Omori Sogen

by Hosokowa Dogen

  Professor Foucault said, “Because my experience has been so brief, I cannot say anything definite. Yet I felt that through the correct posture of zazen, I found a new relationship between mind and body. I also felt a new relationship between the body and external circumstances. I have a question regarding the universality of Zen. Is it possible or not possible to separate the practice of Zen from the beliefs and practices of Buddhism in general?”

  I responded, “Zen came from Buddhism, therefore, there is a deep relationship between Zen and Buddhism. Zen, however, need not necessarily have the form of Zen. It is all right to discard the name of Zen. Zen is something free. You just said you experienced a new relationship between your mind and body and between your body and external circumstances. To experience this from such short practice is an impressive accomplishment. The experience of the mind and body becoming one and the self and the outside world becoming one are universal experiences. In this sense Zen is international and world-wide. If you just think of Zen as part of Buddhism, this is a narrow, limited view. If Zen can be understood in the context of your experience, we can fully agree that Zen is universal.”

  Professor Foucault’s second question was, “In Europe, it is thought that Nature and human beings are in opposition. We think that man is the subject which subjugates Nature, and Nature is an object which is ruled by man. Yet according to what I have experienced during the twenty odd days that I have been here, Nature and man are One. Do I misunderstand?”

  I couldn’t understand all the words entirely but let him pass. Later we pursued this in more detail. As a result, I confirmed that, without a doubt, he had had a realization. That such a respected philosopher would have a realization will be the reason for a qualitative change in the modern civilization of Europe. That he would interpret his realization to mean that man does not conquer Nature but that Nature and man are one is a powerful criticism of modern civilization. That is how the quality of modern civilization will begin to improve. I think that is where Zen is right now. This sense of oneness which Foucault experienced is what Zen can contribute to modern society.

  What I fervently hope is precisely what Professor Bernard Phillips of Philadelphia University wrote in his book, Zen and Western People:

  For the period of at least four hundred years, people in the West have been suffering from spiritual hunger and thirst. When the hope of quenching this hunger and thirst became slimmer because of the inherent religious resources of Western culture, that hunger and thirst became all the more acute…. From the traditional concepts that he held on to, man quickly continued to advance toward a united world. Aside from Zen, there is no other universal religion. It is true that many other religions have emphasized a universal religion; but all of the other religions have been influenced by the time, place, and character of the region.

  Other religions have been instrumental in a specific nation, during a specific time, and in a specific area. They did not play a part in the lives of all mankind or in all endeavors. They all made the mistake of trying to create an absolute form or absolute creed. The reason is that the forms and creeds of these religions lost their absoluteness and are restricted historically or were the product of a certain geography, certain society, and economic environment. The eyes of modern man are looking to infinity. Because they are always looking at space which unfolds before them without any obstruction, the religion that is so essential to modern man must, like their universe, become a center point that extends everywhere and for which there is no circumference. There is no center point; there is no circumference. The infinite circle has infinite centers.

  This practical view is the only thing that has the strength to save people from spiritual hunger and thirst. This practical view, that the center is everywhere and there is no circumference, is the same as the essence of the realization that the Buddha had on December 8, when he was thirty-five years old. He saw the morning star and was awakened to his Original Nature. The center is everywhere and there is no circumference says the same thing as a small particle is the whole; I am the universe itself; the universe is contained in a small particle of dust which is flying around right in front of me in a form which cannot be seen. This way of teaching, this point of view is the principle of jujimuge (All things and events in the universe interpenetrate freely without obstruction).

  This is the backbone of Zen. The Kegon School’s doctrine of cause and condition, and the Tendai School’s doctrine of reality are the two facets of Zen. If you can understand what Rinzai meant by “now, in front of your eyes, you, the listener,” you will understand Zen completely. At the intersection of space and time is the point where “I” is located. That point is the center of the infinite circle and is located everywhere; there is no circumference. That is reality. This is the basic principle that will save the world.

  That is what a foreign philosopher experienced. If one experiences this, modern man’s present ideology will naturally be criticized. But by being criticized, change will take place. Without a doubt, this will happen. Just simple theory, however, is not enough. It is necessary to have physical experience behind it. If you experience this, the view that only man is the center of the universe (in exclusion to others also being the center) will become absurd. Why should man alone be the center?

  In this doctrine that man is the center of the universe, what is meant by “man?” It is only one’s small self or ego. As expected, in subjugating Nature to man’s ego, Nature is destroyed; the air is polluted; the ocean is contaminated; chemically manufactured goods are not biodegradable. In other words, the life of the planet will stop. The ecology will be destroyed. How did the world become full of pollution? The source is Man-is-the-center-of-the-Universe-ism which places the single ego at the center. Since the beginning of time, man has not been able to exist independently. Do not think that an independent speck called the ego actually exists. We say, “I, I.” But where did this “I” come from? Weren’t you born from your parents? I did not make myself and did not come from myself. Where did these parents come from? And, where did their parents come from?

  It is the mysterious and fundamental ability of “birth.” Through the functioning of this fundamental ability to reproduce, what we call “I” was born. How can this “I” be maintained? We depend upon everything else’s energy. This “I” is not able to live at all without carrots, burdock root, fish, meat, and so on. If you have confidence that you can live without the help of anything, we can experiment right now. Cover your nose and mouth with tape, see if you can live for five minutes without the help of air. Do you still insist that you can live without the aid of anything? This is the fundamental mistake of modern man who thought of himself as an independent unit. He paid no attention to the temporal movement of life and the movement of space. He only took the abstraction, the independent unit, “I” which was abstracted from reality. This “I” became the Man-is-the- Center-of-the-Universe-ism. Living like this is what is called man. We are making a terrible mistake on this point. Man is not the center. We are living with the Universe.

  1979, Demonstrating the Hojo kata at the All Japan Demonstration of Traditional Martial Arts.

  I think that it is a tremendous thing that Professor Michel Foucault had such a realization in only 20 days. This realization will perhaps have a culturally historic meaning. Believing this, I set a high value on his experience and feel thankful that he came to Japan to do zazen.14

  1979, Demonstrating the Habiki kata at the All-Japan Demonstration of Traditional Martial Arts.

  In August of 1979, Omori Roshi headed a spiritual exchange to Europe called “The Fount of East-West Culture.” This exchange was conceived in the spring of 1977 after BBC’s Trevor Leggett filmed a demonstration of Omori Roshi’s Kendo and calligraphy. Omori Roshi remarked, “I would like to go to Europe with my Kendo sword and calligraphy brush.” Father Kadowaki, a Catholic priest who had studied at the Vatican andwho also did sanzen with Omori Roshi, took this remark to heart and began maki
ng plans. The four facets of the exchange were demonstrations in the martial arts and fine arts, lectures and seminars, visits to monasteries, and first hand experience of Western spiritual training. Accompanied by Tanouye Tenshin as his attendant, Omori Roshi travelled to Europe and demonstrated the Hojo and calligraphy in cities in Germany and Belgium. Unfortunately his physical condition did not permit him to finish the tour which went on to include a visit with the Pope.

  In October of 1979, after returning from the European tour, Omori Roshi established Chozen-ji as a Daihonzan, the main temple and head-quarters of a new line of Zen with Tanouye Roshi as the Abbot. For the canon of Chozen-ji, Omori Roshi wrote:

  Zen is to transcend life and death (all dualism), to truly realize that the entire universe is the “True Human Body,” through the discipline of “mind and body in oneness.” Miyamoto Niten (Musashi) called it Iwo no mi (body of a huge boulder—going through life rolling and turning like a huge boulder); Yagyu Sekishusai named it Marobashi no michi (a bridge round like a ball—being in accord with the myriad changes of life). Besides this actual realization there is nothing else.

  Zen without the accompanying physical experience is nothing but empty discussion. Martial ways without truly realizing the “Mind” is nothing but beastly behavior. We agree to undertake all of this as the essence of our training.

  All our students, strive diligently! Gentlemen of the Rinzai Honzan (Main Temple) in Japan, open your eyes to this and together let us send it out to the world.

  1987, Omori Roshi with his wife and the author’s family.

  The responsibilites Omori Roshi assumed in his seventies eventually took their toll as he grew older. He was president of Hanazono University, the Abbot of Chozen-ji, Seitai-ji, and Koho-in, and was constantly being asked to lecture. Rarely did he spend more than two days in a row at his home in Koho-in.

  In December of 1988, he suffered a serious stroke, and for the next six years he was bedridden at Koho-in. He had difficulty speaking and remembering, and was cared for by his wife and daughter’s family. His condition gradually deteriorated, and on August 18, 1994, Omori Roshi died at about one o’clock in the afternoon. I left Honolulu two days later and visited Koho-in directly upon arriving in Japan. Omori Roshi’s body had already been cremated according to his wishes, and the urn containing his ashes and bones, along with a photograph, were set in front of the butsudan (altar) in the Dojo. The day before the family had held their private funeral.

  When Zen priests die, traditionally there are two funeral services. One is for the family and relatives; the other is a public service. The public service was held on October 6 at Zensho-an in Tokyo, a temple where he had often taught and where Yamaoka Tesshu is buried. Because Omori Roshi did Kaido at Tenryu-ji, and was therefore an Arch-bishop there, the protocol for the public service was determined by Tenryu-ji. By tradition the invitation for the public service must be written individually and delivered personally. After discussing it with two Zen Masters who were senior students of Omori Roshi, we decided to invite 11 archbishops and Zen masters and 9 Zen priests. There would be 3 doshi (priests formally leading and overseeing the service): one head priest and two assistants. Hirata Seko Roshi, the Archbishop of Tenryu-ji, was the head priest. The assistant priests were Kono Daitsu Roshi, the Zen Master of Shofuku-ji and the President of Hanazono University and Koike Shinso Roshi, the Zen Master of Ryuun-in.

  After the preparations were finished, the day of the public service arrived. Before the Second World War, as the head of the Jikishin Dojo, Omori Roshi trained many youths, lectured all over Japan and influenced political movements. After the War he was the Zen Master of Koho-in, Tesshukai, Chozen-ji and Seitai-ji. In addition he was a professor and President of Hanazono University. His writings totaled more than 20 volumes, and his lectures and articles were countless. Because of this vast legacy, we were uncertain how many people would attend the service. More than 800 people attended.

  As the service began, the invited Zen masters and priests were seated and joined by over 30 other priests. Then cymbals signaled the entrance of the three doshi, and the assistant doshi read their kogo (a Chinese poem). As the assistant priest of Koho-in and also to represent all of Omori Roshi’s students, I bowed deeply (sampai) before Hirata Roshi and asked him to present his kogo as the head priest. His recitation was followed by the chanting of the Ryogonshu and the Shikuseigan Sutra. As the service neared the end, suddenly a Zen priest came forward and bowed before Hirata Roshi. This was not written in the protocol so I readied myself to jump in to stop the priest if necessary. The priest faced Omori Roshi’s picture and said, “We will sing the school song of Hanazono University for you.” With this, ten people, both priests and lay people, stood up and started singing to the Roshi’s picture. The sound of their voices reverberated throughout Zenshoan and brought tears to the eyes of all.

  The 3 doshi, more than 50 Zen masters and priests, and more than 800 people devoted more than an hour to the formal, traditional Zen service, but even this could not match the effect of the school song sung by ten people. The school song, offered from the heart, was the real funeral for Omori Roshi. Dedicated to teaching, his life of 90 years was fittingly crowned by a song from the students he had loved like his own children.

  After his death, Omori Roshi received the kaimyo (official Buddhist name) of “Kaisan Rekijyu Tenryu Tekio Osho Daizenji.” Within the kaimyo is the accomplishments and lineage of the man: Kaisan means founder of Daihonzan Chozen-ji. Rekijyu Tenryu means he carries the Dharma line of Tenryu-ji. Tekio is his priest name which he used more commonly after 60. Osho means priest, and Daizenji means great Zen master or teacher.

  In the “Birth-Death” chapter of Shobo-genzo15 Dogen Zenji writes, “Just set aside your body and mind. Forget about them and throw them into the house of the Buddha. Then all is done by Buddha.” When you follow this, you are free from birth-death and become a Buddha without effort or calculation. By this negation of the egotistical self, the life-death of your body functions as the life-death of the Buddha body. Zen without this absolute negation is false Zen or empty Zen. It is not traditional and true Zen.

  The life of Omori Roshi is the manifestation of traditional and true Zen. After 8 years of arduous training, he experienced this absolute negation and for the rest of his life tried his best to use his experience of absolute negation in every possible circumstance. He used each hardship as nourishment for his own training and exemplified Shido Bunan Zenji’s (1603–1676) words, “If you think of everything as training, your suffering will disappear.” Omori Roshi handled the problems in his life by practicing muga or No Self. When No Self works through each individual body, the “true Buddha life” or the “blood of the Dharma” is transmitted.

  The experience of muga is the beginning of real shugyo; enlightenment is the entrance to, not the end of, Zen training. Bankei Zenji, a renowned master of the 17th century wrote, “When I was 26 and was doing sesshin by myself in Banshu, Akono Nakamura (present day Hyogo prefecture), I was enlightened. I went to see a Chinese Zen master who confirmed my awakening. Now I am 70. The principle which I learned has not changed even a hair since the beginning until now. The clarity of my Dharma eye, however, has totally changed since the time I met with the Chinese master. The Dharma has penetrated my being, and I have attained Absolute Freedom. Please believe me and try your best to perfect your Dharma eye.” Bankei explains that the Dharma principle he understood at age 26 when he experienced his great enlightenment, did not change, but only through continued shugyo through his whole life, did the essence of the Dharma permeate his being. Only then was he able to move freely. This is the great difference between his youth and old age.

  At the end of the inka-shomei (the Mind-stamp certificate) in the Tenryu-ji lineage, the Zen master writes, “For now, this is all right. If I were to examine you in more detail, however, you would still have much further to go. Even though your receive the Mind-stamp, you must not become complacent. You must continue your
shugyo.” Even after his death, I believe Omori Roshi will continue his shugyo from rebirth to rebirth.

  Part II

  The Three Arts:

  Zen - Ken - Sho

  Chapter 4

  Zen and Budo

  This chapter is a translation of Zen to Budo, an essay by Omori Roshi that was first published in Japan: Daisetz T. Suzuki and Nishitani, eds., Zen, Vol. 5, Zen and Culture (Chikuma Shobo, 1968). A more formal translation has already been published, Omori Sogen, Zen and Budo, trans. Tenshin Tanouye (Honolulu: Daihonzan Chozen-ji/International Zen Dojo, 1989).

  Budo

  In discussing Zen and Budo,1 I wish to take the word Budo in a wider sense than simply the various martial arts (bugei) and combat techniques (bujutsu).2 The word Budo has been used from ancient times to mean more than those. If we look it up in the dictionary, we find Budo is described as “the Way to be mastered by the samurai.” Again, Yokoyama Kenkichi in his History of Japanese Budo states, “Budo is the Way of the bushi (warrior).”

  As I will explain, Budo is referred to as Bunbu Ryodo (the Way of literary and military arts):

  Bun — literally “Letters” and by extension art, culture, civilization and social organization;

  Bu — chivalry, martial arts, courage;

  Ryo — both, a couple;

  Do — a spiritual Way (Tao in Chinese).

  Budo is therefore never used in the narrow sense of mere fighting arts. If for instance we look at the writings of Nakae Toju (1608–1648), we find a well-known chapter called Bun-bu Mondo (Questions and Answers on Bun-bu) in his work Okina Mondo.3 In his opening statement, he writes, “There is a great misunderstanding about Bun and Bu among the people at large.” He points out that people generally see Bun as poetry and cultivated literature in general, together with a softening of the character and a “flowery” aestheticism. On the other hand, archery, riding, military strategy and tactics, and a certain bluntness in character are supposed to be in the realm of Bu. Anything remotely cultural is considered to be Bun, and similarly, something like straight-forwardness is called Bu. Toju points out what a mistake this attitude is.