robe of the new patriarch!) Here was a man who had never studied with him, never meditated with him and the master said, “You are the successor.” Incredible decision! So the Master said, “I will row you across the river.” Hui-Neng said, “No, I’ll row you across the river. Before, it was right that you rowed me to the other shore. But it is now up to me to row others to the other shore.” And the Master approved of that very highly. When they got to the other shore, the Master said, “Go to the mountains and lie low for a while and let this develop in you. It’s all there; don’t rush it.”
As Hui-Neng left, the other monks heard about it and they set out, led by a former general, to catch him and take the begging bowl and the robe from him. The general, a big, very brutal-looking guy, outdistanced the others and came upon Hui-Neng and caught him.
Hui-Neng said, “There’s the begging bowl; there’s the robe; take them.” The general went over and tried to lift them but he couldn’t do it. Hui-Neng explained why he couldn’t lift them. The general said, “Well, I’m not really after the begging bowl; I’m after Enlightenment. Can you help me?” So Hui-Neng said, “Just control yourself for a minute or two.” There was a silence. Then Hui-Neng said, “Not thinking of good or thinking of bad, what was your original face before your parents were born?” The general said, “May I call you my teacher?” Hui-Neng said, “What have you realized?” The general said, “Only the man drinking the water knows whether it’s hot or cold.” He became enlightened at that moment.
Hui-Neng went to the mountains and he lived for a long time with hunters, cooking vegetables in the pot where they cooked meat. And then, one day, he had a feeling, a strong feeling, that it was time for him to go back to civilization. He went down the hill and there was a temple there, so he went into the temple. He didn’t know what he was going to do. And, as he got inside the temple, he noticed two monks arguing. It was a windy day. One monk said, “The wind is moving.” The other monk said, “No, the flag is moving.” Hui-Neng interrupted and said, “It is the mind that is moving.”
Zen has often been thought of as mind only. There has been a sect called Yogacara, which in Indian Buddhism is called “the mind only” sect. It is not the flag that’s moving, it is not the wind that’s moving, it’s the mind that’s moving. The head of the temple, hearing this, was struck by it. He said to Hui-Neng, “I have heard that the Sixth Patriarch is in this vicinity, could you be the one?”
Hui-Neng said, “I am not worthy.” That, in Chinese, is the way of accepting things.
He hadn’t even been initiated yet. The head of the temple shaved his head, gave him the precepts, and then stepped down and let Hui-Neng become the head. He became Hui-Neng’s disciple.
You see enlightenment is not a thing at all, so where can it be contaminated by dust? You see, he’s seeing it at a different level. Incidentally, Hui-Neng said one time, “All knowledge except Self-knowledge is ignorance.”
To be continued…
