Bankei Zen

by Peter Haskel

  I have heard that at Kawachi37 there are seven cremation grounds established by Gyōgi Bosatsu.38 All four sides as well as the rocks [covering] the ground are carved with buddhas and dharani.39 Gyōgi’s last words were: “Anyone who receives cremation in these recesses, even those who have committed the five cardinal crimes and the ten evil acts,40 will be sure of reaching heaven and becoming a buddha.” This sort of enlightened activity and magnificent compassion is just like that of Genshin.

  Now we come to the phony teachers of Zen who are in fashion these days. When they hold forth on the records of the patriarchs, they abuse the buddhas and patriarchs, disdain the old worthies. Then they try to play upon the feelings of ignorant laymen, carrying on about the eight hot and cold hells,41 weeping right along with their audience and striking terror in their hearts. Or else they chatter about going to heaven and becoming buddhas and seduce their listeners [with talk of] the excellent rewards of accumulating merit, just like an actor cajoling a foolish child. But when you take a good look at what’s really on their minds, it’s all grubbing donations and making a name for themselves. If anyone questions this, they say: “This is a skillful expedient [for teaching Buddhism].” The truth is, they themselves become guides on the road to hell, pulling down the ignorant masses. How pitiful they are!

  (Itsujijō, zenshū, p. 448.)

  Offerings

  The Master was going to send a shrine offering42 and, ordering fifty wax candles, had them placed in a box. The box was large, [but] when the Master opened it and looked inside, [he saw that] the bottom had been thickly spread with straw. He ordered this to be removed and then put in an additional fifty candles, filling up [the box].

  He said: “Offerings are the true expression of sincerity. To indulge ostentatiously in empty show, to delight in false display, is utterly contrary to the intent of this old monk. From here on, you are never to do this!”

  Nowadays at funeral services they pile high the offerings, in the meantime filling up the bottom by tying together [bundles of] straw. Then they crown it all with gorgeous flowers and ask the director of the service to come and look. Even if another service is scheduled, they just go ahead and hold it without changing anything. They may go on like this for ten or even up to a hundred [services], until [the offerings] change color and start to disintegrate. Only then do they put in fresh ones!

  Confucius reviled those who made grave figures.43 But this business now is still worse. Among the Master’s followers, this is something that’s never done. As a rule, whether it was the [anniversary of] the buddhas or the patriarchs or that of an ordinary deceased, whenever he attended the ritual meal accompanying a service,44 [the Master] would be sure the ceremonial vessels were filled and the offerings fresh. On such occasions he made no distinction between the food for the living and that offered [the deceased]. . . .

  (Itsujijō, zenshū, pp. 435–436.)

  Counting

  The attendant monk Jin asked: “In the past when your Reverence was single-mindedly practicing zazen, how many sticks of incense would you burn for the day and night?”

  The Master said: “When I was sitting the whole day through, I didn’t count the number of sticks of incense. I just considered one stick of incense as one day, and one stick of incense as one night.”

  Jin, in spite of himself, was left dumbfounded.

  (Tomisusanshi, goroku, p. 139.)

  Soen’s special teaching

  Among the Master’s disciples was the monk Soen.45 His character was plain and true, independent, firm, dignified, and in his behavior no one could discern a single flaw. On the battleground of Dharma he was a valiant and accomplished hero. Yet the Master always admonished him for his aggressive outspokenness. Soen tended to thrust himself to the fore, and the Master would rebuke him and push him back. This only made Soen all the more determined to force his way to the front. Finally, he was expelled. Time and again he would return, expressing his contrition and rejoining the assembly. This occurred on several occasions. No one understood the reason for [the Master’s actions], but people speculated that he might be trying to temper the harshness [of Soen’s character], continually shuffling him this way and that as a compassionate means of instruction.

  During the Great Training Period held at the Ryōmonji in the third year of Genroku, Soen became ill and was on the point of death. The Master [visited him] in the enjūdō46 and spoke to him intimately, saying: “Ajari,47 each day you live is a day to work for others.”

  Soen nodded and passed away.

  The others had never realized how great was the compassion of the Master’s words.

  (Zeigo, zenshū, p. 305.)

  Positive and negative

  A monk of the Shingon school questioned the Master: “In my school’s meditation on the letter a,48 there are two methods of meditation on the Unborn: the negative and the positive. Isn’t this positive method what your Reverence is teaching?”

  The Master said: “Come over here.”

  The monk approached him.

  The Master shouted: “Which method is this?”

  The monk was utterly dumbfounded. The entire assembly was present and heard this, filled with amazement.

  (Zeigo, zenshū, p. 285.)

  Layman Gessō’s runny nose

  Whenever the Layman Gesso got angry, his nose would start to run. He once asked the Master about this. The master told him: “Is snot any different from tears?”

  Thereafter, the Layman did not reveal in his demeanor whether he was pleased or angered.49

  (Tomisusanshi, goroku, p. 138.)

  The thief

  Among the multitude who arrived to attend the training period was a certain monk from Mino who was known to be a thief. Wherever he went he disrupted the assembly. There were seven or eight monks from the same area who were well acquainted with this and appealed to the local government official, saying: “This monk is an evildoer, known to people everywhere. Have someone get him to withdraw at once and nip this evil in the bud!”

  The official reported this to Sekimon, who conveyed the official’s words to the Master.

  The Master flushed with anger and declared: “At this time I’m conducting a training period at [people’s] request—and why do you suppose I’m doing this? It’s to alter the evil ways of evil men, to encourage the virtues of virtuous men, so that each person may thoroughly realize his wisdom body. To praise the upright and reject the wayward now would be totally opposed to my real purpose.”

  Sekimon was speechless, filled with shame and remorse.

  Word of the affair was bruited through the assembly, and all shed tears, moved by the [Master’s] deep compassion. At that time, the monk in question raised his voice and sorrowfully proclaimed: “Today I have received the compassion of a great teacher! From here on forever after I will cut off evil thoughts and devote myself to cultivating enlightened activity.”

  Thereafter, wherever he went, in whatever assembly he found himself, he was always known for his diligence.

  With the masters of Dharma nowadays, when a student isn’t to their liking, they painstakingly search for some tiny fault and then, even if he’s their own brother, turn him out without any warning just as if he’d been their worst enemy! On the other hand, if it’s someone who will be useful in promoting their own fame and fortune, even if he’s from a different line, they’ll embrace him and bring him right in, congratulating themselves on their cleverness. Without the mind of compassion, one will be arrogant as a demon or a yaksha. [This sort of thing] is to be firmly rejected and abhorred! Though I50 have been abbot at Ryōzan51 for more than twenty years, I have never taken it upon myself to tyrannize the students, for the Master’s admonition still rings in my ears. . . .

  (Itsujijō, zenshū, pp. 433–434.)

  Bankei and the stingy monk

  Among the Master’s disciples was the monk Tsuyō.52 He was a very meticulous fellow, but was excessively attached to trivial activities, picking up the remains of rice in
the hulling room and gathering any greens he found floating in the stream. The Master forbade him to do this. Tsuyō tended to scour the store rooms and corridors for things, and there was nowhere he didn’t go. [In the end,] the Master expelled him. Tsuyō asked Tairyō53 to intercede for him and expressed his contrition, but though years passed, the Master would not pardon him. Finally, begging forgiveness, Tsuyō was readmitted to the assembly. He came and prostrated himself before the Master. The Master smiled and said: “I haven’t seen you in quite a while. My, you’ve been getting old!” Everyone was greatly impressed with the excellence of the Master’s compassion.

  On reflection, one can see that, because of Tsuyō’s failings, the Master was instructing him, and that, throughout, his compassionate attitude had never changed.

  (Zeigo, zenshū, p. 318.)

  The samurai’s fan

  When the Master was at the Kōrinji, a samurai came to see him. Holding up his fan, the samurai said: “When it appears in the realm of being, this object is called a fan; yet originally it’s non-existent. Do you know what sort of thing it is at the moment it descends from Heaven?”54

  The Master said: “I know.”

  The samurai asked: “What do you know?”

  The Master told him: “I know that I don’t know.”

  The samurai sighed admiringly, and declared: “The Great Sage himself said that ‘Knowledge is to say you do not know a thing when you do not know it.’”55

  The Master shook his head and said: “That’s not it at all.”

  (Zeigo, zenshū, p. 311.)

  Bankei’s “no rules”

  In the winter of the third year of Genroku, the Master held a training period at the Ryōmonji. Over ten thousand people attended. Everyone said: “At this meeting they’ll surely have to set up rules and regulations, exhort people in a booming voice and make the whole assembly quake with fear!”

  But everyone was calm and quiet, and no rules or regulations were imposed.

  Periodically, the Master would ascend the lecture seat and address the assembly, saying: “The originally existing Unborn—all of you, be sure you don’t conceal it from yourselves! This Unborn is like a great ball of fire: touch it and you’ll be burned. I can speak about it for you now, but my words can’t exhaust it; I can use it, but I’ll never use it up. For me to exhort people, berating them harshly to frighten them into activity, is just a useless deception. It should never be done!”

  When the monks of the assembly heard this, all their doubts melted instantly away.

  (Zeigo, zenshū, p. 296.)

  Chōkei’s seven cushions

  When the Master was at the Fumonji in Hirado in Hizen, the Zen Master and Abbot of the Kōdaiji in Nagasaki56 came to see him. In the course of their discussion, the Abbot remarked: “In setting forth your instruction, you teach clearly and directly, cutting off all deluded views and not concerning yourself with religious practice. However, what about the story of Chōkei and the seven cushions [he wore out doing meditation]?”57

  The Master said: “Your Reverence has got the story wrong. This Chōkei spent twelve years going about studying successively with the Zen Masters Reiun, Seppō and Gensha, wearing out the seven cushions, but in spite of all that, he still hadn’t experienced any breakthrough. Then, one day, he rolled up the bamboo blind and suddenly realized enlightenment. At that moment, he composed a verse:

  What a difference! What a difference!

  Rolling up the blind, I see the world.

  If anyone asks me what teaching it is I’ve grasped

  I’ll take my whisk and bash him in the mouth!

  Your Reverence, study up on this some more!”

  The Abbot, filled with admiration, bowed his head in assent.

  (Zeigo, zenshū, p. 289.)

  The fencing master

  The Master was at the Kōrinji. When he ascended the lecture seat, a master of the martial arts approached him and said: “I have been practicing for quite some time. Once I’d grasped the knack of it, my hand responded perfectly to my mind, and ever since, when I confront an opponent, before even taking up my weapon, I’ve pierced through his very ‘bones and marrow.’ It’s like your Reverence’s having the Dharma Eye.”

  The Master told him: “You’ve certainly done your utmost in the martial arts. Now, attack me!”

  The samurai was suddenly at a loss.

  The Master said: “I’ve delivered my blow.”

  The samurai bowed his head and exclaimed in admiration: “How incredible! Your Reverence’s attack is swift as lightning, quick as a spark struck from flint. You have surpassed me. I humbly beg to receive from you the essentials of Zen.” More and more, his respect for the Master continued to grow.

  Generally, when the Master was in Edo, many samurai from the different schools of fencing would come to meet him. All received the Master’s single blow, and there was none who failed to respect and revere him.

  (Zeigo, zenshū, pp. 293–294.)

  Nanryū’s place

  When the Master was at the Gyokuryūji in Mino, the Sōtō worthy Nanryū58 took his fan and, pointing to his place, demanded: “Your Reverence, how come you’re passing this place up?”

  The Master said: “Well, just what sort of place is this?”

  Nanryū replied: “Unborn and imperishable.”

  The Master told him: “You’re mistakenly caught up in words and names.”

  Raising his voice, Nanryū said: “Getting older and older,59 running to the east, running to the west—why are you going around bewitching lay men and women!”

  The Master replied: “When you use an evil eye, evil’s what you’ll see.” Nanryū went off, but after a while he came forward and prostrated himself before the Master, expressing his profound gratitude.

  (Zeigo, zenshū, p. 307.)

  The rays of light

  . . . [At the Great Training Period held at the Ryōmonji,] there was a certain monk who stepped forward and said: “I am chanting the Light Mantra.60 I practice diligently, night and day, and my body emits rays of light . . . etc.”

  The Master scolded him, saying: “Those rays of light of yours are nothing but the flames of the evil passions consuming your body!”

  The monk meekly withdrew.

  (Zeigo, zenshū, p. 310.)

  As you are is it!

  When the Master was at the Nyohōji, he instructed the assembly, saying: “All of you are lucky indeed to have met with a teacher! Without having to wear out your straw sandals, to waste your strength [pursuing] flowers in the sky or [to engage in] difficult and painful practices, you [can] directly enter the true teaching. What good fortune! Don’t waste your time!”

  A monk who was present said: “All the same, there’s just one thing. Suppose, for example, someone wants to go out of the city and across the river: without using a boat, much less even taking a step, he’ll never get anywhere.”

  The Master said: “As you are, right here at this moment, is it. There’s no getting anywhere or not getting anywhere. This is what’s meant by the teaching of sudden enlightenment. Hesitate and it’s lost; waver and it draws further and further away.”

  (Zeigo, zenshū, p. 311.)

  Settei’s medicine

  During the training period [held at the Ryōmonji in the third year of Genroku], there were many sick monks. Several monks were assigned to nurse them under the supervision of Settei.61 Someone remarked: “These fellows are just lazy, pretending to be sick and getting a quiet rest. They ought to be punished and thrown out of the temple!”

  Settei said: “It’s because they are weary of the meditation practice that they have come to this. This is indeed a grave illness, and I am treating it with the medicine of patience and compassion. [That way,] the day will surely come when they regain their well-being.”

  (Itsujijō, zenshū, pp. 427–428.)

  Shopping for the best

  When the Master was at the Jizōji in Yamashina, he sent a monk into the city to buy some fine-quality pa
per. The monk had the disposition of Confucius’ disciple Tzu-kung,62 and he privately evaluated the pros and cons [of the various papers] before making his purchase and returning. The Master told him: “No good,” and sent him back to make his selection again. The monk still would not abandon his attitude, and, painstakingly weighing the merits [of each variety], he once more made his purchase and returned. “Still no good,” the Master told him. By the third time this had happened, the monk realized his error and, prostrating himself, expressed his repentance. The Master said: “The first item you brought was fine.”

  (Itsujijō, zenshū, pp. 429–430.)

  The Confucian’s question

  A Confucian asked: “If all the men in the world turned to Buddhism, entering the priesthood and abandoning their wives and children, I’m afraid the human race would cease to exist. What do you think?”

  The Master said: “Let’s wait until that human race has actually died out, and then I’ll tell you.”

  The fellow meekly withdrew.

  (Tomisusanshi, goroku, p. 138.)

  Waste paper/clean paper

  The monk Rōzan63 was stingy by nature. When, as a youth, he wiped the temple oil lamps, he used scrap paper. Seeing this, the Master said: “Why don’t you use clean paper?” Was the Master perhaps taking him to task for his stinginess? Thus, in the temples Rōzan founded, even now they use clean paper to wipe the oil lamps. . . .

  When the Master wrote large characters, he spread a clean sheet of paper underneath lest the ink should seep through. If, after [the paper] had been used once, someone [wanted to] use it once more, the Master wouldn’t allow it, saying, “Don’t use it again, or there may be someone else who will go and do the same.”