Shôyôroku (Book of Equanimity) 39

CASE 39
Jôshû’s “Wash Your Bowls”

By Yamada Kôun

Instruction:
When rice comes, you open your mouth;
When sleep comes, you close your eyes.
When you wash your face, you touch your nose;
When you take up your straw sandals, you feel your feet.
At those times, if you lose the koan, take a burning light and make a
special search in the deep night.
How can you find the right correspondence [with your real self]?

Case:
A monk asked Jôshû, “I have just entered this monastery. I beg you,
Master, please give me instructions.” Jôshû asked, “Have you eaten your rice
gruel yet?” The monk answered, “Yes, I have.” Jôshû said, “Then wash your
bowls.”

Verse:
Once the rice gruel is over, one is told to wash the bowls:
The mind ground clears up and meets the true self.
Now, [you] practitioners of the monastery, who have finished learning,
Tell me, is there enlightenment in there or not?

On the Instruction:
When rice comes, you open your mouth;
When sleep comes, you close your eyes. As you probably know, this koan also
appears in the Gateless Gate. Depending on how you consider things, Jôshû might seem to be
saying the most ordinary things, but actually he is speaking the very highest truth of
Buddhism. One commentator has solemnly stated that to really understand this koan is to
understand all the sutras. As I am sure most of you who have worked on koans in the Gateless
Gate are aware, the question is the extent to which you have really understood this koan.
 Shôyôroku (Book of Equanimity) 39

When I first attended Zen gatherings under the direction of Yasutani Roshi, he was giving a
teisho on this koan. I believe it was at the time that we were borrowing rooms from the lawyer
Mr. Saeki in Kamakura that he gave that particular teisho on this koan. I remember being
profoundly moved and impressed by what he said, with a strong sense of approval. These first
lines of the Instruction might seem to be talking about the most ordinary things. When rice
appears before you, you open your mouth and eat it. When you get sleepy, you close your eyes.
There’s the Japanese folk saying, when you get sleepy, your eyelids “get on good terms with
each other.” And then you close your eyes and sleep. Everybody does it. You might be wondering
what connection this has with Zen. Then come the ensuing lines:
When you wash your face, you touch your nose;
When you take up your straw sandals, you feel your feet. (left out explanation
in Japanese text about different Chinese characters, trans.)
Here once again, it seems to be talking about the most ordinary matters.
At those times, if you lose the koan, take a burning light and make a
special search in the deep night. It is at such times that you must suddenly realize. But if
you fail to truly grasp this koan, you must “take a burning light and make a special search in
the deep night.” That means you must continue your search for your true self. But how should
you do it? There is no way but to fervently practice Mu. The Instruction is telling us how we can
become truly intimate with the koan.
When the rice appears before you, you open your mouth and eat. How does the eating
of an ordinary person differ from the eating of a fully enlightened person? According to
Yasutani Roshi’s teisho on this koan, the meal of an ordinary person is one of thinking about all
sorts of ideas and delusions while eating. At the mealtimes during sesshin in San-Un Zendo we
recite the following verse in the mealtime sutras:
We and this food and our eating are vacant (sanrin-kûjaku).
The original Chinese speaks in terms of “three wheels” (sanrin), meaning the person
eating, the food itself, and the act of eating it. The verse says that all three are empty or vacant.
In his teisho, Yasutani Roshi says that, although the participants are reciting how “all three
are vacant,” their heads are anything but vacant, but filled with thoughts. He says this is the
mealtime of an ordinary, unenlightened person. He says that in the case of a greatly
enlightened person, it is nothing other than “all three vacant.” I understand what he is saying.
Nevertheless, although he says that deluded persons have all sorts of thoughts in their heads
while eating, I don’t think the meaning is limited to that. After all, when you eat, even ordinary
people just eat. Whether you are a Buddha or a patriarch, you just eat the food. You must see
this aspect of not a bit of difference between a Buddha and an ordinary person. It is just “we
and this food and our eating are vacant” (tôsanrin-kûjaku). In other words, that eating itself
exhausts the entire universe. It is a matter of whether we are aware of that or not. When you
are still fresh from a kensho experience, you still might be aware of how your every action
exhausts the entire universe. For example, when you eat your food, that eating exhausts the
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entire universe. You might say something like, “this food itself is one with the universe.” That
is certainly true, and you might be particularly aware of that immediately after a kensho
experience. But when that experience ripens and becomes like oxidized silver, so that all sheen
of satori disappears, there is just eating, with nothing else sticking to it. When you realize the
world in which every action exhausts the entire universe, there is no unease. There is no
problem. Although you are doing the same thing as anyone else, that is everything. There is
nothing to seek beyond that. Regardless of whether you are aware or not that you are in the
middle of paradise when you eat your food, you must be able to come to complete peace of mind
right there. If you carefully look at this Instruction, it is only natural that the question arises of
what the difference is between this and so-called buji-zen (“the Zen of no matter,” i.e. Zen
without an enlightenment experience). What is buji zen? It might be expressed with a
statement like: “When you stand, there is just that standing? Is that not enough? When you sit,
there is just that sitting. Is that not enough?” You might say something like, “That itself is the
revealed koan” (genjô-kôan).” That means “every single phenomenon in the phenomenal world
completely reveals the absolute world. Isn’t that itself enough?” To try to come to
enlightenment is in itself presumptuous. This is how things are taught nowadays in some
circles of the Soto School of Zen, for example by Professor Kôdô Kurebayashi. Since
Shakyamuni Buddha has already come to enlightenment, it is presumptuous for us to believe
we need to come to enlightenment. That would show a lack of faith. Even if we do not ourselves
come to enlightenment, if we believe in Shakyamuni’s enlightenment, it is enough to believe
what he has taught. After all, we are taught that all beings are intrinsically Buddha, and it is
enough to simply believe in that. This type of thinking has become common in the present Soto
School. And this is what is meant by the word buji zen. If you really say such things, it would
mean that all the patriarchs of old did not believe Shakyamuni Buddha. That would be the case,
then, for Bodhidharma and Dôgen Zenji and Hakuin Zenji. They knew what Shakyamuni
realized and said, but they knew they have to confirm it for themselves, and that is why they
practiced so earnestly. The same holds for us today. To say that it is unnecessary to come to
enlightenment for the reasons described above is a grave error. Recently I have been thinking
that this might be the result of the text known as the Shushôgi, which is like the basic holy text
of the Soto School, the text they stick to under all circumstances. The text is recited at funerals
as well as Zen meetings. The text originated when outstanding persons of the Soto School
during the Meiji Period (late 19th century) gathered together sections from Dôgen Zenji’s works
to create this recitation text. Among those scholars was Ôuchi Seiran, an outstanding lay
scholar of Buddhism. He and others were the central focus in compiling this work, which could
well be called the body of thought of the Soto School. Although it’s not a particularly good state
of affairs if it’s simply a thought system, you could still refer to it in that way. That in itself is
not an error. But what, we must ask, is the root of that body of thought? How did it come into
being? The root must be found in the enlightenment experience of Dôgen Zenji. It emerged from
there, and then took form in the great work known as the Shôbôgenzô. Everything in the
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Shushôgi can originally be found in the Shôbôgenzô. That means there is not a single word in
the Shushôgi that is not the words of Dôgen Zenji. This is how the recitation text came into
being. However, in the Shushôgi there is not a single reference to enlightenment. If you look at
works authored by Dôgen Zenji, such as the Bendôwa, you see that there are continuous
references to satori. But, as I just said, there are no such references in the Shushôgi. If you only
read the Shushôgi, you might end up concluding that there is no need for satori. This, however,
would be a major error. This is the reason I can’t help feeling that the Shushôgi is responsible
for making the Soto School what it is today. If we compare it to a lion, Zen is often referred to as
a “golden-haired lion.” But a lion must have fangs and claws; otherwise it is not a true king of
beasts. In Zen, there must be THAT, which means there must be the element of satori or
enlightenment. If we compare it to a sword, we would say that the sword has to have a blade to
be a real sword. If we compare the present-day Soto School with a lion, we would have to say it
is like a lion without fangs or claws. That means the golden-haired lion has become a plush toy
lion. The so-called “thought system” of Dôgen Zenji came originally from his enlightenment
experience. But the Shushôgi makes no reference to that experience and seems to ignore it.
This is like cut flowers. But cut flowers with no roots have no power to save all beings. Even
Dôgen Zenji himself has said that reciting sutras all day is like the frogs croaking in the rice
fields in early spring. Even though you might recite the Shushôgi the whole day long, unless
you are reading it with true understanding, it is the same as those frogs in early spring. It is
not me who says so, it’s Dôgen Zenji. The real difference between enlightened Zen and so-called
buji zen is whether you have realized that, when you eat your rice, that eating itself exhausts
the universe. The same holds for sleeping or washing your face. This is actually what is meant
by the oft-quoted lines:
Buddhism is the handle on the sliding door, the pine tree on the peak, the fire tool
pouch and the cry of the bush warbler (buppô wa shoji no hikite, mine no matsu, hiuchibukuro
ni uguisu no koe).
In other words, you might think that Buddhism is something very difficult, but
actually it’s just the things he mentioned. What does this mean? Each thing exhausts the entire
universe, each thing is the full manifestation of the essential world. If you can say this while
really understanding it, there’s no error. But if you have not realized the essential world, and
you simply parrot that each thing is the whole, this is nothing more than buji Zen. You must be
clearly aware of this. Such Zen has no power to save beings. So if you are asked if the mealtime
of an ordinary person and an enlightened person is the same, you have to clearly realize that,
on one hand they are completely the same and from another perspective quite different. Zen
koans are always looking at the essential world. If you try to understand koans simply from the
perspective of the phenomenal world, you will never be able to do so. You have to see them with
the eye of satori. When we look at the words in this Instruction from the standpoint of the
essential world, when the food appears before you, you open your mouth and eat it. Where is
there any Buddhism outside of this? This completely exhausts the matter. You might think
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Buddhism is a complicated matter, but actually it’s just eating the rice when it’s set before you,
just lying down when you’re sleepy, just standing up when you have something to do, just
sitting down when you have nothing else to do. It’s just removing your sweater if it’s hot, or
putting it on again if it’s cold. That’s all. When you rub your nose, that’s it in its entirety. So if
you still don’t understand, the Instruction says, “take a burning light and make a special
search in the deep night.” And what do you search for? You yourself. You have to search for it.
This is the import of the Instruction. And now we turn to the Main Case.

On the Case:
A monk asked Jôshû, “I have just entered this monastery. I beg you,
Master, please give me instructions.” Jôshû asked, “Have you eaten your rice
gruel yet?” The monk answered, “Yes, I have.” Jôshû said, “Then wash your
bowls.” Most of you are already familiar with Jôshû, a truly outstanding Zen personage.
Here is a person who reached the heights of enlightenment and then forgot that enlightenment
completely. There is the Zen saying: “Only when you have exhausted all practice do you realize
that there is nothing to search for.” These are the words of Wanshi Zenji. To “exhaust all
practice” means to go repeatedly to dokusan until there is nothing at all left to ask. It is only
then that you realize that, from the very beginning, there was never anything to search for. You
realize that, just as it is, it is all right. But just to assume that there is nothing to search for
and not search at all is buji zen. I remember reading an interesting story when I was still in
middle school. I believe it first appeared in a magazine. A former student of a certain middle
school returned to his alma mater and talked about his school days there, specifically about the
math class. There is the theorem that the sum of the two inner angles of a triangle is equal to
two right angles. The students were asked to prove the theorem. This particular student stood
up and said, “It has already been proven that the sum of the interior angles of a triangle is
equal to two right angles. What need is there for me to prove something that has already been
proven? If I am required to prove it, please give me the attestation that it is not true.” This is
certainly a ridiculous statement. But it’s the same as the modern-day Soto School. Since
Shakyamuni Buddha has already come to enlightenment, what need is there for us to come to
enlightenment? So runs their logic. They say it is enough to believe in his enlightenment. This
man writing about his school days was recalling this event with a chuckle. For some reason
this story has remained stuck in my mind since then. But such an approach will not do. Just
believing it because Shakyamuni realized it will never bring you any real peace of mind. To
really come to peace of mind means that you no longer have any need to believe in it. When you
have seen it with your own eyes, you no longer need to believe in it. As I am always saying,
even if I take a picture of Munich and show it to you when I come back, no matter now much I
try to describe it, unless you see it for yourself, true belief cannot result. You will simply say,
“Oh, is that perhaps what it’s like in Munich.” But once you see it yourself, you no longer have
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to believe in it. You have realized it yourself. So even the greatest scholar is no match for
someone who has realized the true fact in living experience. That means no matter how much
learning you might have, it’s no match for true experience. But that doesn’t mean that learning
in itself is a bad thing. Learning is extremely important in its own right. But when you practice
zazen you have to put all your learning on the shelf, so to speak. Once you have realized satori,
all that learning will be of use to you and send forth light. Especially when you are describing
things to people, there’s a world of difference concerning your power to convince others between
a person with those academic “dharma assets” and a person lacking such assets. So, I’m not in
any way putting down learning or saying it’s not necessary. Nevertheless, the Zen experience of
satori cannot be grasped simply with the logical approach of academism. Let us return now to
the koan.
A monk asked Jôshû, “I have just entered this monastery. I beg you,
Master, please give me instructions.” The monk is asking Jôshû for instruction on how
best to practice.
Jôshû asked, “Have you eaten your rice gruel yet?” The monk answered,
“Yes, I have.” Jôshû said, “Then wash your bowls.” What is this all about? When I
first did this koan with Yasutani Roshi, I understood Jôshû’s question, “Have you eaten your
rice gruel yet?” as meaning: Have you already experienced kensho? It is like a probing question
to see how the monk will answer. The monk says, “Yes, I have.” “Yes, I have some memory of
realization.” Then Jôshû says, “Then wash your bowls.” “Wash away every trace of satori.” He
would seem to be saying that the monk should not continue sticking to that realization. These,
at any rate, were the words of Yasutani Roshi at that time. He said that if we look at it at that
level, we won’t make any errors. In other words, if we understand the words in the koan in that
way, there won’t be any danger of falling into buji zen. After all, there might be some thinking
that if you have eaten your rice, you wash your bowl. That is Buddhism. But precisely that is
buji zen. So Yasutani Roshi was interpreting the lines in the koan as explained above to avoid
any danger of falling into buji zen. I found that to be quite admirable at that time. But if we go
deeper, there is really just: Have you eaten your rice? Yes, I have. Then wash your bowls. That’s
it, just as it is! That is actually deeper. You could say it is the state of consciousness after every
trace of satori has been wiped away. When you eat your rice, you swallow the universe and
completely exhaust it. When you wash your bowls, you completely exhaust the universe in that
action. That’s why I make a point in dokusan of asking students to truly realize both ways of
viewing the koan.

On the Verse:
Once the rice gruel is over, one is told to wash the bowls:
The mind ground clears up and meets the true self.
Now, [you] practitioners of the monastery, who have finished learning,
Tell me, is there enlightenment in there or not? When we eat our rice gruel, we
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are ordered to wash out our bowls.

The mind ground clears up and meets the true self. In the version of this koan
that appears in the Gateless Gate, it says that the “monk had some realization.” It may not
have been great enlightenment, but he had some insight. You might say it made a scratch on
the surface or a little hole. In the book known as the Gotô-Egen (Amalgamation of the Sources
of the Five Lamps), which includes histories of the Zen patriarchs, the koan also includes the
final comment that the “monk suddenly had some realization.” This connects up with this line
from the Verse. But what does the line actually mean? It means that he suddenly became
aware of his own true self. Katoh Totsudô, a Zen scholar, says the line means that the mind of
the master and the student were completely one with each other, although I myself can’t
necessarily accept that view. The “mind” (kokoro) has two meanings: Our ordinary, everyday
mind, and the world of emptiness that we enter via that ordinary mind. This is also referred to
as kokoro or mind. It’s the world of the denominator in the fraction I’m always referring to the
world that is zero and infinite. This is what is meant by kokoro. Zen is a matter of grasping
that world of the denominator. Our everyday, apparent consciousness, by which we think, see,
and hear, is the mind of the numerator, the mind in the world of phenomena. The essential
mind of the denominator is the mind of our essential nature. This means that these two aspects
of mind become completely one. Actually, it’s not the case that two things somehow become one.
This line of the Verse is just a method of expression. Actually, however, it’s just realizing what
was one from the very beginning. It is a matter of realizing the world of the denominator.
Now, [you] practitioners of the monastery, who have finished learning,
Wanshi Zenji seems to be calling on the Zen practitioners under his tutelage.
Tell me, is there enlightenment in there or not? If we reply in a logical way, we
could say that, seen from the standpoint of there being satori, there is clearly satori. Seen from
the standpoint of no satori, there is no satori or anything else from the very beginning. But you
have to be able to see both aspects clearly. This is what the question in referring to. Lately, the
idea that there is no satori has become very widespread. Satori can be understood as meaning
kensho. But there is also the danger of confirming as satori an experience that is not really
kensho. It’s not the one who was confirmed who is in error, it is the person who confirmed his
experience. We really have to take this matter to heart. Recently someone came to pay a call on
me and expressed his doubts about why he was sitting. He said that he was confirmed as
having realized kensho after having sat for three years. When I asked him what koan he had
been confirmed on, he said, “Your original face before your parents were born.” I personally feel
that it would be very difficult to confirm an experience with that particular koan. When I asked
him about Mu, he said that he had never practiced with the koan Mu. He evidently had been
passed on five or six koans, but he really hasn’t had an authentic experience. This is the fault of
the teacher, and it’s really pitiable. I felt myself keenly how important it was not to commit the
same error myself. But this is a very difficult matter. Recently I traveled to Germany to the Zen
center in Dietfurt, which is about an hour and a half by car north of Munich in southern
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Germany. Rainer and Ursula drove us there. Dietfurt is a country village where a Franciscan
monastery is located. In that monastery is a meditation center that was created by Father
Victor Löw, who also practiced Zen here in Kamakura. The meditation center is truly wonderful
and I can well imagine that it was quite a task to realize such a center. I felt strongly the
tremendous influence of Christianity, which made such a center possible. It certainly must
have cost about 100 million yen in Japanese currency. But since the meditation center was
built in the monastery, there was no need to additionally purchase the land for building it. In
Japan, buying that much land would cost a fortune, to say nothing of the building itself, in
which some 40-50 people can sit with no problem. The participants do not sleep in the
meditation hall itself. There are enough rooms in other monastery buildings for them to stay,
most of them in double rooms. At any rate, it’s quite an accomplishment to realize such a center.
Father Löw built the center, where Father Lassalle leads Zen courses. Upon visiting that center,
I thought that if you build such a wonderful facility but there is no teacher living and teaching
there regularly, it’s like “carving a Buddha and not inserting a soul“ (hotoke tsukutte tamasshii
irezu) as we say in Japanese, which is like „ploughing the field and forgetting the seeds“ in
English. There is the Zen expression „dwelling in the seas and distinguishing between dragons
and snakes.“ I feel it is my task, despite my limited abilities, to raise up one or two persons who
can reside in that center and guide others. It’s not a good situation if the teacher is simply
visiting that center upon being asked to do so. The ideal situation is one in which she or he
resides there and people seeking the way gather there. But there are situations where that
can’t be helped, especially in a place like Germany where true teachers are rare indeed. Happy
to say, Father Lassalle is now teaching Zen in Germany, evidently leading one sesshin after
another. They are almost all booked solid, although Dietfurt is hard to reach with public
transportation. At any rate, it’s certainly quite an accomplishment to achieve a center of that
size out in the countryside in southern Germany. Father Victor Löw is very pure of spirit, but it
will still be a while before he can lead others in practice himself. To teach others how to sit
steadfastly in zazen is the same as teaching them prayer in its purest form. To tell the truth, I
hope that a person who can teach in that way will appear as soon as possible. For that reason, I
am hoping sincerely that Father Willigis will do his very best.