IS THAT SO!

Today I begin with a well-known story that is said to be a part of Hakuin Zenji's biography, though it may be apocryphal. Some say it is taken from the life of Shido Bunan Zenji, the Zen master and poet who was Hakuin's grandfather in the Dharma.

In any case, it's a good story:

One day, a daughter in the family of a certain village became pregnant, and she told her parents that the father was the priest of the local temple. After the child was born, the parents took the infant to the priest, and told him that since he was the father, he should look after the child.

The priest took the child, saying only, "Is that so!" For the next year, he carried the baby with him as his made his rounds of the village begging for milk for the child, as well as rice for himself. Finally, the young daughter came to her senses and confessed that a nearby young farmer was really the father of the child.

The family came to the priest and apologized, acknowledging that the baby was really not his after all. The priest returned the child to them, saying only, "Is that so!"

In the Japanese language, the priest's response was "Ah, sō des'ka." One of the most common expressions in the language, it is akin to the English response, "Is that a fact!"--almost always an exclamation rather than a question. Sometimes it can be ironical. "You don't say!"

The story is usually taken as a lesson in accepting one's karma humbly and without question. It can also be viewed as a profound Zen teaching. I have told about the conversation I once overheard when I was working in the library of my first teacher, Senzaki Nyogen Sensei. He lived in small quarters, and his library was simply one end of his living room. One afternoon, I couldn't help overhearing a disquisition by a guest on the mystical significance of the Pyramids. This was in the early 1950s, when Theosophy and spiritualism were still quite popular. Sensei sat in silence as the visitor held forth, and in the pauses, he would say, "Is that so! I didn't know that." Without noticing the Rogerian nature of Sensei's responses, the visitor would resume his theme, on and on, taking some pride; it seemed, on the extent and depth of his wisdom. I wonder what he thought later. Perhaps he reflected, "You know, I did all the talking. Maybe I should have asked the teacher his opinion." Actually, however, there would be no need to ask his opinion. He was already giving it. "Is that so!"

He had lots of precedent for this response:

A monk asked Yun-men, "What about when both mother and father are deceased?"

Yun-men said, "Let's set aside 'both are deceased.' Who are your mother and father?"

The monk said, "The pain is deep."

Yun-men said, "I see, I see." [1]

Notice that the monk was absorbed in his grief, and missed Yun-men's prompt, "Let's set aside 'both are deceased.' " He couldn't do it, but continued to project his feelings.

In a footnote to his translation of this case, the scholar Urs App quotes a story from the record of Pai-chang, by way of comparison:

A monk entered the Dharma hall weeping. Pai-chang asked, "What's the matter? What's the matter?"

The monk said, "My father and mother both died. Please, Master, set a day [for the funeral]."

Pai-chang said, "Get out and come back tomorrow. I'll bury you together with them."

The circumstances were almost identical. Which was the most compassionate response? That of Yun-men or of Pai-chang? "Is that so?" or "I'll bury you." My question is rhetorical, of course, for both responses are expressions of complete accord. Both fit their circumstance as the lid fits the box. These two masters knew their monksÑthis one might hear this, that one might hear that.

Let's take sets of hypothetical cases for our Zen work today:

"I am concerned about building my retirement equity, but I worry that I won't have enough. At work my boss is unrealistic and my clients are importunate, and at home my children are cranky and my spouse is unhappy."

"Yes, I hear you."

Complete accord! But with another student, the dialogue might go like this:"

"I am concerned about building my retirement equity, but I worry that I won't have enough. At work, my boss is unrealistic and my clients are importunate, and at home my children are cranky and my spouse is unhappy."

"Why are you squandering your life? Each day brings you closer to your decrepitude, when you won't be able to do zazen at all. Each day brings you closer to the hospital bed where all interventions will fail. Make time without fail each day to sit hard. Find your island of peace, and all those tumultuous waves will die down of themselves. Get with it! Get with it!

Again, complete accord! Right? Another set of dialogues for our time might go like this:

"I don't have time for political action. It seems to me that governments run in cycles, now progressive, now repressive. If I am patient, then everything will come out in the wash."

"Yes, I see your point."

We're in harmony! But another version, with a different student, might go in this way:

"I don't have time for political action. It seems to me that governments run in cycles, now progressive, now repressive. If I am patient, then everything will come out in the wash."

"Are you practicing just for yourself? Your skin does not bind your enlightenment! Remember your vow! 'The many beings are numberless; I vow to save them.' Do you mean what you are saying when you repeat your vow, or are you just mumbling some mantra to deepen your samadhi?" Zen practice is not solipsistic; it is not self-absorption; anything but, as the Buddha himself made crystal clear.

Like a loving mother, the true master can scold. Can you hear the compassion? In these two sets, which monk are you? Are you ready for hard truths, or are you still caught in a groove of coasting along? Or you might be on the cusp of seeing the sky as it is, with lovely clouds forming and dissipating. Then hard truths can come with soft words. In fact, that was the fond hope of the priest with his baby: "Is that so!" It was Yun-men's fond hope: "I see. I see." It was Senzaki's fond hope: "I didn't know that."

And it was Chao-chou's fond hope too:

A monk came to Chao-chou and said, "I have long heard about the great stone bridge of Chao-chou, but I've come and found just a simple log bridge."

Chao-chou said, "You don't see the great stone bridge. You only see a simple log bridge."

The monk asked, "What is the simple log bridge?"

Chao-chou said, "Donkeys cross, horses cross." [2]

Chao-chou was known by the name of his town. The great stone bridge of Chao-chou was a wonder of architecture, and it still is, a millennium and a half after it was built. Chao-chou himself was a wonderful bridge to the other shore, and still is. "Is that so," he says in effect, "You don't see the great stone bridge that is built for eternity; you only see the simple log bridge that soon will be washed away."

In this case, Chao-chou temporized, and the monk was alert to it. A smart, promising monk. "What is the simple long bridge?" This gave Chao-chou his chance to make his ultimate point. Alert in this way, you lay the groundwork for your own realization.

Chao-chou's mastery often involved temporizing with expressions of apparent sympathy for the limited position of the other. Be attentive for such upaya. They are set up for you alone.

Yen-yang asked Chao-chou, "What if I don't bring a single thing, what then?

Chao-chou said, "Put it down."

Yen-yang asked, "If I don't bring a single thing, what should I put down?

Chao-chou said, "Then take it along." [3]

Yen-yang missed Chao-chou's initial admonition but finally heard his gentle but faintly ironic expression of accord, for we are told that Chao-chou's final words opened the Way for him. In his comment on this case, Yuan-wu remarks that Yen-yang was like a poor man finding a jewel. I would put it differently. He was like a guest, hesitating at the threshold, hearing his host's words of greeting and stepping into the house that was his own from the beginning.

I advise beginning students that mind, body, spirit and will are involved in their breath counting. This advice holds for old-timers too. If it is your will to fulfill your Bodhisattva Vows to save the many beings, to overcome obstacles in your practice, to be alert to the many teachings about you, and to attain the Buddha Way, then you will put those vows into practice as a bodhisattva, forgetting your sole self to be in accord with the many sounds of the dojo, the home, the workplace, the city and the woods--spoken words, dings and bongs and claps, cries, laughs, the cacophony of traffic, calls and murmurs that reverberate intimately as your own vast, unlimited body.

NOTES

1 Cf. Urs App, trans. Master Yunmen: From the Record of the Chan Teacher "Gate of the Clouds" (New York: Kodansha International, 1994), p. 143. [return to text]

2 Cf. Thomas and J.C. Cleary, trans. The Blue Cliff Record (Boston: Shambhala, 1992), p. 305. [return to text]

3 Cf. Thomas Cleary, trans., Book of Serenity (Hudson, N.Y.: Lindisfarne Press, 1990), p. 241. [return to text]

-Robert Aitken 2003

posted 2004.02.03

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