During the “sesshin,” they have besides lectures what is known as
“sanzen.”[f147][7.29] To do “sanzen” is to go to the master
and present one’s views on a kō-an for his critical examination.
In those days when a special “sesshin” is not going on, “sanzen”
will probably take place twice a day, but during the period of
thought-collection—which is the meaning of “sesshin”—the monk has
to see the master four or five times a day. This seeing the master
does not take place openly,[f148] the monk is required to come up
individually to the master’s room, where the interview goes on in a
most formal and solemn manner. When the monk is about to cross the
threshold of the master’s room, he makes three bows prostrating himself
on the floor. He now enters the room keeping his hands folded, palm
to palm, before the chest, and when he comes near the master, he sits
down and makes another bow. Once in the room, all worldly convention
is disregarded. If absolutely necessary from the Zen point of view,
blows may be exchanged. To make manifest the truth of Zen with all
sincerity of heart is the sole consideration here, and everything else
receives only a subordinate attention. Hence this elaborate formalism.
The presentation over, the monk retires in the same way as before. One
“sanzen” for over thirty monks will occupy more than one hour and a
half, and this is the time of the utmost tension for the master, too.
To have this four or five times a day must be a kind of ordeal for the
master himself, if he is not of robust health.
An absolute confidence is placed in the master as far as his
understanding of Zen goes. But if the monk has sufficient reason to
doubt the master’s ability, he may settle it personally with him at
the time of sanzen. This presentation of views, therefore, is no idle
play for either of the parties concerned. It is indeed a most serious
affair, and because it is so the discipline of Zen has a great moral
value outside its philosophy. How serious this is, may be guessed from
the famous interview between the venerable Shōju[7.30] and Hakuin,
father of modern Zen in Japan.
One summer evening when Hakuin presented his view to the old
master who was cooling himself on the veranda, the master said, “Stuff
and nonsense.” Hakuin echoed this loudly and rather satirically, “Stuff
and nonsense!” Thereupon the master seized him, boxed him several
times, and finally pushed him off the veranda. It was soon after the
rainy weather, and poor Hakuin rolled in the mud and water. Having
recovered himself after a while, he came up and reverentially bowed
to the teacher, who then remarked again, “O you, denizen of the dark
cavern!”
Another day Hakuin thought that the master did not know how deep
his knowledge of Zen was and decided to have a settlement with him
anyhow. As soon as the time came, Hakuin entered the master’s room and
exhausted all his ingenuity in contest with him, making his mind up
not to give way an inch of ground this time. The master was furious,
and finally taking hold of Hakuin gave him several slaps and let him
go over the porch again. He fell several feet at the foot of the
stone-wall, where he remained for a while almost senseless. The master
looked down and heartily laughed at the poor fellow. This brought
Hakuin back to consciousness. He came up again all in perspiration. The
master, however, did not release him yet and stigmatised him as ever
with “O you, denizen of the dark cavern!”
Hakuin grew desperate and thought of leaving the old master altogether.
When one day he was going about begging in the village, a certain
accident[f149] made him all of a sudden open his mental eye to the
truth of Zen, hitherto completely shut off from him. His joy knew no
bounds and he came back in a most exalted state of mind. Before he
crossed the front gate, the master recognised him and beckoned to him,
saying, “What a good news have you brought home to-day? Come right in,
quick, quick!” Hakuin then told him all about what he went through
with that day. The master tenderly stroked him on the back and said,
“You have it now, you have it now.” After this, Hakuin was never called
names.
Such was the training the father of modern Japanese Zen had to go
through. How terrible the old Shōju was when he pushed Hakuin down
the stone-wall! But how motherly when the disciple after so much of
ill-treatment finally came out triumphantly! There is nothing lukewarm
in Zen. If it is lukewarm, it is not Zen. It expects one to penetrate
into the very depths of truth, and the truth can never be grasped until
one comes back to one’s native nakedness shorn of all trumperies,
intellectual or otherwise. Each slap dealt by Shōju stripped Hakuin
of his insincerities. We are all living under so many casings which
really have nothing to do with our inmost self. To reach the latter,
therefore, and to gain the real knowledge of ourselves, the Zen masters
resort to methods seemingly inhuman. In this case however there must
be absolute faith in the truth of Zen and in the master’s perfect
understanding of it. The lack of this faith will also mean the same in
one’s own spiritual possibilities. So exclaims Rinzai: “O you, men of
little faith! How can you ever expect to fathom the depths of the ocean
of Zen?”