Tetsunori Koizumi, Director

Dogen (1200-53), the founder of the Soto sect of Zen Buddhism in Japan, is known for his teaching of genjokoan, an idea that everything in the world around us is a koan, a manifestation already of the Buddhadharma. With this radical redefinition of koans, Dogen broke away from the Rinzai Zen tradition in which koans are still employed to this day as a teaching device to help practitioners gain insight into the true nature of reality. While he himself composed some 300 koans, Dogen turned to zazen as the primary mode of practice as represented by his word: shikantaza. Usually translated as “just sitting,” shikantaza is a method of meditation without a definite goal or a definite set of guidelines. It is natural that we practitioners feel a little uneasy about the effectiveness of such a method. How do we know that we are making progress? How do we know that we will eventually accomplish enlightenment?

Dogen was actually quite confident about the effectiveness of shikantaza as the path leading to the Way, to enlightenment. In Gakudo Yojin-shu (Precautions on Learning the Way), which he wrote in 1234 while he was still at Koshoji in Kyoto, Dogen had this to say about the prospect of practitioners successfully accomplishing enlightenment: “You should practice along with the Way. … You try to cut off the root of consciousness by sitting. Eight, even nine out of ten will be able to see the Way—have kensho—suddenly.”¹

Does Dogen really mean that we have the possibility of successfully seeing the Way, of successfully accomplishing enlightenment, eight, even nine out of ten? That sounds quite encouraging for us practitioners. But where did he get this number, “nine out of ten”, or p=0.9, as the probability of people successfully accomplishing enlightenment?

As one who is known to have trained many monks, Dogen could have arrived at this probability based on what is now known as the “law of large numbers”. Due originally to Jacob Bernoulli (1654-1705), the law of large numbers says: x/N = p if N is large, where N is the total number of trials, and x the number of trials that result in success. One apparent problem with the law of large numbers is that N has to be very large. Thus, tossing a coin one hundred times, or even one thousand times, does not guarantee that we will get the true probability (p) of the coin landing heads-up, which is 0.5. But the law of large numbers is a mathematical theorem, and Bernoulli assures us that, by taking enough trials, we can be “morally certain” that x/N is within 0.000001 of the true probability.

In Dogen’s case, N would be the total number of monks he trained, and x the number of monks who successfully accomplished enlightenment, namely, those monks who experienced shinshindatsuraku (dropping off of mind and body), the word Dogen used to describe his own enlightenment. While we don’t know whether the total number of monks Dogen trained was large enough to satisfy Bernoulli’s law, we do know that the monks who came to him were highly motivated and dedicated to practice with this great master. When this additional factor of high motivation and dedication is taken into account, the probability of success of 0.9 may not be too far off the mark for monks. But what about the success rate among lay practitioners? Does the same probability apply to lay practitioners as well?

When it came to practicing the Way, Dogen did not make distinctions between monks and laypeople, between men and women, between nobles and ordinary people, even between intelligent and non-intelligent individuals, as we find the following words of his recorded in Fukan Zazengi (Universal Recommendations for Zazen): “Intelligence or lack of it does not matter; between dull- and sharp-witted there is no distinction. If you concentrate your effort single-mindedly, that in itself is negotiating the Way.”² If this is indeed the case, the 0.9 probability of success for all practitioners becomes a credible number and gives us hope that we may perhaps be one of those successful nine out of ten.

But a probability is a probability, not a certainty. After all, there is a probability of one out of ten that we may be unsuccessful in accomplishing enlightenment. What if we happen to be among those unlucky 10% of the practitioners who fail to accomplish enlightenment?

Dogen’s point was that we need to practice with a conviction that we will accomplish enlightenment sooner or later, led by a Calvinistic faith, so to speak, that we are among the successful ones. We may recall how the Buddha emphasized the importance of “making the breakthrough”: “If anyone should speak thus: ‘Having made the breakthrough to the noble truth of suffering as it really is … I will completely make an end to suffering’—this is possible” (Samyutta Nikaya 56:32.) Dogen echoed the same message with his word: shushoichinyo, which means “practice and enlightenment are one and the same thing.” If that were the case, the probability of 0.9 would become an underestimate for the probability of successfully accomplishing enlightenment—a very encouraging message indeed.

1. Dogen, Gakudo Yojin-shu (Precautions on Learning the Way), as quoted in “Shikantaza” by Hakuin Yasutani, in John Daido Loori (ed.), The Art of Just Sitting, Wisdom Publications, 2002.
2. Dogen, Fukan Zazengi (Universal Recommendations for Zazen), as quoted in John Daido Loori (ed.), The Art of Just Sitting, Wisdom Publications, 2002.

Tetsunori Koizumi, Director

One salient feature of Oriental performing arts is the effective use of the tension between action and no-action, between movement and rest. While the graceful movement of the body is highly cherished and, therefore, needs to be cultivated, it is equally, if not more, important to control the body when it is in the state of no-action and rest. As a matter of fact, controlling one’s body when the body is in the state of no-action and rest, which requires mental concentration, is regarded as a mark of highest artistic achievement.

Take Noh, for example, which explicitly incorporates the tension between action and no-action, between movement and rest. As Zeami (1363-1443) explains, the moments of no-action are of crucial importance in the Noh play: “Dancing and singing, movements and the different types of miming are all acts performed by the body. Moments of ‘no-action’ occur inbetween. When we examine why such moments without actions are enjoyable, we find that it is due to the underlying spiritual strength of the actor which unremittingly holds the attention. He does not relax the tension when the dancing or singing comes to an end or at intervals between the dialogue and the different types of miming, but maintains an unswerving inner strength. This feeling of inner strength will faintly reveal itself and bring enjoyment.” (Zeami, as quoted in Tsunoda et.al. 1958, p.291)

The moments of no-action acquire their importance, in the first place, from the necessity of integrating the body and the mind. While the body engages in all kinds of actions in the performing arts, the mind is called upon to unify the whole performance by interspersing them with moments of no-action when the body is at rest. This is the way in which the tension between action and no-action, between movement and rest, is created in the Noh play. Zeami, judging from his words quoted above, suggests that the moments of no-action are equally, if not more, enjoyable in the Noh play. To the extent that the moments of no-action are important, Noh as an art from explicitly appeals to what might be termed the aesthetics of no-action.

The main aesthetic principle underlying Noh, according to Zeami, is yugen, which roughly translates into “mystery” or “profundity”. Zeami employs yugen as the term that characterizes the state of highest achievement in the Noh dance as embodied in the beauty of form at moments of both action and no-action. In Zeami’s own words, yugen refers to “a degree of artistry which is of that middle ground where being and non-being meet.” (Zeami, ibid, p.295)

The influence of Zen Buddhism is apparent in these words. Noh, as a performing art, tries to recreate human drama which invariably involves efforts to overcome the tension between the pain of life and the stillness of death. This tension defines the middle ground between life and death where being and non-being meet.

There are other features of Noh that can also be easily identifiable as Zen elements. First, there is the idea of simplicity that regulates the staging of the Noh play. Although the costumes worn by the Noh actors are often colorful and elaborate, reminiscent of the artistic ideal of miyabi which characterized Heian court life, the Noh stage itself is a simple rectangular structure. Moreover, the stage is usually left completely bare except for small gadgets called tsukurimomo, which are employed in some plays. This is one way of conveying to the audience that the Noh play relies heavily on the power of suggestion. The simplicity of the stage is reinforced by the simplicity of actions and movements in the Noh play. Unlike the ballet dancer, the Noh actor, as a rule, is not expected to walk on toes or leap in the air. In fact, the whole performance is one of graceful restraint, as if to evoke the stillness beyond this world. The Noh actor often wears the masks of ghosts, suggesting that the audience is being invited to glimpse into another reality.

Gadgets and masks are one thing, but dancing is quite another. In the final analysis, it is the mental power of the Noh actor that guides the audience into the middle ground where being and non-being meet: “The actions before and after an interval of ‘no-action’ must be linked by entering the state of mindlessness in which one conceals even from oneself one’s intent. This, then, is the faculty of moving audiences, by linking all the artistic powers with one mind.” (Zeami, ibid, p.291)

The mind thus becomes the unifying element in the Noh play. As the Noh actor enters the state of mindlessness with his performance, the audience is expected to participate in the play with the mind of Zen practitioners in order to glimpse into the world of reality beyond appearances. As Zeami puts it, “what the mind sees is the essence; what the eyes see is the performance” (Zeami, 1958, P.302). By entering the state of mindlessness, or mushin (no-mind) as Zeami calls it, the Noh actor can guide the audience into that middle ground where being and non-being meet. Indeed, a highly accomplished Noh actor, like a highly trained Zen master, can potentially guide the audience to glimpse into the world of ultimate reality that transcends both being and non-being.

* Zeami, “On the mind linking all powers”, “The book of the way of the highest flower”, “The nine stages of the No in order”, as translated and compiled in: R. Tsunoda, W.T. de Barry, and D. Keene (eds.), Sources of Japanese Tradition, New York: Columbia University Press, 1958.