Wabi Sabi. Andrew Juniper
The fusion of Taoism with Buddhist ideas is thought to have been inspired by the arrival of the eccentric monk known as the Bodhidharma (referred to as the Daruma in Japan). Bodhidharma was twenty-eighth in the direct line from the first Buddhist disciple, Kasyapa, and when he brought his style of Buddhism to China in 527, it was to start ripples that sent shock waves not just through China but across the seas to Japan as well.
On arrival in China, Bodhidharma was offered an audience with Emperor Wu, who, it seems, was seeking approval from the Indian monk for the devout work he felt he had done. But much to the disappointment of the expectant emperor, the sage, when asked if there was any merit in his building of temples and copying of scriptures, replied, “No merit.” Deflated by the abrupt and unexpected reply, the emperor then asked Bodhidharma who was this man who stood before him, to which Bodhidharma said, “I know not, Your Majesty.”
From this uncompromising start, Bodhidharma then went on to increase the aura of mystery that surrounded him by spending the next nine years meditating in front of a wall in a cave. Legend has it that he was so determined to succeed in his enlightenment that he cut off his own eyelids when they prevented him from staying awake while meditating. It is also part of folklore that he meditated for so long that his arms and legs fell off, and this is the reason why, in Japan, the Daruma is depicted by red papier-mâché models without legs or arms.
A man called Shang Kwang, who sought the wisdom of Bodhidharma, asked that he might be admitted to study under him. Though he waited in the freezing snow for a week, it was not until he had cut off his own left arm and presented it as a symbol of his determination to learn that Bodhidharma relented and passed on his wisdom to the man who was to become his successor.
The pragmatic and disciplined Chinese thinkers of that time tried to demystify the very ethereal teachings of Indian Buddhism and to bring in a framework that would allow the great insights to be harnessed in a more practical way. The meeting of the three religions of Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism was depicted in the famous picture of the vinegar tasters where Sakyamuni (the name given to the Buddha), Confucius, and Lao-tzu stood around a large vat of vinegar that symbolized life. Confucius found it sour, the Buddha found it bitter, but the Taoist Lao-tzu pronounced it sweet. Taoism seeks to accept things as they are and to find beauty and wonder in the face of the mundane.
Although Zen is in name a Buddhist movement, the impact of Taoism was profound and far-reaching, and the two ideologies are closer in nature than are Zen and other Buddhist teachings. Both eschew learning and formality, and both advocate a return to the natural state of nondualism by transcending our shared view of the world to see reality as it is.
The first seeds of Buddhism were sown in Japan as early as 538 when the king of Korea sent a mission to Japan, which included some Buddhist sutras. It was the Soga family in Japan who actively sought to spread the teachings, but their efforts were hindered by the powerful Mononobe family, who felt that the introduction of a foreign religion would offend the native gods. When the Soga family attained military and political dominance over the Mononobe family in the following century, the dissemination of Buddhism started in earnest.
It was Prince Shotoku, second son of the emperor Yomei, whose work in founding monasteries has made his name synonymous with the founding of Buddhism in Japan, although it was to be many years before the Zen Buddhist movement gathered any real momentum.
With the support of the ruling classes, and especially that of the Emperor Shomu, Buddhism flourished in the Nara period (710–794), with monasteries being established in all provinces.
During this time many ideas were being brought from mainland China, often through the Korean peninsula, but despite the free movement of ideas it was not until centuries after Bodhidharma’s arrival that the true core of his teachings found serious adherents in Japan. One of his disciples, Hui-neng (638–713), is considered a key figure in the history of Ch’an, as it was he who wrote the Platform Sutra that delineated all the main tenets of the Ch’an school. Many Chinese Ch’an masters came to Japan to propagate the Ch’an tradition, but they failed to capture a significant audience even though there was much interest in other Buddhist thought at the time.
It was not until the monks Eisai (1141–1215) and Dogen (1200–1253) returned from their pilgrimages to temples in China that Zen started to catch the imagination of the Japanese.
Eisai, who had become increasingly disillusioned with the lack of discipline and growing hypocrisy in his native temples, set sail for China to learn firsthand from the Ch’an masters. After various stays at Tendai monasteries during two separate journeys, Eisai eventually came back to Kyoto and advocated the Chinese style of Zen. This was not well received by the established monks, who had friends in high places, and Eisai was forced to travel to Kamakura, the site of the newly established shogunate, where he received a warm welcome and was made founding abbot of a new monastery called Kenninji. It was from here that he taught a mixture of Zen, Tendai, and esoteric Buddhism that was to become the start of the Rinzai sect.
Dogen founded the Soto sect of Zen Buddhism in 1227 after experiencing enlightenment in the Chinese monastery on Mount Tiantong in 1225. On returning to Japan, he managed to ruffle the feathers of the establishment monks at the Tendai center with his uncompromising approach to the teaching of Zen and hard-line avocation of the principles of zazen (seated meditation). Disapproving of the political tensions in the capital of Kyoto, he moved his headquarters to Echizen province, now Fukui, and established Daibutsuji which later became known as Eiheiji. This has since become the center for Soto Zen.
Although Dogen saw no difference between the various schools of Zen, there were others who classified them according to the methods of training. The Rinzai sect accepted the importance of zazen but also encouraged acolytes to exhaust their cognitive activities by concentrating on a koan— a seemingly irresolvable riddle with no logical answers. The idea was for the koan to help in exhausting the intellectual process so that a clearer view of reality would reveal itself.
SO WHAT IS ZEN?
Ch’an, or Zen, as it is more commonly known in the West, is the peculiarly Chinese way of achieving the Buddhist goal of breaking down all learned ideas of the world so as to see the world as it is—that is, with a mind free from attachments or judgments. This state is reached through rigorous mental effort, and the path is paved by the achievement of mushin (literally “no heart”), where one is freed from mundane attachments or desires. When an acolyte has succeeded in calming his thoughts and emotions, he is then ready to perceive the world without any preconceived notions. This is the prerequisite for the state of enlightenment known as satori—the goal to which all Buddhists aspire. Indeed, it is a state of mind that mystics, sages, and sorcerers have channeled great efforts to achieve. Zen differs from other schools of Buddhism in that it believes that this awareness does not come gradually, but as a flash of insight, so it puts no store in theorizing or trying to explain the unexplainable. It focuses all its energies on bringing about this monumental shift in awareness, the shift that will free the acolyte from the bonds of a world that is too real.
Because of this Zen monks have been renowned for their eccentric behavior and cryptic answers to questions. They believe that our reason is the greatest source of misunderstanding because it actually hinders a student’s deeper comprehension of the world that exists beyond words. Humans are slaves to words and the reason they produce.
Breaking the bonds of dualism has been an ever-present theme in many religions and philosophies. From the moment of birth, we are constantly given a dualistic view of the world from our parents, and this is reinforced by all those we come into contact with until it becomes so internalized that we forget that it was even learned. We are taught that we are separate from the outside world, and objects that are not part of our body are separate from us. Zen masters say that this is pure illusion and that we are in fact everything we perceive. In modern psychological terms, a child is said to become ego-centric when he has learned to distinguish himself from the world he perceives. It is just this learned idea that we are separate from our environment that Zen says we need to unlearn. By loosening the concept of self, or in Freudian terms the ego, the world takes on a new dimension where true art and creativity can begin.