Satori, The Koan, and Monastic Polishing, Cont.

Ming is not an egotistical creature, but he is still sufficiently unenlightened to be a bit puffed up by the news. He is rather proud of himself. He has loved his master for a long time and it is good to have that love requited. He notices how everyone is eyeing him jealously and likes the attention he is suddenly getting. Sporting associates make book on the length of time he'll require. He personally thinks it should take no more than a week. Even money is on two.

Next day, before the hushed assembly, as he kneels before his master during darshan, he receives one of many possible koans. Let's say, "We know the sound of two hands clapping, but what is the sound of one hand clapping?"

A tough one! A murmur of acknowledgement passes through the assembly.

Later, after Ming receives the premature congratulations of his former peers, he starts thinking about his answer. Two hands. Hmmm. One hand. Hmmm.

He thinks he understands. Next day, with his answer safely memorized, he approaches his master. The head monk sits nearby, smiling in an approving, encouraging way.

Ming gives his answer. "One hand clapping is to two hands clapping what syllable is to sound. It is the formative potential. It is the sound before the sound is made." He thinks this jibberish is a great answer.

Master and the head monk look at each other in horror. Master is angry. The head monk is visibly confused and apologetic.

"Is this a joke?" Master asks the head monk in incredulous alarm.

The head monk apologizes abjectly. "I beg you, Master, to consider the circumstances. He is obviously excited. There's been too much commotion in the monastery. Tomorrow, when he's had an opportunity to collect his thoughts, he'll answer more intelligently."

The assembly giggles. The head monk gives Ming a withering look and Ming leaves in confusion.

For the next twenty-four hours, Ming is in hell. Everyone is laughing at him and for the life of him he cannot come up with a better answer.

What is the sound of one hand clapping? What is the sound of one hand clapping? Night comes but he cannot sleep. Friends want to assist him but they don't know how. Their suggestions are ludicrous. He is making an enormous fool of himself and he knows it. What the hell is the sound of one hand clapping?

At his next darshan, he kneels and whispers, "The sound of one hand clapping is the call of prajna (wisdom) before the penetrating stroke of upaya (method)."

"What?" shouts Master. "I can't hear you!" He turns to the head monk and gives him a threatening look.

Ming clears his throat and says, "The sound of one hand clapping is the call of prajna before the penetrating stroke of upaya... has.. reached it."

Master hits him with his stick. "You fool!" he shouts. "Get out!" As Ming scurries away, Master bellows at the head monk, "You said that he was ready! Have you lost your senses?"

While Ming, now a nervous wreck, is pacing in the garden, the head monk accosts him. "What are you trying to do to me? I vouched for you, god damn it! I stuck my neck out for you and you thank me by acting like an idiot. Pull yourself together! Think, man, think!" Ming, shifting between anger and despair, does not feel grateful.

The bookmakers are in a frenzy. Ming is red-eyed. He walks around mumbling to himself incoherently. Everyone is watching him. How long will it take? Hah! How long will it take him to die of shame? He wishes he could take them all straight to hell with him. He is doomed.

During his next interview Ming supposes that the sound of one hand clapping is the configuring yang without the shadowed yin. It is present in form, absent in substance. Master strikes him. The head monk tries to stammer an excuse but Master is too furious to listen. Ming is the most wretched human being in the province... maybe all China... maybe all Asia.

The head monk orders everyone to stop talking to Ming to allow him to think or at least to come up with a better answer than those he has given. Ming is reduced to spiritual penury. He is alone, ostracized. Everywhere he turns he is vilified by laughter. He never smiles. Instead, he snarls and makes no effort to conceal his contempt for the head monk and for his master. He suffers. Is there no respite?

He awakens from a fitful sleep. What is the sound of one hand clapping? He squirms on his meditation cushion. What is the sound of one hand clapping? He picks at his food. What is the sound of one hand clapping?

The days and weeks pass. He is hit, scorned, mocked, humiliated. "How did I ever think I could solve a koan," he begins to wonder. Then he concludes, "I am more stupid than cow dung." He weeps in shame. "Oh, Lord," he prays, "forgive me for my pride. I've been an impostor. I'm nothing but a fool." Blaming himself, he begins to exonerate others. "The head monk tried to help me and I let him down. I brought shame upon him and my good master. How will they ever forgive me." Etc. Etc. Etc.

Eventually he realizes that he is beaten. "What is the sound of one hand clapping? I don't know. I don't care. Lord," he prays, "let me hide in some quiet corner. Let me serve you in peace. Get me out of this nightmare and I will be your humble servant forever." He stops going to darshan. What's the point?

He takes refuge in menial tasks. They content him. Though he has ceased to be ashamed, there is still something triste about him. He has lost his buoyancy and has settled down to a calm bottom. Nobody pays him any attention anymore. He is grateful for his anonymity.

Then, miraculously, one day as he is sweeping the kitchen floor, the cook drops a round pot lid and as it rotates - rrrhah, rrrhah, rrrhah - the reverberating sound captures Ming's attention. Someone sitting in the rear of Ming's head blows his ego-candle out. That person then looks out of Ming's eye sockets. Ming experiences the world as an exquisite, sublimely serene creation! The cook is still there working. His knife still flashes in the sunlight. The fire still gives off heat. A breeze still blows in through the window. But Doe Ming is gone and nothing that is seen is distorted by Doe Ming's ego. The world is pure! His candle flame reignites and he returns, dazzled. "Gadzooks!" he shouts. What has happened? Is it possible that for a couple of glorious seconds he has seen the world as God sees the world... that during his own demise he, in fact, has been God? Was this Nirvana? Of course! This is Satori! Ultimate reality! Non-duality! Unity of seer and seen! Emptiness! He skips around dazed. He was emptied of himself! Kenosis! When he is able to recollect himself, he understands that in the real world, he, Doe Ming, has no more substance than a ghost. Well! If he doesn't exist neither does the Chan master. Hah! He is jubilant, triumphant! Hah! The other monks 'believe' that there is a buddha inside themselves, but they don't 'know' it. And most assuredly, they have never 'been' it!

Tossing aside his broom, the man who has been God strides into the assembly, kicks aside a monk who is kneeling in darshan, plops down on his haunches in front of Master and, remembering perhaps how his fictional self suffered at the hands of his fictional master, says defiantly, "Eat shit and die, you old fake!" Then he bursts out laughing. Master and the head monk join in merrily. They love the punch line but nobody else gets the joke.

Again and again, throughout the early history of Chan, this scenario, more or less and in infinite variety, replayed itself.

What steps prepare a person for this experience?

l. Understanding of the first truth: Life is bitter and painful. 2. A ripe (mature) mind, i.e., one that has become unattached. 3. Enough of an ego to accept a challenge. 4. Humiliation and a prolonged period of stress caused by intellectual frustration (any subject - not just a Koan - will do). 5. The release of stress by the relief of success, or by surrender, or by a vanquishing kick, blow or fearsome shout.

Unfortunately, the golden age of Chan quickly passed once religious phonies began to imitate the acts and answers of their enlightened colleagues. (Even today, some monks try to pass themselves off as enlightened. A few years ago I read about a poor fellow in a California Rinzai monastery who feigned a bizarre 'enlightened' act: he came to darshan with a tomato hidden in his robe and then, by way of answer to his koan, threw it at his master. I forget what his master did to him but I do recall that it wasn't pleasant.)

To prevent this imitation enlightenment, darshan became private but at the expense of the necessary stress of humiliation. Soon books which listed the various koans and their answers, complete with editorial commentary, were in circulation. Monks actually began to study koans! This means that koans were no longer koans. Between the good answers and the good actors, it became necessary to have many 'satoris'... one koan after another. Even satori was seen to come in varying degrees of quality! There were lesser and greater satoris. This means that a monk could strive to experience something less than no ego. A negative ego? But this is preposterous! Clearly, the system was in disarray. Nobody needs more than one koan because nobody needs more than one satori.

Some koans and man tous can never be solved. For example, "Does a dog have Buddha Nature?" A man can stretch himself considerably trying to answer this but he cannot get inside a dog's head. Is the Buddha Nature present only in minds that can conceive of it? (This is a variation on the ancient question, "Why did God create conscious men?" and its answer, "To be worshipped by them." C. G. Jung agreed with this response.) What degree of consciousness is necessary in order to worship God? Is the Buddha Nature present in animals that have no egos to transcend and therefore are able to experience reality directly and at all times? A dog with his limited brain may have no sense of self... no ego and therefore no need for religion or salvation...but is this the same as Buddhahood? And what about dolphins and whales? They have a large, well developed cerebral cortex. They are perhaps as intelligent as we. Maybe more. Do they see themselves as individuals struggling to find happiness and meaning in life? Do such creatures look up at the starry sky and marvel at its beauty? Do they pray? Do they thank God for an inlet filled with krill? Is there a Jesus of the dolphins? A Buddha of the whales?

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