Although the physical, psychological, and spiritual benefits of zazen are many every step along the way, for some there comes a pivotal moment when the separate self dissolves completely and ego boundaries collapse. You may exclaim, “OMG! Unbelievable!” or you may cry, laugh right out loud, or simply sit speechless, reveling in profound silence and vast spaciousness.

Zen in the West has emphasized letting go of thoughts, opinions, and the story of yourself to cultivate the dissolution of the small ego self. However, deconstructing the self is not the point of Zen practice. The point is what is revealed when the ego boundaries that separate and divide come down. In Zen terms “what” is revealed. Or we could say “who” is revealed. More personally, you realize that you are “who.” Like Zen Master Tung-shan you may find yourself saying, “He now surely is me, but I am not Him.

I recently discovered a wonderful collection of lectures, Zen for Americans (Dorset Press, 1987), given by Zen master Soen Shaku during his trip to the United States from 1905 to 1906. For me his words are an antidote to the overly scientific and secular approach to meditation, mindfulness, and Zen that is prevalent today. While I applaud the scientific study of meditation and the evidence-based use of meditation in psychotherapy and health promotion, this approach presents only part of the picture. The spiritual dimensions of meditation, mindfulness, and Zen also need to be brought to the fore in order to realize the full power and potential of these practices to heal and unite people for the common good.

It was interesting to read Soen Shaku’s presentation of Zen to Americans prior to the modern and post-modern eras in which I have studied and practiced Zen. He emphasizes that Buddhism is not atheistic and states:

It has certainly a God, the highest reality and truth, through which and in which this universe exists. However, the followers of Buddhism usually avoid the term God, for it savors so much of Christianity, whose spirit is not always exactly in accord with the Buddhist interpretation of religious experience. (p. 26)

He goes on to describe the Buddhist conception of God as panentheistic. God, or the highest reality, manifests as this world, but at the same time, is more than all that exists.

Further, he states that there are two paths to realization in Buddhism, the positive and the negative. He asserts that these two approaches to spiritual practice are complementary and mutually support one another. The negative way is the path of non-ego. As I mentioned earlier, this path, emphasizing the realization of emptiness, has been primary in American Zen. Soen Shaku’s view is that the positive way is based on the doctrine of Dharmakaya, a word that can be translated many ways, but roughly corresponds with the Christian concept of Godhead. Perhaps an overemphasis on the negative way, to the exclusion of the positive way, has been a factor contributing to some of the problems in Zen communities in America today.

In our current scientific and secular culture there is the tendency to de-emphasize, or ignore, the religious or spiritual aspects of Zen practice. This diminishes the transformative potential of the practice for human and spiritual development. Soen Shaku states, “the power of religion is fundamentally love, – love that does not exclude nor discriminate nor particularize; and this kind of love is realizable only when we recognize naturally and rationally and humanly the divinity of all existence and the universality of truth, in whatever diverse aspects they may be considered and by whatever different paths they may be approached.” (p. 114).

Brad Warner’s recent book, There Is No God and He Is Always with You: A Search for God in Odd Places, followed by Inquiring Mind’s, The God Issue, stimulated and gave permission to many Buddhist practitioners to revisit the “G-word” and reconnect with meaningful aspects of their spiritual journey. As I sit here at my desk, snowed-in on Valentine’s Day eve, my great, great, great, Aunt Anna Howard Shaw, one of my guiding ancestors, comes to mind. In an episode of the sitcom 30 Rock, Valentine’s Day was renamed Anna Howard Shaw Day by one of the characters who didn’t like the holiday, since February 14^th was Anna’s Howard Shaw’s birthday. Aunt Anna was the first woman in the United States to be ordained a Methodist minister, she was a medical doctor, and she was most well known as an orator for the women’s suffrage movement. Her favorite word for God was “the Infinite.” She thought that all the major world religions taught the same basic truth that she called “infinite love.” In her view all reformers desiring positive change in the world must be immersed in and motivated by “a great love for humanity, a love which nothing can quench. Which can endure all things and still trust with such an abiding faith that it saves, if not others, at least oneself.”

For me, from the beginning, Zen practice was never about emptiness, it was always about love.

The post Valentine’s Day Reflections appeared first on Sweeping Zen.

Recently Zen teachers and practitioners have been discussing our concerns about how Zen has worked so far in the West. Besides sexual, financial and general abuses of power, we have noticed that the mean age of Zen teachers is about 60 years old. And not surprisingly, the older teachers are dying off. Some of the older teachers have not completed plans for succession. How will teachers train and prepare their successors? Emphasizing sangha leadership training for students—not just learning zazen and service—is a priority.

And then there are the younger practitioners. Many of the younger set (GenXers) disapprove of the way the Zen community has allowed decades of abuse to continue at residential Zen centers without an official response from the Zen teachers’ associations. They are not inspired by the way Zen teachers have failed to speak out soon enough or as a group. Some younger and serious Zen practitioners are not spending decades training with charismatic teachers in residential communities as their own teachers may have done. They may have missed out on the intense loyalty required in some centers which may make the previous generation’s reluctance to speak out understandable (but not excusable). This is to say that residential Zen training has not always been effective preparation for sangha leadership. The question now is how should this next generation of Zen teachers understand the complexities of directing and training a sangha?

It seems the historical Asian custom of living in close contact with our Zen teachers has not reliably resulted in a transfer of wisdom and ethical behavior. Most likely, this is at least in part because we do not have either the requisite multiple decades of living with a teacher or the backlog presence of 1000 years of Buddhist influence on our Western society. While Zen Westerners have learned the basic skills of teaching zazen and rituals, we have seen very little of how these behaviors are manifest outside of Zen temples or even within non-residential sangha life. How does the Zen priest or teacher conduct him/herself with family, friends, financial obligations, and love life?

It seems to me that one of the most urgent tasks facing the Western Zen community is establishing more wholesome and effective training programs that address both personal and sangha developmental needs. We need to lessen our reliance on imitating our Asian teachers, and we need to find ways to effectively integrate Zen’s core teachings in our everyday life here in the West to become mature and well-balanced Zen teachers. We need to introduce ministerial training, self-care, and sangha care into the Zen training curriculum.

Relying on imitation of historical Zen teachers and their maxims and the appeal of exotic Asian forms seems to me to lead to idealization and the formation of Zen cults in the West. Idealizing or mythologizing Zen teachers and cultivating a blind obedience to espoused ideals fosters narrow and shut down Zen communities that will not provide a basis for awakening freedom and an effective approach to not causing harm.

I want to point Zen teachers and practitioners to the Shogaku Zen SPOT training program developed by a number of Dharma heirs in the Suzuki-roshi lineage. Originally for Zen priests, this program is now available for lay teachers and other Zen sangha leaders. We have had many requests for a program for students throughout the West, and we have changed the format to a summer intensive program. The emphasis for Zen teachers-in-training is finding your own feet, your perspective on practice from which you offer teachings, understanding sangha dynamics, learning to give Dharma talks and learning how to help students in one-to-one interviews.

My Japanese Zen teacher told me and my students that the most important Zen activity was “watching your own mind.” Western civilization can offer insight on the process of projection and group dynamics without drifting off into “psychologizing.” We need to find authentic ways to discuss and understand Zen practice in our own language and culture. I believe SPOT training and other like programs can further this process.

For further information on SPOT training please see:

SPOT Residential & Ministerial Training for Zen Sangha Leadership (June 30 to July 23rd, 2014)

The post Houston we have a problem: Zen training in the Wild West appeared first on Sweeping Zen.

My friend, Lay Zen teacher Peter Levitt, is especially devoted to lay practice and the Lay Zen Teachers Association (LZTA). He reminded me recently of the important training and conversations occurring in the LZTA regarding integrating life and Zen.  These same conversations and trainings are also taking place in the Soto Zen Buddhist Association (SZBA) and the American Zen Teachers Associations (AZTA). I applaud all of these efforts as steps in the right direction. Peter’s comments brought me back to November 1969, when Shunryu Suzuki Roshi said:

And here in America, something special is happening: that is our group. Our students cannot be categorized in the same way we define Zen student-Zen Buddhist in Japan, because you are not-you are not priest and you are not complete-completely layman. I understand it this way.” And later in the same talk he said: “I think it is the time to start our practice in its true sense, forgetting all about robed person or hippy-style person [laughs].

While the hippies may have mostly disappeared, questions about how much to be not quite a priest or not completely a layperson are alive and well. Sometimes Lay teachers liken their own Dharma brothers and sisters to “mules” when their friend’s lineage does not allow them to reproduce or pass on their empowerments to their disciples. In other instances, priests practicing with shaved heads and robes refer pejoratively to “PWH” (Priests With Hair).

My teacher Sojun Roshi and the late Maezumi Roshi of ZCLA both favored empowering laypeople even though there was a priest path in both lineages. Other not lay/not priest lineages came forward through the Sanbo Kyodan and then through the late Robert Aitken Roshi of the Diamond Sangha. As usual, there is plenty of diversity when it comes to just how these Lay teachers are trained, empowered and recognized. I enthusiastically value the contribution of Lay teachers in developing Zen in the West. I have asked several Suzuki Roshi practice leaders to create a path that empowers Lay Teachers in our lineage to give the lay precepts and to authorize their own students as Lay teachers. I will continue to raise this request in the Suzuki Roshi lineage.

I do not feel we should hinder the blossoming of Western Dharma by insisting that teachers must be priests to offer precepts and Lay empowerment. Nor do I believe that priests should always shave their heads, wear robes, live in a monastery or be celibate. I do believe that both (not completely) priests and (not completely) Lay teachers should make the same ethical commitments to their students and sanghas. And while I have seen power abuses in monastic communities, I have also seen similar problems with Lay teachers. We all need education and training to learn how to care for our communities. Acknowledging the importance of Lay teachers, we have fully included them in our SPOT training.

Our western Zen practice is still young and tender. We need to encourage all varieties of healthy growth. Sincere practitioners and teachers show up in all shapes and sizes. I have heard from other priests that they fear the Lay teachers will take their students and push priests out of their turf. I say: “Go for it!” Offer authentic teaching and let students have expanded opportunities to choose teachers and teachings that add meaning to their lives.

There has been a lively stream of lay practitioners from the time of the Buddha, through Layman P’ang and family in China, in Japan through D.T. Suzuki and Yamada Koun and to current Zen developments in the West. The differences between lay and priest practitioners have also varied over time. Sometimes priests have been celibate homeleavers, and sometimes (as currently occurs in Japan) priests have been married and lived with their families in temples serving the community.

Let me return to the beginning: Suzuki Roshi could see that our practice here was neither priest nor lay. He also said that we Westerners would need to work it out for ourselves. Is the practice alive? Is it related to your life? Does it offer liberation and creativity? Perhaps now is the time for us to see more of what he saw—that liveliness, sincerity of practice and lessening suffering are what matters—independent of whether the path and the teacher are lay or priest.

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Last month’s Dharma Byte addressed finding the balance in daily life that comes from Zen and its meditation; and the fact that practicing Zen itself requires striking a balance between time devoted to zazen and time demanded of our responsibilities to family, household and career. This dimension of Zen practice may be thought of as developing “social Samadhi” along with the more personal dimensions of Samadhi – physical, mental and emotional levels – that grow stronger over time on the cushion.

Other social examples of balance or imbalance may be witnessed in what passes for justice and reconciliation between individuals, groups, and even whole nations. The Nuremburg trials as well as those of the Japanese military after WWII are examples that stand out in memory for my generation; more starkly for our parents’ generation, who fought that war; and fading quickly into obscurity for our children’s generation. George Santayana’s warning that “Those who cannot remember history are doomed to repeat it” never seemed clearer to me, though I never felt that I could learn much from studying history, personally.

One reason is summed up in another famous quote from Winston Churchill, “History is written by the victors.” History is suspect for a number of reasons. The history of Zen, for example, is incomplete, as is any history. Matsuoka Roshi considered history to be one of the great deceivers in that it creates a distorted impression, for example that only one Zen master, such as Master Dogen, was preeminent during a given period. Nothing could be further from the truth. But it is exceedingly difficult to grasp the bigger picture of interdependent interplay of contingent events, causes and conditions of the times.

The trial of German Nazis for war crimes garnered the greatest amount of attention after the war, and has enjoyed the most retention in public memory as determined by media coverage, especially that of Adolf Eichmann. Trials of the Japanese are not as iconic, though seared into the memory of those Allied forces held as prisoners of war. Something like 5,000 combatants were identified as “war criminals” and sentenced to be punished, ranging from death by hanging to lifetime incarceration. Hundreds of POWs volunteered as hangmen. The lone judge to vote against criminalizing Japan’s wartime behavior was from India. He maintained that the Japanese were pushed into war by actions of the USA.

We saw a willful revisionist history after the Vietnam War, with resultant pain and social distortions still with us today, in the form of PTSD and other disorders. We are witness to perhaps the most grotesque manifestation of war in the unfair competition for needed services between vets of Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan. The old saw has it that time heals all wounds. But not if they are not cleansed. They simply fester, and become worse. And it seems that we simply do not know how to clean some kinds of wounds.

Before turning to the personal side of this tragic dimension of life, it is worth noting that the public pronouncements surrounding these events often repeat the same refrain. The issue is presented as a choice between “moving forward” or “looking back.” The former is touted as the positive, progressive and forward-looking option, while the latter is deemed negative and retrogressive. The forward approach is the choice of those who want to “move on,” get on with the business of the future, not get bogged down by “water under the bridge.” Those who want to revisit the past insist that it is not possible to have a fresh start without redressing grievances. It is instructive to note that the former position is predictably taken by the victors, and relative aggressors, to the recent unpleasantness; while the latter position is just as predictably held by the relative victims, the oppressed. Over time, the two sides often switch positions, so that after centuries of internecine conflict, the attempt to determine original sin becomes an endless regress into the dark mists of forgotten history. Forget, Hell! captures this sentiment in the case of the US Civil War. The truth is, we can only move forward by looking back, simultaneously.

A recent special on television recounted the provenance of the Parthenon, the iconic example of Greek architecture gracing the Acropolis of Athens for lo these many millennia. The story goes that the rulers of Athens offered up their daughter as a human sacrifice to quell a conflict that threatened the cohesion of the community. It struck me first, as an example of the lost sense of noblesse oblige, the idea that those who most benefit from society should step up to make the most sacrifice in times of crisis. Why the daughter is offered up, rather than the self-sacrifice of one of the principals, is open to debate, of course, along with the sacrifice of Isaac. The details of the story and its accuracy are not important here, but the point made by a commentator, that we do not have human sacrifice today, hit me with a force currently characterized by the colorful expression, gobsmacked.

If we are to learn anything from history, it should be the answer to that line from the song made famous by the late Pete Seeger, Where Have All the Flowers Gone?: “When will we ever learn?” What is the volunteer army if not human sacrifice? The youth of the nation—more accurately the youth of the lower income/opportunity segment of the population—are routinely sacrificed to the professed “vital interests” of the nation in recurrent forays in international adventurism. It becomes obvious that these so-called vital interests reflect those of international corporate entities more than they do any legitimate interests of the body politic of the USA. At least the Greek imperative was altruistic, if we can believe the story.

There have been few examples in the public domain of a balanced approach to a just resolution of such injustices. One shining example is that of Mohandas Gandhi’s nonviolent breaking of the yoke of British imperialism in India. More recently, the truth and reconciliation commission formed by the leadership of the recently departed Nelson Mandela of South Africa. The final outcome of rebalancing the extremes of apartheid are perhaps yet to be seen, but at least this represents a step away from the usual truth and retribution approach.

On a more immediate basis, recent political attacks on the president and a potential future candidate of the other party persuasion, tarred with Bridgegate, have become so much the same-ol’-same-ol’ as to have lost their effectiveness, if none of their vitriol, in swaying the undecided. The recent winter storm in Atlanta, labeled Snowmageddon, is an even more trivial example. The finger-pointing began immediately, as if in this best-of-all-possible worlds, it is unacceptable that people will do what they always do, which is to engage in self-serving behavior that accumulates the causes and conditions of disaster as quickly and predictably as expressways accumulate snow and ice.

In these situations, everyone wants to point a finger at anything other than their own nose. As usual, those who are least responsible receive the most heat. And those elected and appointed to anticipate and take action are now most interested in making sure this does not happen in the future, rather than debating their failures in the most recent past. A brief review of history shows the same pattern of incompetence, denial or ‘fessing up, putting the past behind and moving on, occurring on a regular basis—every decade or so in the case of local weather issues, about the same for international wars these days.

But the final lessons to be learned must necessarily take root in the heart of our being, on the personal level. Social activism comes second, third, or perhaps even fourth. Buddhism, and Zen in particular, does not profess to offer a top-down solution for society, but a ground-up approach to personal salvation and sanity in the midst of life. Of course, we want to observe the insidious effects of these societal influences on our own worldview and resultant behaviors, but dispassionately, in order to find liberation.

We are all guilty of selective memory, not just our leaders. Indeed, it may be one of the saving graces of human dignity, allowing us to mask the crushing inadequacy of our failure to live up to our own highest ideals. Think of the last time you had a part in a dispute with your fellows at work, family at home, or—Buddha forfend—at the Zen center. Are you the one wanting to move on, or do you prefer to go back and review what happened in the interest of avoiding such another pitfall in the future? If you want to move on, not cry over spilt milk, is it because you are the one who spilled the milk? If you prefer to pick over those bones again, is it in the interests of justice, or just that you like to carry a grudge?

The social dimensions of Zen practice take a back seat to the personal. If we are not straight with ourselves, we will be of no use to others. In considering our behavior toward others, and theirs toward us, we need look no further than the Precepts and Perfections for wise guidance, as well as the Noble Eightfold Path. But the true value of this kind of second-guessing and problem-solving is what it reveals about the nature of the self. If we can come to an accommodation with the limitations of the constructed self—to even be capable of solving this dilemma—we may find an opening, a Dharma Gate, into the true self. If we live within the reality of this Buddha Nature, we will find that we do not hold anything against others, nor against ourselves. At least not for long, and the emphasis on the former. We are always our own worse critics, as is understandable. We know ourselves too well, even if we have everyone else fooled. But we should not be so hard on ourselves that we begin to doubt our potential for awakening. This does not amount to a license to kill, steal or lie, or any of the rest. It is a license to accept and admit to imperfection. As the great Chinese sage says (Hsinhsinming: Faith Mind; by Sengcan):

To live in this realization is to be without anxiety about nonperfection. To live in this faith is the road to nonduality, for the nondual is one with the trusting mind.

This trusting mind is not a simple matter of deciding to be more trusting in relationships. It is a deeper trust in existence itself, and the wisdom of bodhicitta, the body-mind, buddha nature, or true self. This self does not need to be, nor to be perceived as, perfect. We reserve the right to be wrong, in Zen. But we do not claim the right to not learn from our mistakes. Including what has been written here. It, the Zen life, is all one long mis-take. Master Sengcan concludes with this exclamation expressing exasperation with the effort to express buddhadharma:

Words! The Way is beyond language, for in it there is no yesterday, no tomorrow, no today.

We should not waste today in doubts and arguments that have nothing to do with this. Today is the only time we really have. “Today” is also only in this present moment.

The post Moving forward, looking back appeared first on Sweeping Zen.

Puget Sound Zen Center in Vashon, Washington, led by Gakudo Koshin Christopher Cain, Osho, has recently announced its disaffiliation with Rinzai-ji, Inc., citing a variety of concerns and reasons for the departure; among their concerns is Joshu Sasaki‘s continued leadership of Rinzai-ji.

You can download a copy of their announcement and letter here from the Sasaki Archive. Here is the letter originally sent to Rinzai-ji Administrative Abbots and Board of Directors, dated February 11, 2014:

We, the board members of Puget Sound Zen Center, are tasked with upholding our Zen Center’s mission and overseeing its governance. We are working to build a healthy and vibrant sangha, and to help Zen Buddhism become further established in America. We strive to be a community that is inclusive, and that models transparency, accountability, democratic governance, open discussion, and empowerment of sangha members.

In November 2012 when we were informed of Joshu Sasaki’s abuses of power, we decided to work toward better integrating our core values into our operations as a Zen Center. In the last year, we’ve created a teacher contract for our Abbot, a teacher ethics policy, and a standing ethics committee. We are in the process of establishing a voting membership which will have the authority to approve board members and to hire and remove teachers.

We had hoped that Rinzai-ji, Inc. would reflect, grow, and change in response to the events involving Joshu Sasaki. We do not feel that this has happened. Rinzai-ji, Inc has not issued a statement condemning his behavior, and has not issued an apology for his behavior. Rinzai-ji Inc. has not removed him from a leadership position and continues to operate under his directives. It is unclear to us to whom he is accountable, and who has the authority to accomplish needed changes to the culture and management of Rinzai-ji, Inc.

Because of this lack of alignment with our values and our practices as a community, with a heavy heart, we choose to end our affiliation with Rinzai-ji Inc. This is a weighty decision for us. Several members of our sangha, including our Abbot, his wife, and our lay teacher, have studied and trained with Joshu Sasaki, and many in our sangha have been profoundly affected by his teachings.

We sincerely hope that the reach of Zen will continue to widen and embrace all those who seek refuge in its teachings in 21st century America. We dedicate our work as a sangha to this goal.

Sincerely,

The Puget Sound Zen Center Board of Directors

Christopher Ezzell, President
Beth Glennon, Secretary
Elizabeth Fitterer, Treasurer
Stephen Black, member-at-large
Steve Roache, member-at-large

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In December, I authored a piece regarding the dharma transmission of Zenrin R. Lewis through Eido Shimano — the Rinzai Zen teacher who has been the subject of numerous ethical misconduct complaints. The central focus of the piece revolved around that thorny issue of ethics. At that time and in the months since, I’ve received some feedback suggesting the piece was not entirely fair or accurate. I must admit it could have been a better piece and I’ll endeavor here to explain why, if for nothing else than to bring a bit more fairness to the topic.

While I was addressing the lack of formal procedures in place within the American Zen Teachers Association (AZTA) to deal with an issue like the one discussed in the original article, I did not point out that the Soto Zen Buddhist Association (SZBA) does have both an ethical statement and grievance procedure in place. My overall concern when writing that piece was with a lack of uniform or standardized ethical guidelines for members of the AZTA, which describes itself currently as a collegial peer group. That makes it different from an organization like the SZBA, which appears to be more in line with a professional organization (with an ethics statement, grievance procedures, and ongoing discussions around various training requirements for members that go beyond the question of recognized dharma transmission).

It seems, based on what I have heard, that the AZTA is currently in a place where there is debate concerning its mission and future role in the American Zen community. Critics have argued that membership in the organization has implied membership in a professional organization, where one would expect an ethical statement and grievance procedure to be in place at a minimum. To their credit, the AZTA has always been upfront regarding its history as a peer-group organization of ordained and lay Zen teachers, allowing them to network and foster friendships. Critics question why the organization has a public face if they are not a professional body, offering a listing of centers which some say implies an endorsement of that center and/or teacher by the body as a whole.

In contrast, the SZBA has a fairly robust ethics statement in place for its members, most of whom run independent sanghas of their own. While it isn’t akin to the Vatican of American Soto Zen (something I’m not sure any of us want to see), it goes well beyond status as a peer-group organization. Members must have in place an ethics statement at their temple dealing with sangha diversity, fiduciary responsibility, sexual conduct, drugs and alcohol and use of authority. They offer potential members examples of other guidelines other member temples have adopted to assist them, both for residential and non-residential training facilities.

They also require that a member report to the Grievance Committee of the SZBA incidents where a member was found by their own sangha to have violated their own ethical guidelines, with the possibility of suspension of their membership depending on the outcome. The only thing I find missing in the SZBA’s model is a prominent complaint link on their website, something like the American Psychological Association has in place for allegations with their complaint form (another voluntary organization of members). I think this would help unearth complaints and allegations that might be missed when relying on self-reporting and formal grievance procedures within a sangha.

Because of the scandals that have  emerged in recent years in the Zen community here, the issue of ethical oversight is a timely one. Organizations may need to redefine their own mission and purpose in an effort to mitigate the harm that has been done to individuals, sanghas and the tradition as a whole. I think it’s important to do whatever we can as individuals and as groups to minimize the harm done to people and to the Zen community at large as a result of some bad actors. Zen Buddhism is slowly growing up over here and, in that process, some adaptations and concessions will no doubt need to be made along the way.

In summary, I wanted to write today’s post to draw attention to at least one human institution in this discussion that has been proactive in the area of ethics. I tend to paint a broad brush at times in this work due to my own frustration with some of the things I’m reporting on, though I know there are many Zen teachers in North America who get that these issues are important. Beyond the presence of ethics statements and procedures, the real challenge we face when discussing abuse lies in the areas of accountability, remorse, and changes in behavior, both at an individual level, as well as the group level when it concerns enabling.

Download a copy of the SZBA’s Ethical Statement & Grievance Procedures

For further reading on this subject, you can also read Alan Senauke’s Safe Harbor: Guidelines, Process, and Resources for Ethics and Conduct in Buddhist Communities.

The post Ethical standards in the SZBA: a potential model for others appeared first on Sweeping Zen.

The Zen Women Ancestors Document

The following piece by Myoan Grace Schireson first appeared in the Spring 2014 issue of Buddhadharma: The Practitioner’s Quarterly. This piece is reprinted with their permission to Grace’s blog. Please visit thebuddhadharma.com for more information on their publication.

For centuries, the practice of chanting and studying male ancestors has been an important aspect of Zen. Western Zen students followed suit, chanting the names of historical male ancestors in many ceremonies, ranging from morning service to lay and priest ordination, and most notably the ceremonies of dharma transmission, when a teacher passes on his or her recognition and empowerments to a disciple. By acknowledging and connecting with our historical Zen ancestors, we celebrate the intimacy, continuity, and authenticity of practice.

This lineage, or family tree, helps connect Zen practitioners personally to essential teachings through knowing the actual names and stories of inspiring teachers. On a more profound level, we allow their teachings to influence our daily lives. And on the most profound level, we experience the love and energy of the ancestors supporting us as we practice. Identifying women ancestors is new to Zen and, I believe, essential to the full unfolding of Western Zen Buddhism. Women now make up about half of all teachers in Western Buddhism, and the recognition of women ancestors is a solid step toward bringing Buddhism more fully into the reality of Western life.

The Women Ancestors Document is a testament to the contributions of historical women dating back to the early days of Indian Buddhism. Through their participation and commitment to the dharma, they help us see how change occurs through persistence and skillful means. Studying how change and innovation have occurred previously in Zen practice confirms that even when women’s presence in monasteries was strictly forbidden, some were still able to enter, train, and ascend to teaching positions. Women did so through the wholehearted support of male insiders—either awakened male Zen masters or male colleagues.

The vitality and availability of Zen women’s convents have waxed and waned through Buddhist history. Zen women ancestors have only survived because male Zen masters broke the rules and allowed women to join men’s monastic practice. Male Zen masters risked censure and disturbance in their own monasteries when they allowed women to practice alongside monks, but they did it.

Taking a page from history, those of us involved in the creation of the Women Ancestors Document understood that it would require the support of influential male Zen teachers. For that reason we accommodated the more traditional among us and called our list “Women Ancestors Document” rather than “Women’s Lineage.” This distinguished our new document from the long-established Soto Zen lineage chart, making it optional while allowing us to use it in the same ways.

Our women Zen ancestors left home to enter the realm of physically arduous monastic practice. Rarely did these women Zen masters receive the recognition and financial support awarded to their male counterparts. They survived by banding together, offering sustenance to their communities through clinics and schools in exchange for material donations. Women’s teaching generally differed from the great masters, who lived in remote locations and extolled the transcendence of all worldly attachments. Women expressed their humanness and longing to actualize their vows amid daily life—even as they lived with worldly attachments.

A shining example of the feeling found in women’s practice is captured in the poem “As a Nun Gazing at the Deep Colors of Autumn” by the Japanese nun Rengetsu:

Clad in black robes I should have no attractions
To the shapes and scents of this world.
But how can I keep my vows,
Gazing at today’s crimson maple leaves?

There are several illustrations that contain the women’s names approved by the SZBA, but the one most commonly used is the circle designed by Salt Spring Island Sangha. The circle starts with mythical female buddhas, followed by historical women teachers of India and China, and ending with Japanese women through the current century. All of the women ancestors are deceased; we have not yet officially included deceased Western Zen women, as traditionally it takes several hundred years to become an ancestor.

The Women Ancestors Document is being used in conferring precepts (for men and women) in lay and priest ordination. It has been added to documents of dharma transmission. It has been drawn as a circle, a river, an enso, a bamboo grove, and included as a “pilgrimage” record, where current women Zen teachers add their names and official stamps to a silk listing Zen’s female ancestors.

While it has only been in existence a short time, the document is very much alive and well, and its presence is felt in many Western Zen sanghas. May it continue to bring recognition to Zen’s female ancestors and to living Zen women and be a source of inspiration, awakening us all to the distinctively vibrant ways of women’s spiritual practice.

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This is an important question for Zen groups outside of Japan, founded and/or led by Japanese Zen priests. A quick answer to the question would be that Zen practitioners in Japan have always been priests. So talk of a Japanese non-priest Zen practitioner is nonsense. Non-priests do not “practice” Zen in Japan.

The difference in culture and practice between Japan’s 900-year-old history of Zen and America’s much younger version of it could not be greater. All three major denominations of Chinese Buddhism – Tantric, Zen and Pure Land – and most of their many lineages and divisions were transplanted in Japan by government decree in the 6^th century.

From then until Meiji times, Japanese Buddhist priests were mainly responsible for performing funerals and running schools, two very important social tasks (that Buddhist priests in China did not have, by the way.) In theory this means that all Japanese learned to read and write in Buddhist schools and were cremated, given Buddha names, and sent on their way on the Wheel of Life by Buddhist priests.

Through most of history, Japanese priests have not taken on disciples who were not from priest families (something that also did not exist in China.) Although celibacy was demanded of priests on the Asian mainland, Japan was unique in doing almost the opposite: requiring priests to have families and produce children who were qualified by birth to take Buddhist priest vows.

Children of Japanese aristocrats, samurai, craftsmen and farmers were not expected to run temples. That was not part of their particular class responsibilities. In 1868 such feudal class distinctions were formally done away with, again by government decree. But in practice they did not die. And today almost any temple in Japan is run by the son of a priest (or by a man, orphaned at birth, who was given to a temple to be raised.)

Doctrinal differences did not matter in Japan too much, then any more than now, but allegiances of families in every neighborhood of the 49 prefectures have always been important. The names of those family members were registered then as they are now by denomination and neighborhood without anyone having a personal choice in the matter. Generations of temple families (danka) support the same temples as their predecessors. These danka members have records going back at least as far as most church records in Europe. (Interesting word, danka: 檀家 , meaning “sandalwood people”.)

There is an unwritten rule in all Japanese Zen temple traditions that no abbot can train his own son. He must send his son to another priest for training. Temple abbots only take as disciples the sons of other abbots of the same lineage. After four years (or at the abbot’s discretion) those disciples return to their home temples as next abbot in line.

Make no mistake about it: Zen training in Japan is very tough, and I found that most young men in training with me hated every minute of it. But I also noted that after four years many had mellowed, after reaching considerable depths of spiritual insight. At the same time some of them were not looking forward to the life of domesticity and responsibility ahead of them. They will not expect to find potential disciples in the non-priest world, nor will people in that world have any interest in the meditation that changes lives.

I realize this is not exactly the image that Chinese Zen records give of Zen practice. Master to student transmission there did not depend on who your parents were. It has always mattered in Japan. I’ve heard American students training in Japan complain that they think the purest Zen teachings get lost in the Japanese Zen shuffle because of things like that. Such teachings are not lost, of course, even in Japan, but hold that thought.

You don’t have to be a Zen priest to practice Zen in this country. How lucky are we not to have to be pigeon-holed in such a way that we have no choice! I say Hooray for the Beats and Hippies who went knocking on Zen temple doors in Japan. To the question of whose Zen is the True No Way (Mu, get it?), priest’s or layman’s, this lay-priest says “No Way!”

I consider myself a lay priest because after I founded the Seattle Zen Center in 1970 and took academic posts at Pepperdine in Malibu (1988) and Bukkyo in Kyoto (1995) I stopped training others. I have ordained four priests in the Cold Mountain (寒山) lineage, including the very able Kurt Spellmeyer (寒感). Two others have died, leaving their students to fend for themselves, and another still practices but never took on students herself. Dozens of people who trained with me or took my classes at the University of Washington have gone on to be priests of Japanese-sanctioned temples or lay priests.

Aside from the cultural and technical differences between being a priest or practitioner, I worry about priests who seem not to know how dangerous being a priest can be. Zazen is not for everyone. Students whose egos are not strong and healthy can go into even deeper depression than they started with. Good priests must be wise beyond erudition and insight. But then, so must ordinary practitioners.

We’re past the point of no return of worshiping a guru-priest with a Japanese face. Can you imagine what the benefit will be if all Americans began to sit, individually and with others, in zazen? That’s not the goal, but if people could just turn down the volume on themselves and hear transmissions of pain and joy from all sentient beings, what a day of rejoicing that would be!

We have two Suzukis who erected the pillars of American Zen. Suzuki Daisetsu — who came out of the Jodo Shinshu group of Pure Land Buddhism (and for that reason is dismissed by all three forms of Japanese Zen!) — clearly laid the intellectual framework of Zen for all of us. Suzuki Shunryu, a bit later, laid out the most approachable mission to foreigners by Japanese priests, teaching by example the way of Zen.

For fifty years now groups of non-Japanese sit regularly under the direction of an experienced practitioner. But that happens less and less often now under a Japanese priest. It is out of that mix that Zen Americans got started. We’ve been through fire and rain, but we’ve gotten cooler and drier, finally. I hope we don’t miss the opportunity to let everyone wake up without making such a fuss over the priesthood. In the end we are all sandalwood people, realizing together our self-as-other-ness.

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My contribution to Buddhadharma: The Practitioner’s Quarterly, Spring 2014, is now out and available. Click here for a bit of a tease. And subscribe if you’d like the whole piece. There’s also an interesting looking piece on the teacher-student relationship and with Koun Franz now involved with Buddhadharma, I’m expecting some really good things from this journal.

By the way, my “balanced view” about cybersanghas is creating a bit of a stir in our Vine of Obstacles: Online Support for Zen Training community. Some practitioners think I was too negative.

We are having an awfully good time together.

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I visited the prison in Tehachapi last week as a guest chaplain for some inmates who requested a Buddhist priest to conduct services for them. As the director of the Zen Fellowship of Bakersfield, I was contacted through the Prison Dharma Network, a group that coordinates visits to prisoners throughout the U.S. It took several months of paperwork and delay, but at last I was entering the first of many gates.

About forty miles from Bakersfield lies the dry, stark, windblown Cummings Valley of the Tehachapi mountains, high enough for scrub oak but too low for evergreens. Among a scattering of houses and vineyards sprawls the cement and steel compounds of the eighty-year-old California Correctional Institute, the third oldest prison in California after Folsom (1880) and San Quentin (1852).

The prison opened in 1933 as the California Institution for Women, Tehachapi, the first women’s prison in the state, with 28 inmates transferred from San Quentin where they had been housed side-by-side with men with predictable results. The new women’s prison was run on progressive lines with the idea that these women (those who were not hanged) could be returned to society better than they came in. They were allowed to make “colorful frocks” fashioned after what was chic in the magazines and even to wear red shoes if they liked, rather than the drab prison garb and dull boots they had sported in San Quentin.

It was into that environment that Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade sent Mary Astor as Brigid O’Shaunessy at the end of The Maltese Falcon (1941): “Well, if you get a good break, you’ll be out of Tehachapi in twenty years and you can come back to me then. I hope they don’t hang you, precious, by that sweet neck.” James M. Cain also referenced the prison in Double Indemnity (1943) when he mentioned a wife who was cleaning her gun when her husband “got in the way.”

There was a reason Tehachapi became a byword in the noir films of the 1930s and 1940s. First, it was a new concept and in the news. Also, crimes committed by women like Burmah White (L.A.’s own version of Bonnie Parker) were on the rise with the breakdown of traditional family values that came with the economic hard times of the Depression and the Dust Bowl migration to California (most of the several hundred female inmates in Tehachapi during its “boom” years in the ‘30s were from the Los Angeles area). You can read more about its history in Kathleen A. Cairns’ Hard Time at Tehachapi: California’s First Women’s Prison (2011). The prison closed after the 1952 Tehachapi earthquake and reopened as a men’s prison two years later.

When the airport-like metal detector went off in spite of my having taken off my shoes and emptied my pockets, the guard asked me what that was around my neck, indicating the bib-like garment given to me by my Zen master when I was ordained. I never wear my rakusu outside the dojo where we practice, but I did today. Along with my drivers license, it’s all I’m allowed to carry inside. “It’s a religious thing,” I said. “Oh,” said the friendly guard, passing his wand under my arms and between my legs. “I thought maybe it was some kind of bag. You’re good to go.”

Research has confirmed the value of various kinds of meditation in prisons, even for the most hardened criminals (and guards). Although many wardens and chaplains have shown some resistance, resistance has softened with the hard data that shows a decrease in recidivism for prisoners with an established meditation practice, and with the substantial anecdotal evidence that prisoners who meditate become model prisoners while still incarcerated. One study estimates the economic benefits of meditation in prisons resulting in annual savings of more than $31 million, with about half of the total benefitting correctional institutions and half society at large (David L. Magilla, “Cost Savings from Teaching the Transcendental Meditation Program in Prisons,” Journal of Offender Rehabilitation 36:1-4, 2003, pp. 319-331). Most studies have focused on TM, Vipassana, and mindfulness meditation techniques, but for rehabilitation purposes the differences between these techniques appear to be negligible.

One program in Alabama that focuses on Vipassana is the subject of a documentary called Dhamma Brothers http://www.dhammabrothers.com. Testimony from the prisoners is extraordinary and moving. “For the first time, I could observe my pain and grief,” states Omar Rahman. “I felt a tear fall. Then something broke, and I couldn’t stop sobbing. I found myself in a terrain where I had always wanted to be, but never had a map. I found myself in the inner landscape, and now I had some direction.” Another inmate tells how his practice helps him navigate prison life: “When someone cuts in front of you in the chow line, the first reaction is to push him. The Vipassana technique gives you a mental tool to observe the situation. If you give yourself time to think, you are gonna come up with a better solution.”

The idea is simple: meditation opens a window on the self and its relation to the rest of the world that causes each person to take responsibility for the consequences of his or her actions.

My guide was a decade-long veteran of prison ministry. We drive past D Block, a relatively peaceful place, where she says they keep former gang members, sex offenders, and homosexuals for their own safety. Occasionally they add a lifer to the mix. Lifers tend to have a calming effect, she said, because they don’t like others disturbing the peace of what they consider their home.

Our destination is C Block, where the general population of convicts resides. The fifteen-foot fences are topped with gleaming spirals of razor wire like great ominous Slinky toys. As we approach each inner gate, it opens ahead of us and shuts behind us, seemingly on its own.

The chapel is a nondescript, dingy room with a dirty linoleum floor on a hallway with classrooms on either side. Eight inmates file into the room, and we shake hands and introduce ourselves. They range in age from 20s to 50s, black, Hispanic, white. A couple of them already have an established personal practice. Some are curious. All want to improve their lives.

We push aside the bright orange plastic chairs and spread the grey woolen blankets that serve as cushions. They show me the meditation postures they use on their bunks in their cells.

I invite them to try sitting my style for a while, focusing on those new to the practice. One fellow who has been taking notes is slouching. He seems accommodating, aiming to please. His posture expresses a kind of submissiveness that I have seen cured in the past by a few months of diligent zazen. I come up behind him and press my fist into his lower back, straightening his spine. I get him to lift his collarbone, tuck his chin in, and gaze straight ahead. “Look at him,” I say. “Look at his posture. How intimidating he is. He looks like a goddamn samurai.”

I turn down the hard fluorescent lights and the room immediately feels more congenial, more human. In the semi-darkness we let our minds quiet in the silence, pay attention to our breath, and let our hopes and regrets drop off. This is zazen, just sitting, being here and now.

I compare this process to a muddied stream. You can’t clarify the water by continuing to stir it up. As Kodo Sawaki said, “Zazen is good for nothing.” You have to do nothing; then clarity can arise, even here in the belly of concrete and steel bars. Afterward we read the first half or so of Dogen’s thirteenth-century “Fukanzazengi,” which says, “Nothing is separate, nothing is missing. Everything is present. Why go elsewhere when you can practice the Way here and now?”

Our time is up for today. We shake hands again all around. They thank me, and I thank them. These inmates are hungry for more, more books, more DVDs, more mala beads, more help with their practice. They especially want more access to teachers. I would like to encourage other teachers to join the Prison Dharma Network and to offer their services to inmates who request it. The work is satisfying and needs doing.

The IBS (International Bodhisattva Sangha) in San Diego has in the past come to Tehachapi, but it’s a long trek from San Diego. The Buddhist scholar Lewis Lancaster discusses his years of work with IBS in California prisons in an interview in which he mentions collecting about ten thousand books for the prisoners in California, about a thousand of which were given to Tehachapi. Although they have been approved by the censors, these books have yet to reach the shelves or the inmates.

I look forward to going back. In the meantime, the inmates can sit on their own, like monks in a do-it-yourself monastery, knowing that they are not forgotten or alone.

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Dosho Port and Dainin Katagiri

You can view the other installments here: Plum Blossoms I, Plum Blossoms II, and Plum Blossoms III).

Once again, David Casacuberta poured his big heart into the transcribing (thank you, David!) and someone who vaguely resembles the guy on the left (me on my homeleaving day in 1984 with Katagiri Roshi) again made a mess of it by doing the editing.

“Plum Blossoms” was a series of talks given during Rohatsu, 1988 – Katagiri Roshi’s last Rohatsu and last of many seven-day sesshins. There are only six talks rather than seven because Roshi became quite sick and couldn’t give the last talk. Fittingly, toward the end of this piece, he turns his attention to death.

And also fittingly, he didn’t finish commenting on “Plum Blossoms,” really just got started. Probably would have taken another four or five sesshins to work through it all.

It seems that so much in this great life is left undone, only to be forgotten, or perhaps for others to pick up and complete in their own way.

Here’s Roshi:

Dogen Zenji says this in his “Plum Blossoms” fascicle of Shobogenzo:

When the old plum tree suddenly opens, the world of blossoming flowers arises. At the moment when the world of blossoming flowers arises, spring arrives. There is a single blossoms that opens in five petals. At this moment of a single blossom, there are three, four and five blossoms, hundreds, myriads billions of blossoms -countless blossoms. These blossomings are not-being-proud of one, two or countless branches of the old plum tree. An udumbara blossom and blue lotus blossoms are also one or two branches of the old plum tree’s blossoms. Blossoming is the old plum tree offering.

The old plum tree is between the human and heavenly worlds in treeness. Myriads and billions of blossoms are Buddha ancestors blossoms. In such a moment, ‘all the Buddhas have appeared in the world’ is shouted; ‘The ancestor was originally in this land!’ is shouted.

In this case, when the old plum tree suddenly opens, flowers bloom and the world arises, spring arises. They are not separate.

Even if you don’t understand, we continue to say this, otherwise it is very difficult to have the opportunity to be oneness. Even through the ear the words come, you don’t understand, but it is wonderful.

We usually think that spring comes then flowers bloom. But in terms of Buddha’s eye, flowers blooming is simultaneous with spring arising. Shakyamuni Buddha and Zen ancestors continuously are telling so.

Bodhidharma said, “There is a single blossom that opens five petals.”

Dogen said in “Flowers in the Sky,” “One flower opens with five petals, and ripens on its own accord.”

The presence of a single event is intimately connected with five blossoms. The reality that you have attended this sesshin is because this single event is already connected to many conditioned factors. Then this event arises. That is called sesshin is sesshin. One is never two. So that is total picture of existence.

“At this moment a single blossom becomes three, four, five, hundreds, myriads of blossoms.” And the world arises. One is one, Katagiri is Katagiri, sesshin is sesshin. Not a single existence is separated from all beings.

First you have to understand the place beyond time and space but simultaneously it must be connected and digested with all sentient beings. All things in your body and mind. Then it is really alive. That is called “Buddha” – one single blossom blooming.

“These blossomings are not-being-proud of one, two or countless branches of the old plum tree.”

Dharma arises without leaving anything behind but a pure sense of activity. This is the elemental factor of existence. So the blossoms are not proud of one, two, three or countless branches.

The old plum tree is you. The old plum tree is Katagiri and it is beyond Katagiri.

“An udumbara blossom and blue lotus blossoms are also one or two branches of the old plum tree’s blossoms.”

The udumbara flower refers to when Buddha presented a flower to the assembly and Mahakasyapa smiled. The plum tree is exactly the udumbara flower that Shakyamuni held up. Blooming is the old plum tree’s offering.

Even if you don’t like your life, it is blooming. The essential factors of your life are always giving you offerings to let the flowers of your life bloom.

The plum tree is the human world and the heavenly world. “Heavenly world” means the idealistic world and “human world” is the realistic world. The plum tree blooms in both the idealistic and the realistic worlds. Not separated. That’s why Dogen says it manifest in both worlds with its treeness.

There are hundreds of thousands of blossoms, heavenly and human, myriads of blossoms are Buddha ancestors’ blossoms. At such a time, “all the Buddhas have appeared in the world” is shouted and “the ancestor was originally in this land” is shouted. It is a great opportunity when one flower blooms because they are interconnected, interpenetrated with many conditional elements, functioning in dynamism, praising the life of Buddha.

“All the Buddhas have appeared in the world,” is from the Lotus Sutra. It says that the reason the Buddha was born in this world was to open human’s eyes and guide them to enlightenment to dwell in the Buddha’s world.

“The ancestor was originally in this land,” means “I am originally in this land to transmit dharma and save deluded sentient beings.”

“I am originally in this land” refers to China. Bodhidharma came to China in 6^thCentury to teach Buddhism by sitting in zazen for nine years. Bodhidharma sitting for nine years at the Shaolin temple manifested his life and Buddha’s teaching.

For instance, when I came to the United States there were many changes for me. But strictly speaking I am facing the wall with nothing to teach you and nothing you can get from me. You are also facing the wall. Day to day you have to take care of it. And then many different worlds come: San Francisco, Minneapolis, etc. Basically, you have to be in the same location, always. Sitting for nine years. That’s the meaning of Bodhidharma’s sitting.

“This land” is not something different from me. I am this land. At that time, you can begin to take action, teaching and helping all sentient beings to walk hand in hand. If this land is separated from me, if your human life is separated from me and from the rocks, tiles, and pebbles, it is very difficult to give warm heart.

This is our practice. Zazen and you are not separated. You are zazen, then you can really get emotions, and warm feelings towards zazen and you really can teach and understand, walking with zazen hand-in-hand for a long time. Otherwise you cannot do zazen for a long time and you cannot teach Zen. If you try, your teaching will be very narrow, just using words. This is a key point on how we live, how we walk with all sentient beings, lifetime after lifetime.

Your life is stretched to every inch of the universe so your body is a huge body (laughs). That’s why in the Lotus Sutra it is expressed the Buddha’s body as 16 feet tall with a golden body. Where you are right now is beyond time and space.

That’s why Bodhidharma mentions that there is a single blossom that opens one, two, three, millions of blossoms. Nevertheless, there is no egoistic sense of “I” arising nor of “I” perishing. It is exactly pure. No sense of pride, no sense of fragrance. Just come, just gassho, just sit down. Be the intersections. That is pure location for everyone. Then simultaneously, in that location the big world opens. That is the flowers blooming and world arising.

Your moment-time is exactly in the same location as Buddha’s location, Bodhidharma’s location. Pure time is open to everyone, plum trees, lakes, past, present, future. Very naturally, that time you can see and Bodhidharma can see and Buddha Shakyamuni can see.

Therefore, through continuous practice you can actualize Shakyamuni Buddha. For example, when you sew a rakusu and take refuge in the Buddha, Dharma and Sangha. Just like this, Shakyamuni Buddha can be actualized by your continuous practice day to day.

Just like this, gassho is not your gassho, it is the same gassho that Shakyamuni or Bodhidharma did.

So finally, when I die, the whole world dies. When I come to this moment, the whole world is me – then I can die very peacefully because nothing different. If I see something very different from me, so called Zen Center, then I wonder how the Zen Center will continue  after my death, and I think my spirit will be haunting all over the Zen Center always.

At that time my death is not peaceful. If I die in peace, in that moment death is exactly death, occupying the whole world.

The post Plum Blossoms IV for Roshi’s 24th Memorial Day appeared first on Sweeping Zen.

Yunyan asked Daowu, “How does the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion use so many hands and eyes?”

Daowu said, “It’s just like a person in the middle of the night reaching in search of a pillow.”

Yunyan said, “I understand.”

Daowu said, “How do you understand it?

Yunyan said, “All over the body are hands and eyes.”

Daowu said, “What you said is all right, but it’s only eighty percent of it.”

Yunyan said, “I’m like this, elder brother. How do you understand it?”

Daowu said, “Throughout the body are hands and eyes.”

I have heard that the current Chinese government fears and represses the Taoists, because over the course of that country’s history they have periodically emerged from the mountains and led populist revolts against the ruling regime. History has shown that when they decide to act, they are a force to be reckoned with. On the other hand, Buddhists in China currently face much less repression because their history has been passive; they have no record of emerging from their monasteries to lead the people toward political change.

In a sense, that is our heritage as Buddhists, one of political quietism, in spite of some notable exceptions in recent times, such as in Vietnam and Myanmar. It appears that there are several broadly held perspectives within the contemporary American Buddhist community that support this basic tendency to eschew political and social controversy.

The first of these is the idea that the affairs of this world are unimportant, that a higher spiritual plane, that of the Absolute or Emptiness, is the true reality and that, dwelling there, we are freed from suffering in this life. A similar, more contemporary, idea is that we practice in order to live exclusively in the present moment, to be “mindful,” and therefore personally liberated, calm, and free from stress and strife.

Zen is a Mahayana practice, though. As such, it isn’t aimed at dwelling in the Absolute, living in Nirvana. Zen talks about the relative and the absolute as being one, a fully integrated reality. As Shitou Xiqian reminds us in The Sandokai, “to encounter the absolute is not yet enlightenment.” In the final stages of practice, we must lose our attachment to the Absolute, using our realization to inform our actions as we enter the marketplace to deal with the often difficult, messy, and painful actualities of this world of Samsara.

The Mahayana goal is to save all beings. This is actualized through the Bodhisattva archetype, which is that of a person who gives up their own place in Nirvana to return to this world for the sake of all beings. One way to understand this is not in the context of actual death and rebirth, but rather in the sense that we constantly need to relinquish Nirvana, defined as the blissful state that is experienced when residing in the Absolute. Instead, the Bodhisattva continually returns to the world of Samsara for the sake of other beings. We must be reborn in each moment.

A second reason for avoiding social/political action is the idea that enlightenment, or deep spiritual awakening, should be a prerequisite for taking action. Until we have had that experience, some argue, we should focus solely, single-pointedly on our practice. This viewpoint is based on several misapprehensions, the foremost of which is that enlightenment is an actual object, a discrete, observable, constant “thing” that appears at some moment in a person’s life.

Perhaps this mistaken belief is fueled by accounts of very dramatic, sudden kensho experiences, such as those published in Philip Kapleau’s The Three Pillars of Zen, a foundational text for many Western practitioners. Firstly, while such experiences do occur, for most people the process is not that dramatic. Rather, realization occurs as a succession of openings, each helping to gradually deepen the person’s awareness. Secondly, referring again to Shitou Xiqian’s statement that encountering the absolute is not yet enlightenment, even when an earth-shaking sudden kensho does occur, many years of practice remain before that experience is fully integrated into the person’s life. And even then it remains a practice of moment to moment awareness to sustain the open, realized state.

I believe it is most accurate to say that one is never enlightened, but that enlightenment is something that we aspire towards as we practice throughout our lifetime, awakening again and again in each moment. It is not a constant state that we can reach and reside in, if we are to fulfill our Bodhisattva vows. Rather than remaining aloof, we must engage intimately with the suffering of this world. If we are waiting for enlightenment as a prerequisite for action, we will allow the possibilities of a lifetime to pass us by.

A third reason often given for avoiding action is that, by simply sitting and saving ourselves, we are in fact changing the world, and therefore we should invest all of our energy there. I do not dispute the first part of that belief. This is truly One Body, and therefore our lives do matter, our awakening does change the entire universe. Nor do I take complete exception to the second part of that idea. Awakening does take a powerful single-pointed effort. But I don’t agree that needs to supersede everything in our lives. While we need to apply assiduous effort in both our daily practice of zazen and in the intense environment of sesshins, we should also invest ourselves wholeheartedly and without hesitation in the rest of our lives. That, too, is practice; that, too, is Zen. If fact, for those of us who are householders, Zen practice cannot take precedence, if we are to maintain balance, in our complex multi-dimensional lives.

Still, from the first time we sit down on the cushions we get glimpses of clarity, moments of less self-centered, more open awareness. Regardless of how long we have practiced, or whether we believe ourselves to be “enlightened” or not, those times of clear insight need to become the basis for action. As we sit here today, we are in the sixth era of species extinction, a time when more species are disappearing from the Earth than in the time of the dinosaurs. This is truly an emergency of epic proportions, especially since the vast majority of these extinctions are the result of human activity.

Additional consequences of that activity are the rapidly shifting climate as carbon dioxide emissions rise, the depletion of the ozone layer, large scale processes of deforestation and desertification, nuclear accidents, global resource depletion, and so on… Never before has all life on Earth been in such jeopardy. This is further compounded by the fact that competition for dwindling resources is resulting in human conflicts. Blood is being shed for oil, but that may be nothing compared to the future conflicts as not just oil, but also Earth’s water supplies, vanish.

I would argue that as Zen practitioners we must act as the koan says, “like reaching for the pillow in the middle of the night.” When the pillow slips away we don’t stop and think, “I must remain focused on the Absolute, I am not concerned with the unimportant fact that my head is uncomfortable.” Neither do we wonder whether we are enlightened enough to reach for the pillow or imagine that, because we sat zazen that day, the world has changed and pillows are no longer necessary. We act completely reflexively. There is no thought; we just reach out and stuff the pillow back under our heads.

That is a description of the action of compassion. True compassion is spontaneous, natural, and comes from a deep place of “not knowing.” In the Zen Peacemaker Order, there is a simple template for Buddhists to follow in taking action, which has three parts. Not knowing is the first of these, followed by bearing witness and loving action. Not knowing means just that, letting go off all that we think we know about a situation, including our conceptions, our preconceptions, our beliefs about right and wrong, and most importantly, the very idea of separation. We enter the situation completely open and unfettered, and therefore able to respond as the situation requires.

Secondly, we bear witness. This is an extremely powerful way to interact with the realities suffering, destruction, violence and death. In bearing witness, we sustain our gaze. We hold the intimate space open, refusing to close our eyes, turn away, or to use psychological mechanisms to protect and distance ourselves. In this case, we must not allow ourselves to be diverted by despair. We cannot simply say, “The problems are too big, there is nothing I can do.” It may sound trite, but every day we are either part of the problem or part of the solution. If we face the source of our despair directly, we don’t allow it to rob us of our power. Remarkable things can begin to happen when we allow this direct encounter to happen.

Finally, we act with lovingkindness. In this case, it is necessary that we interact with the world, Gaia, in such a manner that we treat the great Earth itself, as well as all beings within this vast, pulsing, living organism, with love and kindness. Simply, as in the perspective of the Deep Ecology movement, we must consider the well-being of the entire biotic community as part our self, rather than viewing it through the lens of our narrowly defined human needs. We must not only do this in our major resource allocation decisions, but in even the minutest aspects of our daily lives. That means we cannot live in a dream state, acting blindly, unaware of the consequences. We must awaken in every minute, open into not knowing, bearing witness to the deep realities of our actions and their consequences, and allowing this realization to give birth to clear, decisive, loving action on behalf of the world.

When our minds are in the right condition, it is very, very simple, like reaching for the pillow in the middle of the night! Practice is the hard work of bringing our minds into that condition, again and again.

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My Teacher, GUDO WAFU NISHIJIMA ROSHI, died this month, age 94. In manner, he was a soft spoken, gentle, conservative man of his times, born nearly a century ago in Taisho era Japan. In action, he was a perceptive visionary of the future of Buddhism, a great critic of the state of Zen in modern Japan and an outspoken Buddhist reformer (even if largely ignored by the Zen establishment). His students are not all cut of the same cloth, not by any means. Yet I believe his legacy will carry on through many of us in the following eight ways and more.

In a series of essays in the coming weeks, I hope to expand on each of these points. I will not assert that all are original ideas to Nishijima alone. There are many other folks these days who share such views to varying degrees. Nonetheless, what was unique about Nishijima Roshi was how thoroughly and energetically he called for a new vision of Zen Buddhism. Suchness transcends time, place and change, while Buddhist Truth is not dependent on outer wrappings. Yet, Buddhist traditions and practices must constantly change as they encounter new times, places and cultures. I believe that these eight changes which Nishijima symbolizes will have lasting effects on the future of Zen in the West; and Treeleaf Sangha, where I am one teacher, is dedicated and committed to their furtherance.

1 – STEPPING THROUGH THE TRADITIONAL FOURFOLD CATEGORIES OF PRIEST & LAY, MALE & FEMALE: Unlike most Buddhist clergy in Asia, Japanese priests typically marry and are not celibate. Some look at this as a great failing of Japanese Buddhism, a break from 25 centuries of tradition. In Japan and the West, even some Japanese lineage priests and lay teachers themselves are unsure of their own identity and legitimacy, and of their roles compared to each other. With great wisdom, Nishijima transcended all such questions and limiting categories. He advocated a way of stepping right through and beyond the whole matter, of finding living expressions where others saw restriction, and of preserving the tradition even as things change. While he was a champion of the celibate way (Nishijima Roshi, although married, turned to a celibate lifestyle for himself upon ordination), he never felt that celibacy was the only road for all priests. Nishijima advocated a form of ordination that fully steps beyond and drops away divisions of “Priest or Lay, Male or Female”, yet allows us to fully embody and actuate each and all as the situation requires. In our lineage, we are not ashamed of nor try to hide our sexuality and worldly relationships, nor do we feel conflicted that we are “monks” with kids and mortgages. When I am a parent to my children, I am 100% that and fully there for them. When I am a worker at my job, I am that and embody such a role with sincerity and dedication. And when I am asked to step into the role of hosting zazen, offering a dharma talk, practicing and embodying our history and teachings and passing them on to others, I fully carry out and embody 100% the role of “Priest” in that moment. Whatever the moment requires: maintaining a sangha community, bestowing the Precepts, working with others to help sentient beings. The names we call ourselves do not matter. In Nishijima’s way, we do not ask and are unconcerned with whether we are “Priest” or “Lay”, for we are neither that alone, while always thoroughly both; exclusively each in purest and unadulterated form, yet wholly all at once. It is just as, in the West, we have come to step beyond the hard divisions and discriminations between “male” and “female”, recognizing that each of us may embody all manner of qualities to varying degrees as the circumstances present, and that traditional “male” and “female” stereotypes are not so clear-cut as once held. So it is with the divisions of “Priest” and “Lay”.

2 – FINDING OUR PLACE OF PRACTICE AND TRAINING “OUT IN THE WORLD”: For thousands of years, it was nearly impossible to engage in dedicated Zen practice except in a monastic setting, to access fellow practitioners, teachers and teachings, to have the time and resources and economic means to pursue serious practice, except by abandoning one’s worldly life. By economic and practical necessity, a division of “Priest” and “Lay” was maintained because someone had to grow the food to place in the monks’ bowls, earn the wealth to build great temples, have children to keep the world going into the next generation. Although Mahayana figures like Vimalakirti stood for the principle that liberation is available to all, the practical situation was that only a householder with Vimalakirti’s wealth, leisure and resources might have a real chance to do so. Now, in modern societies with better distributions of wealth (compared to the past, although we still have a long way to go), ‘leisure’ time, literacy and education, media access and means of travel and communication across distances, many of the economic and practical barriers to practice and training have been removed. This is the age when we may begin to figuratively “knock down monastery walls”, to find that Buddha’s Truths may be practiced any place, without divisions of “inside” walls or “outside”. For some of us, the family kitchen, children’s nursery, office or factory where we work diligently and hard, the hospital bed, volunteer activity or town hall are all our “monastery” and place of training. We can come to recognize the “monastery” located in buildings made of wood and tile as in some ways an expedient means, although with their own power and beauty too. There are still times when each of us can benefit from periods of withdrawal and silence, be it a sesshin or ango, or the proverbial grass hut in distant hills.  Yes, this Way still needs all manner of people, each pursuing the paths of practice suited to their needs and circumstances, be they temple priests catering to the needs of their parishioners, hermits isolated in caves, celibate monks in mountain monasteries, or “out in the world” types demonstrating that all can be found right in the city streets and busy highways of this modern world. Nishijima, a zen priest yet a working man, a husband and father most of his life, stood for a dropping of “inside” and “out”. He was someone that knew the value of times of retreat, but also the constant realization of these teachings in the home, workplace and soup kitchens.

3 – SAVING ZEN PRACTICE FROM THE ‘FUNERAL CULTURE’ DOMINANT IN JAPAN & THE CREEPING INSTITUTIONAL  “CHURCHNESS” APPEARING IN THE WEST: Buddhist priests in Japan play an important role in soothing the hearts of their parishioners during times of mourning. Funerals and memorial services are important aspects of Japanese tradition, as in all cultures. However, Japanese Zen, and other flavors of Buddhism, have become excessively focused on “funeral culture”, almost to the exclusion of all else. Except for shining lights scattered here and there who try to keep the ways of Dogen and Zazen alive, most Japanese Soto Zen priests do not even bother with the sitting of Zazen after their youthful training stint in the monastery. The massive Buddhist institutions of Japan, including the Rinzai and Soto schools, have become licensing guilds turning out conveyor belt priests (usually temple sons compelled into training in order to take over the “funeral business” franchise of their family’s managed temple). Nishijima was ordained and received Dharma Transmission from Rempo Niwa Zenji, the then Abbot of Eihei-ji, the senior Soto Zen monastery. Niwa was then the de facto “Pope” of the Soto Sect yet, knowing that Nishijima was a critic of the whole system he headed, Niwa nonetheless empowered Nishijima as a teacher based on Niwa’s own shared desire to help reform Soto Zen. Right now, in America and Europe, there is a tendency among some big Zen institutions to also grow into large zen “churches”, institutions concerned with preserving their own views of doctrinal “Orthodoxy”, with preserving their status, the authority of their priests, their rights to determine the legitimacy of Ordinations, all by themselves establishing domestic systems of guild membership. Many zen groups in America and Europe often seem to have become too concerned with preserving their turf, donations and influence within the Zen world, acting sometimes “more Japanese than the Japanese”, filled with cliquishness, politics and an “old boys club” attitude toward rooting out the few bad apples of ethical violators. Some other Zen groups have been downright “cultish” in their behavior (we should not be afraid to call a spade a spade on this issue). Of course, the maintenance of basic standards for priest training and ethics are very necessary and to be applauded. Our Treeleaf Sangha fully supports such efforts. The question, however, is where to draw the line between needed standards and helpful training, versus certain groups’ protecting their own primacy, exclusivity, authority and narrow dogma.

4 – OFFERING A HOME TO ZEN FOLKS WHO ARE REFUGEES FROM INSTITUTIONALISM, SECT POLITICS AND SCANDAL IN CERTAIN PARTS OF THE ZEN WORLD: Nishijima provided a haven for many vibrant Zen teachers who were excluded or isolated within other Zen groups in Europe, America and Japan. The situations took many forms: people fleeing the internal politics and factionalism in the Sangha where they first practiced; those blocked by glass ceilings and closed guilds in Japan and elsewhere; Japanese uninterested in joining “funeral culture”; those fleeing cultish behavior and unethical teachers; Christian clergy interested in practicing Zen as Christians; gifted Zen priests and teachers interested in combining Zen practice with home, work and “in the world” life without desire or ambition for monastic training; and people alienated by the doctrinal interpretations and dogma they were encountering in other groups. I often refer to this bunch, very diverse in character and personality, as the “Island of Misfit Zen Toys” (referring to an old children’s program in the US seen each year at Christmas, about an island where all the broken and misfit toys went to live from Santa’s workshop until they found a home). Nishijima provided a home to such folks, each very devoted to this Zen path in his or her own sincere way. Our Treeleaf Sangha, and Nishijima’s other students, will continue to serve as a haven for other “misfit toys” in the future.

 5 – A RESPECT FOR TRADITION, YET AN EMPHASIS ON FINDING BRAND NEW EXPRESSIONS SUITABLE FOR MODERN TIMES AND WESTERN CULTURE: Nishijima was thoroughly imbued with the spirit of Dogen, was (with his student Chodo Cross) the translator of Dogen’s complete Shobogenzo into modern Japanese and English, and held that Master Dogen had found ways to express the Buddhist teachings rarely heard until that time. Nonetheless, despite his profound trust in the teachings of Dogen, Nishijima was never a prisoner of Dogen. Among the many treasured teachings of Dogen which are timeless and survive the centuries, Nishijima knew that others were primarily the views and expressions of a man living amid the society and superstitions of 12^th century Japan. Those of Dogen’s writings directed primarily to his band of monks at Eiheiji and elsewhere must be placed side by side with Dogen’s other pronouncements recognizing the possibilities of Zen practice for people in all situations in life. The teachings of Dogen are not simply for monks isolated in the snowy mountains, but are for all of us. His words, if appropriate only to his day and culture, should be left to his day and culture. Buddhism, and Dogen’s teachings, can be brought forth and adapted for our places and times. Is this not so for the teachings of so many of our Zen ancestors beyond Dogen as well? I remember, for example, asking Nishijima once about the “right way” to conduct a “Soto Zen funeral” for a good friend who had died in America. Nishijima told me that ultimately I should make a new, heartfelt ritual to honor my friend. He told his students in America, Europe and elsewhere to do things in sincere ways suitable for our cultures and societies, inspired by tradition, perhaps, yet finding new ways to express the same.

6 – AN INTERPRETATION OF ZAZEN AS THE FULFILMENT OF REALITY ITSELF: One key aspect of Dogen’s teachings that Nishijima fully danced, and all his students dance with him, is that Zazen is the fulfillment of Reality itself. On that, nothing more is in need of saying here.

7 – LOOKING FOR COMMON GROUND AND THE COMPATIBILITY OF BUDDHIST TEACHINGS, ZEN AND ZAZEN WITH WESTERN PHILOSOPHY AND SCIENCE: Like D.T. Suzuki, Masao Abe and other Japanese Zen figures of his time, Nishijima thought that Zen teachings could best be introduced to a Western audience via finding common ground with Western philosophy. Years before it was common to load meditators into MRI machines, Nishijima spoke of the connection of Zazen to the brain and human nervous system, influenced by the then cutting-edge research on meditation and the so-called “relaxation response” by Harvard’s Dr Herbert Benson and others. However, I wish to say honestly that Nishijima was not a professional philosopher nor a trained scientist. He tried to express from his own heart all encountered in Zazen. For that reason, he frequently spoke in very personal and, perhaps, too simplified ways on both Western philosophical concepts and, as a scientific layman, about all that is happening in the body and brain. It is only in recent years that we have come to understand that many separate physiological and neurological systems are interlinked in complex ways, each coming to play in Zazen and meditation. Nevertheless, Nishijima stood for the meeting and fundamental compatibility of Buddhist tenets and scientific method.

8 – AVOIDING SUPERSTITION, FANTASY, MIRACLES & MAGICAL INCANTATION IN BUDDHISM: One person’s “sacred and cherished belief” is another person’s “hocus-pocus and nonsense”. Sometimes seemingly exotic practices and legends can possess a psychological power and poetry which opens the human heart, even if not “literally true”. While recognizing that fact, Nishijima Roshi sought to present Zen practice freed of naive beliefs and superstitions, exaggerated claims and idealized myths masquerading as historical events even in our own Zen traditions, all of which can bury and hide the very real power of our Buddhist way in a pile of ignorance and foolishness. I, and many of his other students, join him in that task.

In such eight ways, and many others, Gudo Wafu Nishijima changed Zen Buddhism and continues to do so. His legacy lives on in his many students around the world and his teachings will further enrich and transform our tradition into the future.

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Someone suggested I write a blog note about my book, “Living Zen: The Diary of an American Zen Priest.”  I have resisted, as it feels more than a little awkward to write about my own work, but what has convinced me to go ahead came in a moment I was reading an excerpt and thought, ‘this isn’t bad, people might benefit from this teaching.’   The excerpt was from an entry titled “Addendum: Our Teachers,” on page 19.  Here it is:

When we make life our teacher, everything is OK. We encounter an unexpected turn in the road, we ask, “what’s this?” Life reveals itself to us in that moment, and we reveal ourselves to it.
This means that all the things we practice to get rid of, greed, hatred, and delusion, serve us. It is these, then, that are our true teachers. Far from wanting to remove them, we should bow to them, as they are our humanity.

Many of us do not see it this way and take them on as masters or fight with them as bitter enemies. It is as though we are blind tigers trying to eat. 

So, our practice is not to remove them, or to embrace them, but rather to change our relationship to them in a way that is in harmony with the natural state of things. In one case, they are in service to us, in the worst case, we are in service to them.

It is in this change of relationship that the teachers themselves, and thus the entire universe, are transformed: greed becomes generosity, hatred becomes compassion, and delusion becomes wisdom.

My book is nothing special.  I wrote it over the course of a year taking small aspects of my life and trying to understand them and/or explicate them in such a way as to offer a teaching.  I truly believe our everyday life is our teacher and every aspect of it is pregnant with instruction.  For the most part, I was actually a student of myself in this process.

I cannot say whether my work will help anyone.  I do hope it will raise personal, internal questions.  I hope it will help people practice in a way much larger than simple Zendo attendance.

Yet, all of this is out of the writer’s control.  While a reader is an essential aspect of what the author writes, it is the dynamics of the reader and writer in concert that produces the art of writing.  If you should get your hands on a copy, please don’t hesitate to offer your view of the work.  I would very much like to hear from you.

The book is available from Amazon.com in paperback as well as a Kindle download.

Living Zen: The Diary of an American Zen Priest

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Peter Matthiessen died on Saturday, April 5, 2014 at age 86 at his home in Sagaponack, New York. The award-winning author and Sōtō Zen roshi died earlier this month of acute leukemia, according to news reports.

Matthiessen had been working on his final book, “In Paradise,” a novel based on experiences at three Bearing Witness retreats, the yearly meditation retreats at the Nazi concentration camp in Auschwitz-Birkenau offered by the Zen Peacemakers (of which he was a member).

A writer of great distinction, Matthiessen’s book “Shadow Country” won the 2008 National Book Award in Fiction. His book, “The Snow Leopard,” a spiritual classic, chronicled his travels in the Himalayas and his spiritual journey following the death of his second wife, Deborah Love; the book is considered to be some of his finest writing, winning the 1979 National Book Award in the Contemporary Thought category.

Matthiessen (left) with his teacher and fellow Zen Peacemaker, Bernie Glassman.

Yale-educated Matthiessen was recruited by the CIA around 1950, dispatched to France to report home the activities of Americans living there. He co-founded The Paris Review in 1953 with Harold Humes and George Plimpton, providing him a legitimate cover while working covertly for the United States government.

Matthiessen founded Ocean Zendo out of his home in Sagaponack after marrying Love. He is survived by his wife Maria Eckhart, his two sons and two daughters from previous marriages and his two step-daughters and six grandchildren. You can read a remembrance of Matthiessen by Bernie Glassman over at the Zen Peacemakers website – Roshi Peter Muryo Matthiessen.

Editor’s Note: We apologize for not reporting on the death of Peter Matthiessen before now.

Matthiessen (left), Taizan Maezumi roshi, and Bernie Glassman in 1981. Photo by Peter Cunningham.

Nine-Headed Dragon River: Zen Journals 1969-1982 (Shambhala Dragon Editions)

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Joshu Sasaki Roshi, the Japanese-born Rinzai Zen teacher and founder of Rinzai-ji, died on Sunday at Cedars Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles, California at 107 years old. He was musician Leonard Cohen’s teacher.

Sasaki Roshi came to America in 1962 and in 1963 the Rinzai Zen Dojo Association was created, later becoming Rinzai-ji and opening as Cimarron Zen Center in Los Angeles. In 1970 Mount Baldy Zen Center was established, serving as Rinzai-ji’s main training facility for monks and nuns.

In more recent years allegations of years of sexual impropriety with some of his female students surfaced online and in print, eventually making it to The New York Times with Mark Oppenheimer’s piece “Zen Groups Distressed by Accusations Against Teacher“.

Buddha Is the Center of Gravity

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I want to thank Rev. Dosho for his interesting post (see: Dogen and Koan: The Ultimate Truly Definitive Unquestionable Smoking Gun). He is of course quite right that fundamentally, there isn’t any conflict between different paths of Dharma. But I feel there is a danger involved in, for instance, presenting Eihei Dōgen-zenji as equally happy assigning kōan to his students as he was conveying the profound teaching of “just sitting”. I don’t believe that to have been the case (excuse the pun), never mind references to hua-t’ou practice that crop up occasionally, as would only be expected, given Dōgen’s own background. As someone said, different is different, so while a bow of respect is in order to those “across the aisle”, I have observed too many folk who have wandered back and forth across that aisle, and as a result have never actually appreciated Ts’ao-tung/Sōtō teaching in its genuine depth. I do not suggest that to be the case with Rev. Dosho, I’m just sayin’… So, keeping a wary eye on the guy waving the “smoking gun”, let’s step back a moment and adopt a somewhat different point-of-view.

It’s well-known that, in addition to receiving substantial Tendai training on Mt. Hiei, Dōgen was a Dharma-heir in the house of Lin-chi (J.Rinzai), inheriting that mantle from his teacher Myōzen, with whom he traveled to China, and thus through Myōzen’s teacher Eisai, the first Rinzai heir in Japan, but with whom Dōgen apparently had limited contact. Dōgen therefore was well-seasoned in Dharma practice before he ever left for China, and was regarded by Myōzen as a mature practitioner of Lin-chi/Rinzai zen. It would be absurd to suggest that Dōgen was anything other than quite familiar with k’an-hua ch’an (J. kanna-zen, kōan introspection) when he and Myōzen arrived in Sung-dynasty China in the 1220’s.

In spite of the Chinese penchant for record-keeping, we don’t have an especially clear picture of how practice was carried on in Chinese monasteries of the day; in fact, Dōgen’s version of that practice is one of the more substantial sources. However, by this time, it was already some fifty years since the celebrated Lin-chi (J. Rinzai) master Ta-hui Tsung-kao had been trumpeting the virtues of what relatively lately had begun to be distinguished as “kōan introspection”, or “examining the head-word”, i.e. taking as an object or focus of seated cultivation a word or phrase from one of the contemporary collections of zen stories popularly referred to as kung-an or “public records”, utilizing a term from Chinese legal practice; unsurprising, given that Ta-hui was the Dharma heir of Yüan-wu Kê-ch’in, himself the author of an extensive commentary on the stories and verses collected by Hsüeh-to Ch’ung-hsien, resulting in the famous Blue Cliff Record (Ch. Pi Yên Lü, J. Hekigan Roku).

In distinct contrast, there was also at the time a practice tradition that had come to be known as “silent illumination” (Ch. mo-chao ch’an, J. mokushō zen), which casual modern students of the era depicted Ta-hui as roundly criticizing, styling it “sitting in stagnant water”. The best- known proponent of silent illumination was a contemporary of Ta-hui’s, the Ts’ao-tung master T’ien-t’ung Hung-chih, who himself collected one hundred zen stories to which he added his own verses, and which was later commented on extensively by Ts’ao-tung (J. Sōtō) master Wan-sung Hsing-hsiu, entering the rich world of Sung dynasty ch’an literature as the Book of Serenity (Ch. Ts’ung Jung Lü, J. Shōyō Roku). While earlier scholarship postulated a feud between Ta-hui and Hung-chih, more careful scrutiny of the records of the time discloses nothing of the kind; in fact it seems that these masters knew and respected one another, and in fact may have utilized both “methods”, as these approaches were coming to be known, as circumstances dictated.

Ta-hui’s criticisms, then, were directed at those who misconstrued the practice of Buddha Dharma, whatever the tradition. In addition to scolding those who interpreted “silent illumination” in a way that fostered passivity and quietism, which is most certainly a distortion, he didn’t spare those in his own house whose practice was wrong-headed:

These days, the brethren gain their understandings with intellect and emotion. Many of them just recall some idle talk or catchy phrases and bring them in here to use as their answers to my questions. It’s as if they have a priceless jewel in their hand, and when someone asks them, ’What’s in your hand?’, they drop in, and then pick up a lump of dirt… So stupid! If they keep on like this they’ll never gain enlightenment!

Such was the environment that Dōgen and Myōzen encountered when they “reached the Great Sung [Dynasty nation]”. They initially made for the monastery at Ching-tê-ssu, where their root teacher Eisai had practiced. But it seems that Dōgen was not impressed by what he found, either there or at the other communities he visited. Remember that he was already familiar with k’an-hua ch’an, but if he was expecting a profoundly different expression of that practice in China, he was disappointed. In fact, the story goes that after some three years, during which time Myōzen had died far from home, Dōgen was contemplating returning to Japan, when he heard of a teacher named Ju-ching (J. Nyojō) who was abbot at the large public monastery on T’ien-t’ung Shan (J. Tendō-zan). His subsequent meeting with Ju-ching was, in his telling, pivotal. According to the surviving Chinese records, Ju-ching was not especially remarkable. He too would have had to be familiar with what was “trending” in ch’an practice in those days, and the record of his teaching contains an exhortation to employ “…the iron broom of wu (J. mu)” to sweep away restless thoughts. However, Ju-ching was a lineage holder in the house of Ts’ao-tung (J. Sōtō), and it was those teachings which Dōgen declares were so striking that they elicited what he was to regard as his genuine awakening. Ju-ching apparently agreed, making the ardent, devoted visitor from Japan his Dharma heir. Finally, Dōgen returned to Japan, bringing the teachings of the Sōtō house with him.

There is too much material to cover effectively in what was intended (fail!) to be a straight- forward reply to a web post, so I must refer interested readers to the abundance of writings by modern scholars such as William Bodiford, Carl Bielefeldt, Thomas Cleary, Rev. Shohaku Okumura, Kazuaki Tanahashi-sensei, and my own Dharma brother, Rev. Taigen Leighton. Suffice it to say that upon his return to Japan, Dōgen, all of 28 years old or so, commenced his life’s work of bringing Sōtō Zen style and teaching to his own land.

There is some scholarly dispute as to which of his remarkable writings Dōgen produced in what order, but then, dispute is the lifeblood of the modern academy, so that comes as no surprise. Here I would draw the reader’s attention to four works in his voluminous oeuvre: the Fukan Zazen Gi, or “The Universal Recommendation of the Principles of Seated Meditation”; the Genjō Kōan, “Actualizing the Fundamental Point”; the portion of his splendid Bendō Wa (“On the Endeavor of the Way”) known as the Ji Ju Yū Zammai, sometimes translated as the “Self-fulfilling Samādhi”; and Dōgen’s poem the Zazen-shin, or “Lancet of Seated Meditation”, his own version inspired by the Ts’o-ch’an Chên of the celebrated Ts’ao-tung master Hung- chih Chung-chüeh. Rather than hunting through Dōgen’s marvelous work for stray references to k’an-hua ch’an, the reader is well-advised to absorb and yes, reflect deeply upon, these excellent examples of how the treasure of the house of Ts’ao-tung is expressed in elegant writing.

As is the case with virtually everything Dōgen wrote, appreciating these works will depend in large measure upon familiarity with the practice of shikan-ta-za (lit. “only-hit-sit”), clearly the centerpiece of Dōgen’s teaching. In brief, the practice in its totality consists in utilizing posture, be it sitting, standing, walking, or lying down, in such a way as to lend yogic support to the body-mind in alert, dispassionate observation of reality, that is, of things as they are, gently and compassionately releasing our karma-fueled tendencies to evaluate, seek after, eject, possess, grasp, triumphalize, flee from, destroy, improve, disprove, have sex with, murder, etc. whatever may be arising in our phenomenal universe. Lacking thorough, mature experience of such practice, it will be difficult to avoid misconstruing what Dōgen is saying.

In fact, what he is saying has nothing whatever to do with whether k’an-hua ch’an or mo- chao ch’an is “better”; that is a vain and silly argument best left alone. Each limns in its way a valid Dharma path, but that does not suggest that Dōgen even for a moment regarded them as “equivalent”. You may rest assured that if he believed that to be true, he would have said so, and in no uncertain terms. Just as it would be misguided to believe that Dōgen would be flummoxed by an encounter with a student immersed in hua-t’ou practice, and somehow unable to offer guidance if he felt that was best given the circumstances, it is equally misguided to believe that his frequent admonitions to “study this deeply”, “consider this profoundly”, “regard this carefully” amount to a pep-talk to his students who were busily “contemplating a head- word”, or gnawing away at Chao-chou’s dog. The evidence for that, compared to his unflagging celebration of the massive openness of wholehearted shikan-ta-za, is simply not present. Dōgen was as much a master of using language to loosen the toils of language as was Ācārya Nāgārjuna, and his exhortations such as the foregoing demonstrate his awareness that, as is taught in that quintessentially Ts’ao-tung poem, the Pao-ching San-mei Kê (J. Hōkyō Zammai), or “Song of the Jewel Mirror Samādhi”, “The meaning does not reside in the words, but a pivotal moment brings it forth.” Pivotal moments are not the property of any particular school, tradition, lineage, or what-have-you. To assert otherwise descends to level of koanista agit-prop, something which, sadly, one still encounters today (present company quite excepted, of course).

Lastly, I’m well aware that there are those who will assert, “Who cares about all that sectarian by-blow? I’m just gonna get enlightened!” To those seeking some “context-free awakening”, unencumbered by Buddha, Dharma, Sangha, lineage, teacher, student, practice, tradition, inheritance, gratitude, study, no-study, and so on, I would say, “May good fortune be yours, traveler!”, while giving them a wide berth. Your mileage may differ, of course.

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This article is written as a companion piece to a two part-series that was recently posted on the website of the refereed, The Asia-Pacific Journal: Japan Focus. The series, entitled, “Zen Masters on the Battlefield,” introduces the battlefield experiences of two modern Japanese Zen masters, Sōtō Zen Master Sawaki Kōdō and Rinzai Zen Master Nakajima Genjō. Part I of the series focuses on Sawaki Kōdō while Part II focuses on Nakajima Genjō. Both Parts I and II are available here: http://japanfocus.org/-Brian-Victoria

I describe this article as a companion piece because it contains information that is relevant to the series yet, due its more ‘Dharmalogical’ nature, was not appropriate for inclusion there. The present article might best be thought of as an addendum to the series.

With this in mind, let me invite the reader to first read the two part-series before proceeding to the material below. This suggestion is made inasmuch I refer to both the new material included in this article as well as addressing material in Part I and II.

Readers will recognize that perhaps the most incendiary words in the two part-series are those written by Sawaki Kōdō. His words appeared in the 1942 article in the Buddhist magazine Daihōrin, entitled: “On the True Meaning of the Zen Precepts.” Given their incendiary nature, Sawaki’s words are the focus of this article, specifically:

The Lotus Sutra states that “the Three Worlds [of desire, form, and formlessness] are my existence and all sentient beings therein are my children.” From this point of view, everything, friend and foe included, are my children. Superior officers are my existence as are my subordinates. The same can be said of both Japan and the world. Given this, it is just to punish those who disturb the public order. Whether one kills or does not kill, the precept forbidding killing [is preserved]. It is the precept forbidding killing that wields the sword. It is this precept that throws the bomb. It is for this reason that you must seek to study and practice this precept.^[1] (Italics mine)

In addition to this quote included in Part I, there is an initial attempt made by the current abbot of Antaiji, i.e., Muhō Nölke, in the article’s appendix, to defend Sawaki from the charge of having been a fervent supporter of Japan’s wartime aggression. Having already responded to Nölke’s initial critique in Part I, I will not repeat that response here. However, it is important to note that Nölke offered a second defense of Sawaki’s above quotation that I was unable to include in Part I. Nölke’s second defense certainly warrants close scrutiny, especially by those who have a deeper understanding of Zen, no doubt including the majority of the readers of the Sweeping Zen website.

As will be seen, Nölke’s basic claim in his second defense is that when Sawaki’s words are placed within the overall context of his article, the sentiments he expressed were far removed from invoking the Buddha Dharma in support of Japan’s wartime aggression. Specifically, Nölke writes:

Read as a whole, Sawaki is not saying that throwing bombs is in itself a perfectly good way of keeping to the Buddhist precepts, so Zen monks should go ahead without hesitating and kill as many as possible, but rather quite oppositely: When people have to go to war and kill people, they should still try to keep the precepts in mind when they throw bombs etc. They shouldn’t let themselves allow [sic] to be carried away by excitement, as he did when he was in the war. They should stay aware of the contradiction (killing an enemy that you are supposed to identify with) and try to make the best of it, i.e. not killing enemies thoughtlessly (“killing one’s fill”, as Sawaki has done himself during the Russo-Japanese war), looting, other violence (rape?). When he adds that “even from a military point of view” this makes sense, he does not say that soldiours [sic] should keep to the rules only to “ensure victory”, as you claim in your e-mail to Dan. In my opinion, he first tells the soldiours [sic] to care for the people, and only after that, to back up his claim against criticism, he says that this makes sense “even from a military point of view”.[2] (Italics mine)

Sōtō Zen Master Sawaki Kōdō

For those readers unable to read Japanese, let me provide the following English translation of the material Nölke provided. As indicated, the translation begins with the new material that preceded the original quotation. For the sake of context, the original quotation is appended at the end:

[New material]: Non-killing cannot be thoroughly [understood] without first thoroughly [understanding] what Buddhism calls “no-self” (muga). If you make ‘self’ a given, you will necessarily dislike the ‘other’, and think that you must kill that person. For this reason if you thoroughly [understand] that all things in the universe reflect the truth [as stated] in the Lotus Sutra, you will consider the person in front of you to be a Buddha and not kill that person. Therefore if you thoroughly [understand] this, it can be said to be deliverance from birth and death. . . .

If persons [with this understanding] engage in battle they will love the enemy like one of their own, benefitting themselves becomes benefitting others. Therefore they will not do such things as kill an enemy soldier needlessly. Nor will they do such things as engage in looting. This means that when they are fighting they will become like a native of that place. Thus they will protect the people living there as much as possible. Moreover, from a tactical perspective, if they protect the residents of the area they will most definitely win the battle. Additionally, taking good care of prisoners is another good tactic. Final victory results from having done these things. Discard your own life as if it were goose feathers, yet feel compassion for others as if they were you. Where the boundary between oneself and others ends is where, for the first time, the precept forbidding killing exists.

[Original quotation] Thus, the Lotus Sutra states that “the Three Worlds [of desire, form, and formlessness] are my existence and all sentient beings therein are my children.” From this point of view, everything, friend and foe included, are my children. Superior officers are my existence as are my subordinates. The same can be said of both Japan and the world. Given this, it is just to punish those who disturb the public order. Whether one kills or does not kill, the precept forbidding killing [is preserved].It is the precept forbidding killing that wields the sword. It is this precept that throws the bomb. It is for this reason that you must seek to study and practice this precept. Translating the precept that forbids killing, Bodhidharma expressed it as “mysterious true/original nature” (jishō-reimyō).[3]

Before commenting, let me first thank Muhō Nölke for providing this additional context. I think all readers will agree that the new material in the quotation provides what may be regarded as a “softer” image, or perhaps a more “principled,” even “moral,” image of Sawaki than we would otherwise have. Sawaki is clearly calling on his readers to follow accepted, at least on paper, internationally agreed upon principles of warfare, e.g., protecting civilians and prisoners of war as well as refraining from looting. Given what, in the postwar era, is widely recognized as the utterly rapacious conduct of Japanese troops throughout Asia, especially in China, Sawaki’s call to fight in accordance with the formal “rules of war” may even be seen as exemplary.

General Matsui Iwane

Shortly before his execution, on the afternoon of December 9, 1948, Matsui made the following confession to Hanayama Shinshō. a True Pure Land (Shin) sect-affiliated, Buddhist prison chaplain:

I am deeply ashamed of the Nanking Incident. After we entered Nanking, at the time of the memorial service for those who had fallen in battle, I gave orders for the Chinese victims to be included as well. However, from my chief of staff on down no one understood what I was talking about, claiming that to do so would have a disheartening effect on the morale of the Japanese troops. Thus, the division commanders and their subordinates did what they did.

In the Russo-Japanese war I served as a captain. The division commanders then were incomparably better than those at Nanking.  At that time we took good care of not only our Chinese prisoners but our Russian prisoners as well. This time, however, things didn’t happen that way.

Although I don’t think the government authorities planned it, from the point of view of Bushidō or simply humanity, everything was totally different. Immediately after the memorial service, I gathered my staff together and, as supreme commander, shed tears of anger. Prince Asaka was there as well as theatre commander General Yanagawa. In any event, I told them that the enhancement of imperial prestige that we had accomplished had been debased in a single stroke by the riotous conduct of the troops.

Nevertheless, after I finished speaking they all laughed at me. One of the division commanders even went so far as to say, “It’s only to be expected!” In light of this, I can only say that I am very pleased with what is about to happen to me in the hope that it will cause some soul-searching among just as many of those military men present then as possible. In any event, things have ended up as they have, and I can only say that I just want to die and be reborn in the Pure Land.

Japanese infantry during the occupation of Seoul, Korea in 1904. Photo: James H. Hare. Public Domain Image.

This confession first reveals that Matsui, like Sawaki, was from what might be called the “old school” of the Japanese military, i.e., one in which Japanese soldiers fought their wars of colonial expansion in a “civilized” manner. Sawaki had been part of that effort in the Russo-Japanese War and clearly believed that this method of warfare was not only the best way to ensure victory but, more important, was in full accord with a Zen understanding of Buddhism.

Even should one believe that the Buddha Dharma allows for defensive or so-called “just wars,” there was nothing about Japan’s full-scale invasion of China from July 1937 onwards that can be called “just.” China posed no threat whatsoever to Japan other than daring to resist Japan’s ever-increasing economic and military encroachments including the creation of a puppet state in Manchuria. Suppose, for instance, that Sawaki’s words advocating “civilized” or principled warfare had been heeded. Would that have had any impact on Japan’s more than nine long years of unprovoked and unjustified aggression against China, and later, against other Asian countries?

The answer, of course, is that it would not. Further, Sawaki’s readers, even had they heeded his admonitions regarding the proper treatment of civilians and prisoners, would nevertheless have believed they were acting in full accordance with the Buddha Dharma, including, quite unbelievably, the precept that forbids killing. In this connection it should not be forgotten that Sawaki clearly stated: “it is just to punish those who disturb the public order.” Yet the historical reality is that it was Japan and Japanese troops who, in killing in excess of 10 million Chinese together with other Asians, were truly massively “disturbing the public order.”

Reflecting on this reality, it is Zen masters like Sawaki who might logically have been put on trial together with Matsui and his peers in postwar Japan. In fact, I have read letters in the postwar archives of the National Diet library from ordinary Japanese citizens pleading for this to be done. The letters were addressed to the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal and blamed Zen priests in particular for the ignorant and unconditional manner in which they encouraged Japan’s disastrous war effort.

These citizens’ pleas, however, fell on deaf ears, for the Allies, especially the U.S., had already decided that “State Shinto” alone provided the spiritual basis of Japanese aggression. As for Buddhism, as the late, distinguished Zen scholar Yanagida Seizan noted:

All of Japan’s Buddhist sects – which had not only contributed to the war effort but had been one heart and soul in propagating the war in their teachings – flipped around as smoothly as one turns one’s hand and proceeded to ring the bells of peace. The leaders of Japan’s Buddhist sects had been among the leaders of the country who had egged us on by uttering big words about the righteousness [of the war]. Now, however, these leaders acted shamelessly, thinking nothing of it.

Yanagida, who was a young Rinzai Zen priest at the end of the war, then added:

I recognized that the Rinzai sect lacked the ability to accept its [war] responsibility. There was no hope that this sect could in any meaningful way repent of its war cooperation. . . . Therefore, instead of demanding that the Rinzai sect do something it couldn’t do, I decided that I should stop being a priest and leave the sect. . . . As far as I am concerned, [Zen] robes are a symbol of war responsibility. It was those robes that affirmed the war. I never intend to wear them again.[4]

True to his word, Yanagida never again wore his robes and in fact repeatedly thought of committing suicide in the midst of his postwar depression. This is despite the fact that he had only been twenty-two years old at war’s end and certainly not responsible for the fervently pro-war actions of his Zen elders. However, this does not alter the fact Japan’s wartime actions led to the deaths of millions of human beings even as Sawaki, Nakajima, Yamamoto Gempō and other Zen leaders (together with the leaders of other Buddhist sects) supported the war effort with statements like: “It is the precept forbidding killing that wields the sword. It is this precept that throws the bomb.”

In my opinion, those Japanese citizens who demanded wartime Buddhist leaders, especially Zen leaders, be put on trial were right to have done so. At the very least these leaders should have been expelled from their sectarian institutions for life. That this didn’t happen is yet another sign of just how dysfunctional, even criminal, the Japanese Buddhist establishment (beginning with the Zen school) was and, I would say, still remains in many respects. Needless to say, I invite readers to share their own views.

Before concluding, I would like to share one additional piece of evidence that, in truth, I just became aware of, and in a most unusual place, i.e., the English language website for Antaiji, the temple of which Nölke is abbot. The following quotation is taken from the English translation of Section 15, “Loyalty,” included in excerpts from The Dharma of Homeless Kōdō (Yadonashi Hokkusan) by Uchiyama Kōshō:

Sawaki Rōshi:

With the Sino-Japanese War (1894-1895) and the Russo-Japanese War (1904-1905), we enlarged Japanese territory and annexed Korea. We believed that it really happened. But when we lost World War Two, we lost everything and tuely [sic] understood that we had only incurred the enimity [sic] of other countries.

People often ask about loyalty, but I wonder if they know the direction of their loyalty and their actions. I myself was a soilder [sic] during the Russo-Japanese War and fought hard on the battlefield. But since we had lost what we had gained, I can see that what we did was useless. There is absolutely no need to wage war.

Uchiyama Rōshi:

Because Sawaki Roshi fought in the Russo-Japanese War, his words are not only for others, but also for himself, as self-reflection. We who were educated before World War Two were taught that Japan wa[s] the greatest country in the world and absolutely righteous in all its actions and that we would obtain personal immortality if we were faithful to it. We really believed it. After the war, most Japanese could see that it was not true, and some of them reacted against nationalism.

When we reflect upon our past and think about our future, we should question not only loyalty to Japan but loyalty to any nation. Whichever country you are devoted to, eventually it will only be a page in the book of history. “If the troops win, their side is called loyal; if the troops lose, their side is called a ‘rebel’.” The important thing is to have a clear-eyed view of the self and to behave sanely and soberly.[5]

Evaluating these words is much like asking whether the cup is half full or half empty. The answer, of course, depends on your viewpoint.

On the positive side, in light of Sawaki’s own wartime combat experience, let alone his use of Buddhism in support of the subsequent Asia-Pacific War, it is gratifying to learn that in the postwar era he came to the conclusion: “There is absolutely no need to wage war.” Assuming the translation is correct, his words “absolutely no need” suggest that Sawaki turned into a pacifist. Similarly, many readers, this author included, will welcome Uchiyama words: “we should question not only loyalty to Japan but loyalty to any nation. . . . The important thing is to have a clear-eyed view of the self and to behave sanely and soberly.”

Yet, when looked at from the viewpoint of a cup half empty, these admissions leave much to be desired, especially within a Buddhist context. First, why had Sawaki come to the view that Japan’s modern wars were wrong? Because, he said: “since we had lost what we had gained, I can see that what we did was useless.” Does this mean that if Japan had been able to hold on to its overseas colonies in Korea, China, Manchuria, etc, then the wars he either participated in or supported would have been worth the effort and the millions of lives lost, on all sides, in the process?

As for Uchiyama, it is refreshing to hear him honestly admit: “We really believed it, [i.e.,] that Japan wa[s] the greatest country in the world and absolutely righteous in all its actions and that we would obtain personal immortality if we were faithful to it.” Yet, the question must be asked, where in either man’s comments does one get any sense of reflection on their conduct as Buddhists?  In other words, where does either man indicate that, as Buddhists, they were pained by the massive death and suffering that both men admit they were, to varying degrees, a part of?

Some readers may think that a Buddhist-based, expression of reflection, let alone repentance, is too much to ask or expect of either man. After all, how often have the citizens of any country, of whatever religion, ever genuinely repented of the pain and suffering their nation inflicted on the ‘enemy’? From this point of view it can be claimed that Sawaki and Uchiyama were, relatively speaking, more aware than many of their fellow countrymen or even many citizens throughout the world. Yet, for two men who are considered by their disciples and ‘Dharma heirs’ as ‘exemplars of the faith,’ is their failure to recognize or repent of the harm they did to others acceptable?

Finally, in light of the frank admission by Sawaki that he “fought hard on the battlefield” it is almost comical/sad/repugnant to hear Nölke parse words about the meaning of hara-ippai (lit. stomach-full) of killing, thereby hoping to somehow salvage Sawaki’s reputation. The same can be said of Nishijima Gudō Wafu’s attempt, as introduced in Part I, to defend Sawaki’s wartime record by claiming, among other things, that during the war years:

“he [Sawaki] was not so affirmative to the war, but at the same time he was thinking to do his duty as a man in Japan. So in such a situation I think his attitude is not so extremely right or left. And he is usually keeping the Middle Way as a Buddhist monk.”

Was Sawaki demonstrating that “he was not so affirmative to the war” when he engaged in a “stomach-full” of killing during the Russo-Japanese War? Or although Sawaki was already a Zen priest at the time, perhaps “he was thinking to do his duty as a man in Japan”? Further, when Sawaki subsequently incorporated his Buddhist faith into his fervent support of the Asia-Pacific War, was this an example of the way “his attitude is not so extremely right or left. And he is usually keeping the Middle Way as a Buddhist monk”?

Conclusion

For me, the most disturbing aspect of Sawaki, Nakajima and the many other Zen leaders I have described in previous research is their almost total lack of awareness of, or concern for, Buddhism’s ethical roots, most especially as related to the prohibition against killing. On the contrary, like Sawaki, these Zen leaders used the Buddha Dharma to justify the killing of one’s fellow human beings, aka the ‘enemy.’ That said, in Part II of this series we met Rinzai Zen Master Nakajima Genjō whose battlefield experiences included what might be called a ‘rude awakening’ in this regard, leading to a pacifist stance. Yet, what practical effect did his embrace of pacificism have on the continuation of his own deadly conduct?

In the meantime, given the material presented above, coupled with that in the two part-series, the question must be asked, will Zen adherents, at least in the West, seriously examine and learn from the past errors of their Japanese predecessors, or will they insist on continuing to defend (or ignore) the indefensible thereby ensuring that “the unity of Zen and the sword” (including a physical sword) can once again be called upon to undergird, if not justify, the next round of bloodletting?

If this last question sounds fanciful, or even unthinkable in the Western Sangha, let me end by introducing the following comments made in October 2007 during the dedication of the “Vast Refuge Dharma Hall Chapel” at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, CO. This chapel came about as a result of a request made in 2004 by a graduate of the Academy’s first Class of 1959, Wiley Burch. Burch, now a Buddhist priest affiliated with the Hollow Bones Order of the Rinzai Zen sect, requested that a multipurpose room in the lower level of the Cadet Chapel be transformed into a Buddhist chapel.

At the chapel’s dedication, Burch said:

I understood there was a possibility or a place for Buddhism in the military. I understand the culture very well, and I understand the diversity of it. From that place, rather than being hard and coming in against, I came in willing to accept all. That’s a Buddhist teaching, not to set yourself up against things so much as to just be, we say, like clouds and like water, just flow. . . . Without compassion, war is nothing but criminal activity. It is necessary sometimes to take life, but we never take it for granted.^[6](Italics mine)

In these words we can see that the putative “unity of Zen and a physical sword” has already crossed the wide Pacific and is now alive and well in the US military.

Attachment:

Original passage in Japanese (as provided by Muhō Nölke) follows:

この不殺生ということは、どうしても仏教のいう無我というものが徹底しなければ、徹底するものではない。我というものを前提に置いたら、必ず、相手を嫌うことになり、これを殺さんならんことになる。それ故ここは、『法華経』の諸法実相ということが徹底すれば、前にあるものが仏さんであると思うて、これが殺せぬことになる。だからここに徹底するなら生死透脱ということもいわれる。・・・・・そういう人が戦さをすれば、敵を愛すること味方の如く、自利が利他にあっている。別にむやみに敵兵を殺すとか、そんなことはありゃせん。また掠奪するということなどもあるものじゃない。これが戦さをするとその土地の身になってやる。その土地の住民をできるだけ保護してやる。また戦術の方からいうても、その土地の人民を保護してやれば、その戦さは必ず勝つべきものである。また捕虜を大切にするということは、戦術の上からいうても、その方が得なのである。最後の勝利はそのものの上にある。己の命を捨てることは、鴻毛の如く、人の命を哀れむことは、己の如く。ここに人と己との境目の尽きたところが初めて不殺生戒なのである。

だから法華経の『三界は皆これ我が有なり、その中の衆生は皆是れ吾が子なり』。ここから出発すれば一切のものは、敵も味方も吾が子、上官も我が有、部下も我が有、日本も我が有、世界も我が有の中で秩序を乱すものを征伐するのが、即ち正義の戦さである、ここに殺しても殺さんでも不殺生戒、この不殺生戒は剣を揮う。この不殺生戒は爆弾を投げる。だからこの不殺生戒を参究しなければならん。この不殺生戒と云うものを翻訳して、達磨はこれを自性霊妙と云った。」

The post The “Non-Self” as a Killer appeared first on Sweeping Zen.

The following article was written on May 6, 2014 (http://www.zlmc.org/)

Robert Joshin Althouse

I have spent much of my life trying to integrate my Zen spiritual path with my more protean creative nature, and how that connects to a larger social, economic and political world of which I am a part. So I’d like to articulate an ethics of interdependence, that dignifies difference by actualizing our capacity for creative, improvisational virtuosity and compassionate commitment to bettering our world, both personally, and publicly. I want to acknowledge my debt to Dr. Peter Hershock and his book, “Valuing Diversity” as a source of inspiration for this article.

The Middle Way

The Buddha taught a path of spiritual practice for liberating oneself from suffering that is known as the Middle Way because it avoided the extremes of eternalism and nihilism, sensual indulgence and self mortification. Central to the Buddha’s teaching is the discovery that everything arises interdependently. Another way of saying that is that relationality is more basic ontologically than the things that are related. Equally important was his teaching about karma. He discovered that through sustained attention, there was a meticulous relationship between values, intention and actions. So there is nothing we experience for which we are not responsible. If we are experiencing structural violence in our world, it is our world, and we are responsible for that too.

Critique of Social Structures and Institutions

Buddhism is commonly understood as an effective critique of self that liberates us from personal suffering. What may not be so easily appreciated is that it can also serve as a critique of the social and political structures by which our patterns of interdependence and relationship are shaped and formed. Chan (Zen) arose in China along with Confucian and Taoist practices. All three traditions sought to articulate a world where relationality (not things-related) and change (not the unchanging or eternal) were ontologically primordial. As such, they offer significant resources for challenging the assumption that the individual is the proper unit of ethical, social and political analysis.

We face a complex world where there is no way through. It’s not that we don’t have the technological means to solve global hunger, climate change or unclean drinking water. We do. But we lack the cultural and social resolve to agree on how to proceed in the first place. So our problem today is not technological. It’s ethical. And Zen can offer us a way forward by articulating an ethics of interdependence, informed by enriched relationships that arise from appreciating diversity and bringing forth a more just and equitable world for everyone.

Modernity and Its Roots

We commonly assume that values are just the way things are, but the values we live by today have arisen in historical contexts as responses to challenges we have faced. Our technology is not value-neutral. It expresses that which we value such as control, comfort, freedom, and autonomy.

The first half of the seventeenth century was filled with chaos and inter-religious wars that fractured the medieval structures of authority and meaning. During the Thirty Years War from 1618 to 1648, between Roman Catholics and Protestant Christians, six to eight million people died. It is against this background that the Enlightenment brought forth a new set of values that helped consolidate nation-states that were multiethnic, multicultural and religiously pluralistic. Their search for certainty emphasized values such as universalism, equality, progress and control. These values led to social structures that favored the written over the oral, the universal over the particular and the general over the local. These shifting values brought polarizing dichotomies between reason and emotion, mind and body, and spirit and matter.

Institutions of Learning

The Enlightenment established institutions of learning to which we can trace our contemporary scholarly institutions and practices. Values were practiced by individuals set against a background of universal and objective time and space. These values are still with us today, idealizing our dissociation from cultural specific forms of relationship and place, emphasizing analysis, choice and control. Our public school system was first formulated during the Industrial Revolution as a way to train people to work in factories of mass production.

The Indo-European root of the English word learn is “leis”, which expresses a very different value that recognizes the importance of transformational relationships. The word refers to furrowing, a purposeful opening in the earth, created for planting a seed that germinates, grows and matures. This premodern notion of learning and the values it espoused, led to embodied relationships, rooted in communities, and a sense of place.

We still remember the Renaissance as a time when humanism and skepticism inspired humility and tolerance for differences in culture. It was a time when the guild system of learning flourished. Much of this way of learning was lost after the Industrial Revolution.

The Guild System

When I studied painting with Jan, what was important was not what I learned from reading books, though I read many. What was important was our mutual passion for painting and the creative process. Jan taught me how to make mediums and grind paints as the Old Master had done. And I copied the Old Masters as a way of learning about the craft of painting. When I left paint pigments scattered about in the grinding room, Jan let me know in no uncertain terms how inconsiderate and inappropriate my behavior was. What was important was our relationship.

I’ve spent the rest of my life teaching Zen, which, not unlike the guild system is a system of learning between teacher and student and appreciates the importance of transformational relationships. It is a source of great personal satisfaction. Both teacher and student are transformed. In fact, you can’t have a teacher without a student. You can’t have a parent without a child. We arise together. Our world is characterized by interdependence through and through.

Problems or Predicaments

So now we find ourselves in the 21st century facing increasing fragmentation, dislocation of communities and the unraveling of social patterns of behavior that connect us meaningfully to each other. The values that brought us here are no longer adequate for addressing the challenges we face. Our post-modern world is highly pluralistic both ethnically, socially and religiously. In short, we live in a world where systems of meaning overlap, and compete with one another. Predicaments occur when we are forced to deal with conflicts among our shared values. These cannot be solved by simple technological fixes because the conflicts among our values make it impossible for us to even agree on what the solution would be. The very meaning of progress and success is in question. It’s not a question of technology. It’s a question of ethics and patterns of shared meaning. Predicaments can only be resolved in relationship to others. This means we need to be clear about how things have come to be as they are, and how we may more thoroughly coordinate collective commitments for resolving them.

New Values for an Informational, Networked World

As we have seen, the older values based on the idea that rational deliberation by autonomous individuals could establish a single hierarchy of values that were valid for all, is no longer adequate to meet the challenges of our complex, pluralistic, networked world.

Networks distribute power in very different ways than the older hierarchal structures. In the older structures, power and influence were based on how close you were to the person at the top of the hierarchy. In networked structures, you gain power and influence by the number of nodes in your network and the quality of the communication exchange taking place in the network itself. Networks made possible the Arab Spring, Occupy Wall Street and the economic crash of 2008. Networks are both vital and volatile.

We need a new set of values that inform our skillful interactions with each other, so that, through our improvisational virtuosity, we may bring forth meaningful and just solutions to the predicaments we face. The values such as diversity, cooperation and collaboration that enhance and contribute to furthering our relational communication would seem to be helpful.These cannot be measured in a linear way. They are qualitative indexes about our interactions with each other.

Variety, for instance, is not the same as diversity. Variety can be measured. You can see it at a glance. If you look around a room full of people you can easily see variety. There are people of various ages and generations, people from different ethnic backgrounds, etc. But diversity cannot be measured in this way. Diversity is an emergent quality that arises when differences are activated as the basis for our sustained, mutual well-being.

A student asked a Zen teacher what was the essential teaching of Zen and he replied, “An appropriate response.” Attention or mindfulness, implies a quality of engagement and a readiness to respond.

An Ethics of Interdependence

Mindfulness has never been more popular. It is being taught and practiced everywhere, in classrooms, in schools, in prisons, in board rooms. Mindfulness and the values that arise from it are helping us to navigate our increasingly complex world. Like diversity, mindfulness is an emergent quality which is both embodied and relational. Other values, such as openness, empathy and clarity can help us begin to articulate an ethics of interdependence that is broad enough to be meaningful in our pluralistic world.

In his book, “Beyond Religion”, the Dalai Lama said, “as the peoples of the world become ever more closely interconnected in an age of globalization and in multicultural societies, ethics based on any one religion would only appeal to some of us; it would not be meaningful for all.” He goes on then to say, “What we need today is an approach to ethics which makes no recourse to religion and can be equally acceptable to those with faith and those without: a secular ethics.”

What we need is an ethics that in non-dual; that sees no ontological gap between things. As Jan says when he teaches painting, it’s about “seeing without an object.” There is no metaphysical boundary between what “is” and what “is not”. When we divide the world in this dualistic way, we create karmic conditions for obstructions.

Nonduality is not about some bland sameness, an interfaith blending of all religions into one, nor is it a melting pot where everyone is assimilated into one kind of citizen. Nor is it about how much we differ from one another. It really is about how well we differ for each other. The value of diversity is a qualitative index about the degree to which differences are activated as the basis for our sustained and shared flourishing.

Defining goals and objectives to solve problems can be seductive. We need something more to see our way forward. No one plays jazz or creates a work of art in order to reach a goal. We create by entering into open-ended play; an improvisational virtuosity that points us forward in a meaningful direction together.

Fa-sang teaching at the end of the 7th and early 8th century in China said that nonduality doesn’t mean erasing our differences but the activation of our differences as a basis for generating patterns of mutual contribution for everyone to realize freedom from conflict, trouble and suffering. The way forward will not be easy, but neither will it be lonely. We will find new friends and companions along the way that strengthen our bonds of communal caring and respect, teaching us a new meaning for progress, success and wealth.

On Zen Practice: Body, Breath, and Mind

The post Ethics of Interdependence appeared first on Sweeping Zen.

Introduction

As many regular readers of Sweeping Zen are aware, I recently posted what proved to be quite a controversial article entitled, “The Non-Self as a Killer.” For those of you who haven’t read it yet, it is available here.

In the midst of the controversy about this article, I received the following message sent directly to my e-mail address:

Hey Brian,

I should let you know that I am writing a book (or a portion of one) about you and your methods, tentatively titled “Brian Victoria’s War on Zen”. I am speaking to people here, gathering insights into your motivations and overall agenda, and reporting on your techniques of character assassination, factual manipulation and general modus operandi (some of which you may be blind to yourself).

In any event, I am now [xx] years old, and intend to spend the next 20 years or so shedding light on what you have done for you [sic] own purposes, taking what was initially a praise-worthy campaign to uncover some unethical and reprehensible events of the past and turning it into something on your part just as unethical and reprehensible. My goal is to make your actions as much a target of public examination in the Buddhist world as much as some of the people you have singled out, some rightfully deserving criticism (as do you) and some not.

Anyway, please keep publishing new material, because you provide me with new material.

Gassho, [name deleted]

In commenting on this message the first thing I note is the name of the sender is not relevant, at least not for me. In other words, the content of the message is what is important.

My initial response to the content was one of deep sadness. Sadness that things I have written evoked such deep emotions of revulsion that the writer intends to devote the next twenty years to discrediting me. This sadness was only compounded by the fact that although the writer clearly has some connection to Buddhism, s/he is so consumed by one of Buddhism’s three poisons, i.e., ill will and anger, that addressing the manifest suffering in our world appears to be of no concern. This at a time when so many crucially important issues face humanity that all inhabitants of spaceship earth, not least of all adherents of the Buddhadharma, need to address them with a sense of urgency.

That said, I readily admit that the author’s words did cause me to question, “Am I at war with Zen?”

Far More than Zen

Haku’un Yasutani

As many readers of this website already know, the focus of my research has been on the relationship of the Zen school to Japanese aggression during WW II (aka “Asia-Pacific War” in Japan). It continues to boggle the mind that a Zen priest like Yasutani Haku’un, so respected and influential in the postwar period in both the US and Japan, could have once written:

At this point the following question arises: What should the attitude of disciples of the Buddha, as Mahayana Bodhisattvas, be toward the first precept that forbids the taking of life? For example, what should be done in the case in which, in order to remove various evil influences and benefit society, it becomes necessary to deprive birds, insects, fish, etc. of their lives, or, on a larger scale, to sentence extremely evil and brutal persons to death, or for the nation to engage in total war?

Those who understand the spirit of the Mahayana precepts should be able to answer this question immediately. That is to say, of course one should kill, killing as many as possible. One should, fighting hard, kill everyone in the enemy army. The reason for this is that in order to carry [Buddhist] compassion and filial obedience through to perfection it is necessary to assist good and punish evil. However, in killing [the enemy] one should swallow one’s tears, bearing in mind the truth of killing yet not killing.

Failing to kill an evil man who ought to be killed, or destroying an enemy army that ought to be destroyed, would be to betray compassion and filial obedience, to break the precept forbidding the taking of life.  This is a special characteristic of the Mahayana precepts.[i]

Am I “at war” with this kind of gross distortion, gross denial of the Buddhadharma? Without a doubt! However, readers of my book, Zen at War will also be aware that I included multiple examples of war collaboration and support on the part of all of Japan’s major Buddhist sects, not just the Zen school. Thus, it would be more accurate to argue that I am at war with certain aspects of Japanese institutional Buddhism as a whole, starting with the Zen school.

Further, I have just published a new article on the Japan Focus website entitled, “Sōka Gakkai Founder, Makiguchi Tsunesaburō, A Man of Peace?” The article is available here. Sōka Gakkai, of course, is a Buddhist-oriented lay organization that is known as one of Japan’s “new religions” (shin-shūkyō). Inasmuch as I am critical of the claim that Makiguchi was opposed to wartime Japanese aggression based on his Buddhist faith, it would be more accurate to claim that I am at war with certain aspects of Japanese Buddhism in its entirety, whether traditional or “new.”

Takenaka Shōgen

Yet, it is exactly for this reason that I deeply admire those very few Japanese Buddhist priests who did genuinely oppose Japanese aggression and suffered the consequences. Only recently I translated an article describing one of these antiwar priests entitled: “’War is a Crime’: Takenaka Shōgen and Buddhist Resistance in the Asia-Pacific War and Today.” The article is available here.

Note, too, that I have criticized many other forms of Asian Buddhism, both in the Mahayana, Theravada and Tibetan traditions. My criticism is directed at the manner in which they have, at one time or another, supported aggressive warfare undertaken by rulers of their respective states. In fact, I have identified the way in which each of these traditions condones war in an article entitled “Violence-enabling Mechanisms in Buddhism,” the abstract of which is available here. Unfortunately, the whole article will not be freely available on the Web until November 2014. Based on this article and other writings, it would be even more accurate to say that I am at war with certain aspects of all of Buddhism!

Yet even this description is still not completely accurate, for I have also criticized “violence-enabling mechanisms” that exist in all of the major religions of the world including Hinduism, Christianity, Islam and Judaism. The relevant article is entitled: “Holy War: Toward a Holistic Understanding.” It is available here.

Based on the preceding, the most accurate description of my research would be to say that I am “at war with (i.e., critical of) certain aspects of all major religions in the world.” Specifically, those aspects of all major religions that condone/support/affirm/sacralize the use of violence, most especially in the case of state-initiated warfare. To this I gladly plead, “Guilty as charged!”

Daniel Berrigan

In taking this position, I strongly identify with peace activist and Jesuit Daniel Berrigan who wrote:

Everybody has always killed the bad guys. Nobody kills the good guys.  The Church is tainted in this way as well. The Church plays the same cards; it likes the taste of imperial power too. This is the most profound kind of betrayal I can think of. Terrible! Jews and Christians and Buddhists and all kinds of people who come from a good place, who come from revolutionary beginnings and are descended from heroes and saints. . . . Religion becomes another resource for the same old death-game.[ii]

Yet, even in the midst of ‘fighting this universal and non-violent war’, my primary focus remains the struggle against such ‘violence-enabling mechanisms’ within the Buddhist tradition, most especially within the Zen school to which I belong. Simply put, if Buddhism, with its clear first precept against the taking of life, cannot be ‘cleansed’ of its violence-affirming mechanisms, what chance is there, realistically speaking, of other faiths doing so? In other words, Buddhism is the one ‘black swan’ that has (or should have) the greatest potential for transforming itself into its white counterpart. But in light of past Buddhist historical practice in Asia, it clearly won’t be an easy task!

One proof of the difficulty of this task, even in the US, was a reader’s ‘Zen-like’ comment on my recent article concerning the connection between the ‘non-self’ and war. The reader wrote: “”State-initiated warfare does not have an independent existence to oppose.” In the first instance, it is difficult to believe that had the reader ever been in the military or even merely acquainted with the destructive power of the modern battlefield, and the massive death and destruction it entails, he could have so facilely written these words. Further, within the Mahayana tradition, this reader’s comments can be said to have conflated (or, alternatively, failed to differentiate) the realm of ‘ultimate truth’ (Skt., paramārtha-satya) and ‘relative truth’ (Skt., saṃvṛti-satya). In other words, if I stomp on your foot it ‘really’ will hurt.

Understood from a Buddhist viewpoint, a “state” is nothing more, nor less, than the “collective ego” of a group of human beings who are dedicated to pursuing their “national interest,” the salient feature of which is the acquisition of yet more wealth and power, in other words, the pursuit of ‘group self-interest’ and ‘collective self-attachment.’ Self-attachment, whether collective or individual, is yet another of Buddhism’s three poisons, and thus the very antithesis of the Buddhadharma.

Further, the Buddhist tradition records Śākyamuni Buddha as having been so deeply opposed to war that on two occasions he personally went to the battlefield to stop wars from occurring. In the first instance there was a drought in the land that affected the river Rohini, the common source of irrigation water for both the Śākya (Pali, Sakiya) and Koliya clans who lived on opposite sides of the river. Fearing there would be insufficient water for crops on both sides, the warriors of both peoples prepared to engage in battle. Seeing this, Śākyamuni Buddha is said to have gone to the battlefield and asked the princely leaders of the opposing armies:

“How much is water worth?”

“Very little, reverend Sir.”

“How much are the lives of princes worth?”

“The lives of princes are beyond price, Reverend Sir.”

“Then why would you sacrifice the lives of princes who are beyond price for something that is worth very little?”

Moved by his words, the princes agreed to resolve the dispute peacefully.

As this story vividly demonstrates, Śākyamuni Buddha was so concerned about the suffering war entails that he personally intervened to prevent it. In this he was not unlike a soldier on a UN Peacekeeping Mission, albeit a force made up of only one. Further, like today’s Peacekeeping Missions, the Buddha was not a partisan of either side even though he himself was a Śākya. In other words, he was an ‘honest broker’ or mediator whose only weapon was a reasoned appeal to both sides.

The second recorded instance of the Buddha’s battlefield intercession concerns the state of Kosala ruled by King Vidadabha who threatened to attack the Śākyas in revenge for his maternal grandfather Mahanama’s deception about his bloodline. That is to say, Mahanama had passed Vidadabha’s mother, Vasabha, off as a noblewoman when she was actually Mahanama’s illegitimate daughter from a slave woman. Mahanama was the Buddha’s cousin and then current governor of the Śākyas. The Buddha successfully intervened on two occasions to convince King Vidudabha’s forces not to attack. On the third attempt, however, the Buddha realized there was no longer anything he could do or say that would stop the invasion and famously stepped aside. The result was that Kosala forces invaded and are said to have slaughtered all the inhabitants of the Śākya capital, Kapilavastu (Pali, Kapilavatthu). Enlightened though he was, the Buddha is nevertheless recorded as having been deeply grieved by the loss.

What makes this second story so powerful is, in the first instance, that it shows the self-imposed limits of Śākyamuni Buddha’s role as a peacekeeper, i.e., his unwillingness to employ violence, either on his own, or on the part of his many followers, to physically defend his homeland. Had the Buddha done so he would have violated the very first precept that all Buddhists, lay and cleric, pledge themselves to abide by, i.e., not to take life. Even in the case of what was clearly a war in defense of his own people, the Buddha, albeit a member of the warrior caste by birth, refused to break his vows.

Bhikku Bodhi

If the actions of a founder of a religion are considered to be normative of the conduct expected by followers of that faith, then the Buddhist position on the use of lethal force is clear. Further, as the American Theravāda monk, Bhikkhu Bodhi has noted:

The suttas, it must be clearly stated, do not admit any moral justification for war. Thus, if we take the texts as issuing moral absolutes, one would have to conclude that war can never be morally justified. One short sutta even declares categorically that a warrior who dies in battle will be reborn in hell, which implies that participation in war is essentially immoral.”[iii]

The sutta/sutra Bhikkhu Bodhi referred to is the Yodhajiva Sutta in the Samyatta Nikāya 42:3. The relevant passage reads as follows:

[The Blessed One said:] When a warrior strives & exerts himself in battle, his mind is already seized, debased, & misdirected by the thought: “May these beings be struck down or slaughtered or annihilated or destroyed. May they not exist.” If others then strike him down & slay him while he is thus striving & exerting himself in battle, then with the breakup of the body, after death, he is reborn in the hell called the realm of those slain in battle.

Still further, in Chapter 10, verses 129-30, of the Dhammapada, Śākyamuni Buddha makes it very clear why no one should be involved in killing, i.e., not because he says so, or because it is ‘God’s commandment’ but rather for the following ‘commonsense’ reasons:

All tremble at violence; all fear death. Putting oneself in the place of another, one should not kill nor cause another to kill.

All tremble at violence; life is dear to all. Putting oneself in the place of another, one should not kill nor cause another to kill.

In short, both the actions and words of the founder of the faith, Śākyamuni Buddha, indicate that Buddhism is a faith of absolute non-violence that admits no “just wars” even in defense of one’s own country. How many of those who today call themselves Buddhists are willing to embrace these injunctions, especially when it comes to the question of the continued existence of their own country?

Inasmuch as there are at least a few Christian denominations, like the Quakers, Mennonites and Amish, who take Jesus’ teaching to “love your enemy” seriously, and thus foreswear the use of violence, one would hope that at least some Buddhists might follow suit. As the Chinese maxim points out, “It is better to light a small candle than to curse the darkness.” Thus, I invite as many readers as possible to join together to bring the light of non-violence, as taught in the Buddhadharma, to this long-suffering and violent world.

In this way I sincerely hope to bring an end to my “war” on (Zen) Buddhism and the violence-affirming aspects of all religions, before even one additional human being’s life is destroyed. Is this an impossible ‘dream’? Yes, but that is why we have ‘Bodhisattavas’. They pledge themselves to do the impossible on a daily basis!

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