The Meditation Hall[7.6] (Zendo in Japanese and Ch‘an T‘ang in
Chinese), as it is built in Japan, is generally a rectangular building
of various size according to the number of monks to be accommodated.
One at Engakuji,[f136] Kamakura, was about 36 feet by 65 feet. The
floors about eight feet wide and three feet high are raised along
the longer sides of the building, and an empty space is left in the
middle throughout the entire length of the Hall. This space is used for
practising an exercise known as “kinhin”[7.7] (_ching-hsing_) which
means literally “sutra-walking.” The space allotted to each monk on
the _tatami_ floor does not exceed one mat, three by six feet, where
he sits, meditates, and sleeps at night. The bedding for each is
never more than one large wadded quilt, summer or winter. He has no
regular pillow except that which is temporarily made up by himself out
of his own private possessions. These latter, however, are next
to nothing: for they are _kesa_ (_kashāya_ in Sanskrit) and _koromo_
(priestly robe), a few books, a razor, and a set of bowls, all of which
are put up in a box about three by ten by three and a half inches
large. In travelling this box is carried in front supported with a
sash about the neck. The entire property thus moves with the owner.
“One dress and one bowl, under a tree and on a stone,”[7.8] was the
graphical description of the monkish life in India. Compared with this,
the modern Zen monk must be said to be abundantly supplied. Still his
wants are reduced to a minimum and no one can fail to lead a simple,
perhaps the simplest, life if he models his after that of the Zen monk.
The desire to possess is considered by Buddhism to be one of the worst
passions mortals are apt to be obsessed with. What in fact causes so
much misery in the world is due to a strong impulse of acquisitiveness.
As power is desired, the strong always tyrannise over the weak: as
wealth is coveted, the rich and poor are always crossing their swords
of bitter enmity. International wars rage, social unrest ever goes on,
unless the impulse to have and hold is completely uprooted. Cannot a
society be reorganised upon an entirely different basis from what we
have been used to see from the beginning of history? Cannot we ever
hope to stop the amassing of wealth and the wielding of power merely
from the desire for individual or national aggrandisement? Despairing
of the utter irrationality of human affairs, the Buddhist monks have
gone to the other extreme and cut themselves off even from reasonable
and perfectly innocent enjoyments of life. However, the Zen ideal of
putting up the monk’s belongings in a tiny box a little larger than a
foot square and three inches high, is their mute protest, though so far
ineffective, against the present order of society.
* * * * *
In this connection it will be of interest to read the admonition left
by Daito the National Teacher (1282–1337),[7.9] to his disciples.
He was the founder of Daitokuji, Kyoto, in 1326, and is said to
have spent about one-third of his life which was not a very long
one, among the lowest layers of society under the Gojo bridge,
begging his food, doing all kinds of menial work, and despised by the
so-called respectable people of the world. He did not care for the
magnificence of a prosperous and highly-honoured temple life led by
most Buddhist priests of those days, nor did he think much of those
pious and sanctimonious deeds that only testify to the superficiality
of their religious life. He was for the plainest living and the highest
thinking. The admonition reads:
“O you, monks, who are here in this mountain monastery, remember that
you are gathered for the sake of the religion and not for the sake of
clothes and food. As long as we have shoulders [that is, the body],
we have to wear clothes, and as long as we have a mouth, we have to
eat; but be ever mindful, throughout the twelve hours of the day, to
apply yourselves to the study of the Unthinkable. Time passes like
an arrow, never let your minds be disturbed by worldly cares. Ever,
ever be on the look-out. After my wandering away, some of you may have
fine temples in prosperous conditions, towers and halls and holy books
all decorated in gold and silver, and devotees may noisily crowd into
the grounds; some may pass hours in reading the Sutras and reciting
dharanis, and sitting long in contemplation, may not give themselves
up to sleep; they may, eating once a day and observing the fastdays,
and, throughout the six periods of the day, practise all the religious
deeds. Even when they are thus devoted to the cause, if their thoughts
are not really dwelling on the mysterious and intransmissible Way of
the Buddhas and Fathers, they may yet come to ignore the law of moral
causation, ending in a complete downfall of the true religion. Such all
belong to the family of evil spirits; however long my departure from
the world may be, they are not to be called my descendants. Let however
there be just one individual, who may be living in the wilderness in a
hut thatched with one bundle of straw and passing his days by eating
the roots of wild vegetables cooked in a pot with broken legs; but if
he single-mindedly applies himself to the study of his own [spiritual]
affairs, he is the very one who has a daily interview with me and knows
to be grateful for his life. Who should ever despise such a one? O
monks, be diligent, be diligent.”[f137]
In India, the Buddhist monks never eat in the afternoon. They properly
eat only once a day as their breakfast is no breakfast in the sense
that an English or American breakfast is. So, the Zen monks too are not
supposed to have any meal in the evening. But the climatic necessity
in China and Japan could not be ignored, and they have an evening meal
after a fashion; but to ease their conscience it is called “medicinal
food” (_yüeh-shih_).[7.10] The breakfast which is taken very early in
the morning while it is still dark, consists of rice gruel and pickled
vegetables (_tsukemono_).
The principal meal at 10 a.m. is rice (or rice mixed with barley),
vegetable soup, and pickles. In the afternoon, at four, they have only
what is left of the dinner—no special cooking is done. Unless they are
invited out or given an extra treatment at the house of some generous
patrons, their meals are such as above described, year in year out.
Poverty and simplicity is their motto.
One ought not, however, to consider asceticism the ideal life of Zen.
As far as the ultimate signification of Zen is concerned, it is neither
asceticism nor any other ethical system. If it appears to advocate
either the doctrine of suppression or that of detachment, the supposed
fact is merely on the surface; for Zen as a school of Buddhism more
or less inherits the odium of a Hindu discipline. The central idea,
however, of the monkish life is not to waste, but to make the best
possible use of things as they are given us, which is also the spirit
of Buddhism in general. In truth, the intellect, imagination, and all
other mental faculties as well as the physical objects surrounding
us, our own bodies not excepted, are given us for the unfolding and
enhancing of the highest powers possessed by us as spiritual entities
and not merely for the gratification of our individual whims or
desires, which are sure to conflict with and injure the interests and
rights asserted by others. These are some of the inner ideas
underlying the simplicity and poverty of the monkish life.