Ummon ascended the platform and said: “O you, venerable monks! Don’t
get confused in thought. Heaven is heaven, earth is earth, mountains
are mountains, water is water, monks are monks, laymen are laymen.” He
paused for a while and continued, “Bring me out here that hill of Ansan
and let me see!”
Another time he said, “Bodhisattva Vasudeva turned without any reason
into a staff.” So saying he drew a line on the ground with his own
staff, and resumed, “All the Buddhas as numberless as sands are here
talking all kinds of nonsense.” He then left the Hall.
One day when he came out in the Hall as usual to give a sermon, a monk
walked out of the congregation, and made bows to him, saying, “I
beg you to answer.” Ummon called out aloud, “O monks!” The monks all
turned towards the master, who then came down from the seat.
Another day when he was silent in his seat for a while, a monk came out
and made bows to him; said the master, “Why so late!” The monk made
a response, whereupon the master remarked, “O you, good-for-nothing
simpleton!”
Sometimes his sermon would be quite disparaging to the founder of his
own faith; for he said, “Iśvara, great lord of heaven, and the old
Śākyamuni are in the middle of the courtyard, discoursing on Buddhism;
are they not noisy?”
At another time he said:
“All the talk so far I have had—what is it all about any way? To-day
again not being able to help myself I am here to talk to you once more.
In this wide universe is there anything that comes up against you, or
puts you in bondage? If there is ever a thing as small as the point of
a pin lying in your way or obstructing your passage, get it out for
me! What is it that you call a Buddha or a Patriarch? What are they
that are known as mountains, rivers, the earth, sun, moon, or stars?
What are they that you call the four elements and the five aggregates?
I speak thus, but it is no more than the talk of an old woman from a
remote village. If I suddenly happen to meet a monk thoroughly trained
in this matter, he will, on learning what I have been talking to you,
carry me off the feet and throw me down the steps. And for this would
he be blamed? Whatever this may be, for what reason is it so? Don’t be
carried away by my talk and try to make nonsensical remarks. Unless
you are the fellow who was really gone through with the whole thing,
you will never do. When you are caught unawares by such an old man as
myself, you will at once lose your way and break your legs. And for
that, am I to be at all blamed? This being so, is there any one among
you who wants to know a thing or two about the doctrine of our school?
Come out and let me answer you. After this you may get a turning and be
free to go out in the world, east or west.”
A monk came out and was at the point of asking a question when the
master hit his mouth with the staff, and descended from the seat.
One day when Ummon was coming up to the Lecture Hall he heard the bell,
whereupon he said, “In such a wide, wide world, why do we put our
monkish robes on when the bell goes like this?”
Another time he simply said, “Don’t you try to add frost over snow;
take good care of yourselves, good-bye”; and went out.
“Lo, and behold; the Buddha Hall has run into the monk’s quarters.”
Later his own remark was, “They are beating the drum at Lafu (Lo-fu),
and a dance is going on at Shōjū (Shao-chou).”
Ummon seated himself in a chair before the congregation, there was a
pause for a while, and he remarked: “Raining so long, and not a day has
the sun shone.”
Another time, “Lo, and behold! No life’s left!” So saying, he acted as
if he were falling. Then he asked, “Do you understand? If not, ask this
staff to enlighten you.”
As soon as Yōgi (Yang-ch‘ih),[7.45] a great master of the eleventh
century under the Sung dynasty, got seated in his chair, he laughed
loudly, “Ha, Ha, Ha!” and said, “What is this? Go back to your
dormitory hall and each have a cup of tea.”
One day Yōgi ascended the seat, and the monks were all assembled. The
master, before uttering a word, threw his staff away and came right
down jumping from the chair. The monks were about to disperse, when
he called out, “O monks!” The latter turned back, whereupon said the
master, “Take my staff in, O monks!” This said, the master went off.
Yakusan (Yüeh-shan, 751–834)[7.46] gave no sermons for some little time
and the chief secretary came up to him asking for one. The master said,
“Beat the drum then.” As soon as the congregation was ready to listen
to him, he went back to his own room. The secretary followed him and
said, “You gave consent to give them a sermon, and how is it that you
uttered not a word?” Said the master, “The Sutras are explained by the
Sutra specialists, and the Śastras by the Śastra specialists; why
then do you wonder at me? [Am I not a Zen master?].”
One day Goso (Fa-yen)[7.47] entered the Hall and seated himself in the
chair. He looked one way over the shoulder and then the other. Finally
he held out his staff high in his hand and said, “Only one foot long!”
And without a further comment he descended.
* * * * *
The foregoing selections from Ummon and Jōshu and others will be
sufficient to acquaint the reader with what kind of sermons have been
carried on in the monastery for the intellectual or super-intellectual
consumption of the monks. They are generally short. The masters
do not waste much time in explaining Zen, not only because it is
beyond the ken of human discursive understanding, but because such
explanations are not productive of any practical and lasting benefits
for the spiritual edification of the monks. The masters’ remarks are
therefore necessarily laconic; sometimes they do not even attempt to
make any wordy discussion or statement, but just raising the staff,
or shaking the hossu, or uttering a cry, or reciting a verse, is all
that the congregation gets from the master. Some, however, seem to
have their own favourite way of demonstrating the truth of Zen; for
instance, Rinzai is famous for his “Kwatsu” (_hê_ in Chinese), Tokusan
for his flourishing staff, Gutei for his lifting up a finger, Hima
for a bifurcate stick, Kwasan for beating a drum, and so on.[f158] It
is wonderful to observe what a variety of methods have sprung up, so
extraordinary, so ingenious, and so original, and all in order to make
the monks realise the same truth, whose infinite aspects as manifested
in the world may be comprehended by various individuals, each according
to his own capacity and opportunity.
Taking it all in all, Zen is emphatically a matter of personal
experience; if anything can be called radically empirical, it is
Zen. No amount of reading, no amount of teaching, and no amount of
contemplation will even make one a Zen master. Life itself must be
grasped in the midst of its flow, to stop it for examination and
analysis is to kill it leaving its cold corpse to be embraced.
Therefore, everything in the Meditation Hall and every detail of its
disciplinary curriculum is so arranged as to bring this idea into the
most efficient prominence. The unique position maintained by the Zen
sect among other Mahayana schools in Japan and China throughout the
history of Buddhism in the Far East is no doubt due to the institution
known as the Meditation Hall or Zendo.