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| I love the stone on this little one's head. |
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| Oda Nobunaga 1534-1582 |
Despite the gloomy global economy, the field of positive psychology is booming. Often described simplistically by journalists as "the science of happiness," it's actually a broad focus on our strengths and talents, virtues and peak experiences in daily living. The name for this specialty originated with Martin Seligman at the University of Pennsylvania a dozen years ago. With amazing speed, it has spawned courses at hundreds of colleges, best-selling books, websites and workshops on topics like mindfulness, and wide-ranging research on the links between mood and wellness.
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| Zen sage: The works of Daisetz Suzuki have inspired many in the West to study and learn from Eastern philosophy and Zen Buddhism. AP PHOTO |
Yet, amid this flurry of excitement, it's shameful that so little credit is given to a key figure who helped shift the focus away from Sigmund Freud's gloomy fixations to a more optimistic view of human nature: Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki. More than any other Eastern thinker in the 20th century, he catalyzed the rise of humanistic psychology in the post-World War II era — and, indirectly, today's mounting interest in spirituality and inner well-being. As 2011 marks the 55th anniversary of Suzuki's death, the time is right to remember the remarkable man born in what's now Kanazawa, western Japan.
Suzuki was descended from a long line of physicians of the samurai class. He was expected to follow in their path, but when he was only 6, his father died and this goal became financially impossible. Academically gifted, he taught English in several small towns before initiating higher education at Tokyo Senmon Gakko (the predecessor of Waseda University) and the nonregular course at the Imperial University in Tokyo. But by his early 20s, Suzuki felt drawn to spiritual matters, and became a novitiate at the Engakuji Rinzai Zen monastery in Kamakura.
What was his motivation? As Suzuki later reminisced, "My thoughts (had) started to turn to philosophy and religion, and as my family belonged to the Rinzai sect of Zen, it was natural that I should look to Zen for some of the answers to my problems (about losing my father and our family's resulting poverty)."
At Engakuji, Suzuki's mentor, the aged Roshi (Zen master) Imagita Kosen, bestowed the Buddhist name Daisetz, meaning "great humility" on his pupil. Suzuki spent long hours in zazen (sitting meditation) and immersed himself in classic Zen texts. He was especially inspired by the "Zenkan Sakushin" (Whips to Drive You Through the Zen Barrier), an anthology of writings on Zen discipline and advice compiled by a Chinese master of the Ming dynasty. Decades later, Suzuki would vividly describe these formative years in his spiritual memoir, "The Training of A Buddhist Monk."
As he later reminisced, "In the way of moral effort, I used to spend many nights in a cave at the back of the Shariden building where the Buddha's tooth was enshrined. But there was always a weakness of willpower in me, so that I often failed to sit up all night in the cave, finding some excuse to leave, such as the mosquitoes."
Suzuki may have been exceptionally modest by temperament, but he was a brilliant linguist. Recognizing this talent was Roshi Kosen's cosmopolitan successor — Shaku Soyen, who arranged for young Suzuki to work near Chicago as a professional translator of Eastern texts for the Open Court publishing firm. There for 12 years, Suzuki enthusiastically introduced Americans to classic Chinese, Japanese, Pali and Sanskrit writings — starting with Taoism's seminal text, the "Tao Te Ching." In 1907, Suzuki authored his first book, "Outlines of Mahayana Buddhism," and thus began his subsequent, nearly 60-year career as a teacher and interpreter of Zen Buddhism to the West. During his stay in the U.S., he traveled widely including a visit to Europe — expanding his translation work and connecting with Theosophists and others interested in mystical teachings for the modern world.
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| Training ground: Daisetz Suzuki studied Zen at Engakuji monastery in Kamakura. YOSHIAKI MIURA PHOTOS |
Late in his life, Suzuki insisted that he had never planned to spend so much time residing in the U.S., but "one year grew into the next and I wound up staying in America for more than a decade. After that, I traveled around Europe for a year before returning to Japan."
During this period, Suzuki also found time for romance. In 1911, he married Beatrice Erskine Lane, an American social worker eight years his junior drawn to Zen and Theosophy. By then, he was back in Japan as an English lecturer at the Imperial University, and they wedded in Yokohama. The two would adopt a son and collaborate on many literary projects until her death in 1939, for Lane was an accomplished scholar in her own right — whose lucid book on Mahayana Buddhism still remains in print after more than 70 years. Sharing her husband's interest in psychology, she devoted an entire chapter in this work to the Buddhist concept of personality — and poetically declared that "The only definite teaching to be found in Zen is that . . . every man is a sleeping Buddha. Consequently, (one) has but to awaken his heart of wisdom by meditation to gain a direct insight into the nature of reality."
The 1920s and 1930s marked Suzuki's most productive years. Joining the faculty of Otani University in Kyoto, he taught both English and Buddhist philosophy, and received an honorary doctorate in literature. During this period, his major books included "An Introduction to Zen Buddhism," "Essays in Zen Buddhism," "The Training of the Zen Buddhist Monk," his translation of the ancient Sanskrit Lankavatara Sutra, and especially "Zen and Its Influence on Japanese Culture."
These works came to influence several major psychological thinkers of the 20th century including Carl Jung, Erich Fromm and Karen Horney. For example, Jung was fascinated by Suzuki's description of the Zen experience of satori(enlightenment) and argued that it showed that we have higher stages of consciousness beyond the ego. For Fromm and Horney, Suzuki's work pointed the way to an exciting new understanding of personality growth and psychotherapy based on the notion of a "real self" that can be nurtured through authenticity and "whole-heartedness."
Fromm admired Suzuki's Zen teaching that we grow spiritually in life not by mere words and intellect, but by involving our entire being. At the time, of course, Freudianism was the dominant approach in Europe and the U.S., and had nothing to say about such matters.
During the interwar years, Suzuki's writings also helped modern Japanese to appreciate the impact of Zen thought on their own culture. For instance, in his preface to "The Training of the Zen Buddhist Monk," Suzuki asserted that "It is impossible, as I maintain, in the study of the Orient, especially in the study of Japanese character and culture, to neglect — much less to ignore — the influence of Zen. "In Zen and Its Influence on Japanese Culture," Suzuki described Zen's impact on four different, long-standing traditions in his country: painting, literature, swordsmanship and the tea ceremony. Each of these domains is worth noting, though space constraint here necessarily make these brief.
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| A temple room within Engakuji monastery where Suzuki is believed to have meditated. |
Artistically, the Sumiye is a kind of sketch in black and white, involving ink composed of soot and glue, a brush of sheep's or badger's hair, and thin paper designed to absorb much ink. As Suzuki noted, such frail material was intentionally chosen to make sure that the artist's inspiration was transferred onto it in the quickest possible time — allowing for no erasing, retouching or remodeling. In this way, observed Suzuki, "Sumiye attempts to catch spirit as it moves" — thereby embodying the Zen principle that in life, "Everything becomes, nothing is stationery."
As for literature, the haiku is a special product of Japanese genius, according to Suzuki, developed in its highest form by the 17th-century Zen devotee Basho. How so? Because he freed haiku from mere wordplay and connected it to the experience of ultimate truth with such poems as "A frog jumps into the water. Hear the sound!"
As for swordsmanship, Suzuki contended that in feudal times, Japanese warriors were taught by Zen masters not to learn scholarly doctrines, but to develop a specific mental attitude: fearlessness before their possible death in battle. The 16th-century Zen master Takuan also taught his disciple Yagyu Tajima no Kami (swordsmanship teacher to the shogun of his day): "What is most important in the art of swordplay is to acquire . . . 'immovable wisdom.' 'Immovable' does not mean to be stiff and heavy . . . It means the highest degree of motility with a center which remains immovable . . . You must leave your mind free to make its own countermovement without your interfering deliberation."
Finally, Suzuki contended that the Japanese tea ceremony, so integral and favored part of its culture — and similar to other long-standing artistic activities as flower arranging — embodies the spirit of sabi by emphasizing such elements as simplicity, naturalness, refinement and "familiarity singularly tinged with aloofness and everyday commonness veiled exquisitely with the mist of transcendental inwardness."
Such insights by Suzuki helped to awaken broad Japanese interest in Zen Buddhism, especially as his reputation grew in the West.
When World War II erupted, Suzuki was under the suspicion of the Japanese government for his opposition to militarism. In his numerous wartime essays on Zen, he kept quiet about political matters, but in private letters as well as public speeches, he made clear his antiwar stance. For example, the day after Pearl Harbor was bombed, the 71-year-old Suzuki plunged Otani University's faculty meeting into uproar when he contended, "With this, Japan will be destroyed. What will destroy it is Shinto and the militarists."
Such shocking words, of course, proved prophetic — and in 1949, he was made a member of the Japan Academy and decorated by the emperor with the Order of Culture.
The postwar era marked the heyday of American Freudianism and its humanistic offshoots — and Suzuki, teaching Zen Buddhism at Columbia University in the 1950s, was at the epicenter of creative psychological thought. Only months before Horney's death in 1952, she accompanied Suzuki and colleagues on a tour of Japanese Zen monasteries and emphasized the importance of his notion of "whole-heartedness" as a vital feature of mental health. Fromm became close friends with Suzuki, and in 1957, sponsored him as a guest speaker for a conference on Zen and psychoanalysis held in Cuernavaca, Mexico. Several years later, the two coauthored an influential book on this topic; like many others, Fromm was greatly touched by Suzuki's personal warmth and kindness.
Abraham Maslow, guru of motivational psychology, was another humanistic thinker inspired by Suzuki during these years. Maslow, who pioneered in studying what he called "peak experiences" — that is, sudden moments of joy and meaning — was excited by Suzuki's concept of sono-mama or suchness, as an element of mystical awareness. Sponsoring Suzuki's lectures at Brandeis University, Maslow also regarded Suzuki's Zen teaching of muga, or total absorption, as vital for a psychology of well-being and growth.
It is an historical irony, though, that Suzuki had much less impact on Japanese psychology than on its humanistic development in the U.S. and Europe. Why so? Because during the postwar years, Japanese psychologists were eager to establish their field as a rigorous experimentalist science, akin to biology, and looked askance at philosophical or spiritual thinkers. As the Jungian scholar Dr. Shoji Muramoto of Kobe City University of Foreign Studies comments, "Unlike in the West, Suzuki's relevance to modern psychology has hardly been appreciated in Japan outside of a few journal articles. Nevertheless, he was perhaps the first Zen philosopher to deal with Zen as an object of academic study in its philosophical basis and psychological aspects, as well as its history."
After retiring from Columbia University in 1957, the elderly Suzuki returned to Japan, where he kept up an active, international schedule of writing, attending conferences, lecturing and receiving awards for his lifetime achievements.
Until his death in 1966 at age 95, he influenced a new generation interested in the relevance of Eastern thought — particularly Zen Buddhism — for contemporary civilization. For instance, his writings on Zen meditation later contributed to mindfulness training for health care professionals as a valued therapeutic tool — and now sponsored by dozens of medical schools in the U.S. and elsewhere.
As Suzuki astutely saw, the world was hungry for Eastern spiritual wisdom. His final words? "Don't worry. Thank you! Thank you!"
Taking an austere path to enlightenment
BY NAMI HAMADA, THE ASAHI SHIMBUN
Urban dwellers, looking for something missing from the day-to-day grind of their working lives, are literally heading to the mountains to reconnect with nature and find spiritual fulfillment.
They are devotees of Shugendo, a religion based on ancient Japanese mountain worship that incorporates aspects of Buddhism, Shinto and other faiths.
Among the followers is a 33-year-old man from Tokyo who works weekdays as a sales representative. On his days off, he heads for the mountains, donning a traditional outfit, complete with a conch-shell horn and straw sandals.
He is a yamabushi, a mountain priest trainee. His grueling training regime includes a discipline called nyubu, which involves walking steep mountain paths for a few days while visiting sacred sites and worshipping gods and Buddha. He has a religious name: Shinanobo Zuiryu.
Shinanobo belongs to a group called Nikko-Shugendo in Tochigi Prefecture.
Through strict training, Shugendo followers try to experience what Gautama Siddhartha underwent before attaining enlightenment.
Trainees are called yamabushi or shugenja and undergo various types of training.
Shinanobo first became interested in "mountain religion" while studying history in college. As he deepened his study, he ended up becoming a yamabushi at Nikko-Shugendo.
In 2001, he became a full-fledged member of Nikko-Shugendo. He now uses his days off from work to further his training 10 to 15 times a year on Mount Nantaisan in Nikko, Tochigi Prefecture, as well as other mountains.
Why does he devote himself to training despite his busy work schedule?
"It's my faith," he said.
His wife, Hajime, 30, said, "Whenever he is stressed out in daily life, he says, 'I want to go to the mountains.'"
Hajime is an artist, and she will soon release a work titled "My husband is a yamabushi" in a monthly comic magazine named "Honto ni Atta Waraeru Hanashi" (Funny stories that happened in real life).
Shinanobo is not the only urban resident who longs to spend his spare time undergoing religious training in mountain locations.
Iyano Jiho, 51, who heads Nikko-Shugendo, says those who come from big cities to attend the group's training sessions have a yearning for "mountains."
"For urbanites with little connection with other people and nature, Shugendo training might be offering opportunities to re-examine various involvement with human beings and nature," Iyano said.
Originally from Kanuma, Tochigi Prefecture, Iyano learned Shugendo at temples in Yamagata, Kyoto and Shiga prefectures and elsewhere.
He eventually thought of bringing new life to nyubu training in Nikko, near his hometown. He renovated mountain paths and accommodations for trainees, which had not been used for a long time. The renovation work was completed in 1985, and nyubu training resumed in Nikko.
Another yamabushi from Tokyo is a 30-year-old contract worker, whose religious name is Yamaguchi Horyu. He has been training at Nikko-Shugendo for the past eight years.
As a teenager, Yamaguchi felt strongly that he did not fit in at school. Wanting to "overcome a sense of alienation," he visited several religious organizations, but none of them inspired him.
"They were out of touch with everyday life, and lacked culture or history," Yamaguchi said.
When he was in college, he saw an ad for Nikko-Shugendo training in a magazine and attended a training session. He said to himself, "This is it."
The organization felt "down to earth," he said.
"Myself wearing a necktie and myself in yamabushi outfit are no different, in that I'm a trainee," Yamaguchi said.
Training which involves continued dialogue with gods and Buddha is challenging, he added.
"Still, for me, navigating through life in a big city may be more grueling," he added.
Yamaguchi's fellow trainee under Iyano is a 33-year-old man whose religious name is Kinuki Yuho. He has been training for seven years.
Since his childhood, he had harbored an interest in Buddhism because of his father and grandfather, who were pious.
Contemplating what to do with his life while studying to enter a university, he decided to put Buddhist ideas into practice through his work.
Kinuki got a job as a caregiver but left it after three years to study Buddhism.
While learning about the religion at a university, he met a person training in Shugendo under Iyano.
Asked to come along, Kinuki attended a session and was attracted to Nikko-Shugendo. He became a frequent visitor.
"For instance, in discussing Shugendo teachings in plain language, Iyano said, 'Don't do anything that weighs on your mind, whether it's good or bad.' I repeat these words in my mind, which makes me think," Kinuki said.
Although the words may appear abstract, for Kinuki, it is precious teaching he can apply to real life.
This month, Kinuki returns to his work as a carer.
"I do have apprehension, but I also feel like I have room to breathe somewhere within myself," he said.
"By experiencing the same hard training that trainees ahead of me underwent, such as walking on mountain paths trodden by many others, I feel as if I were spiritually connected with past trainees, as well as with current trainees, beyond time and space. I feel as if I were being encouraged by them. This kind of sense has taken root in me," Kinuki said.
Why do these city dwellers find common ground with Shugendo?
Susumu Shimazono, a professor of religion at the University of Tokyo, has this to say: "Since the 1970s, Qigong, meditation and other spiritual activities have become global trends. However, disappointment is spreading among some of the people who experienced these things. They say things like, 'They are not firmly rooted in society.'
"On the other hand, with traditional aspects as well as physical aspects, Shugendo probably appeals to such people."(IHT/Asahi: April 7,2009)
From the Los Angeles Times
For obsessed sumo fans who can't afford the tickets to the sumo tournaments, the best place to go for seeing your favorite wrestling stars is the back gate. The Los Angeles Times often has interesting articles about Japan. In the Friday edition of the Times is an article about the best place to view sumo wrestlers for those who can't afford the tournament. It is the same in the US as well. People who hang out at the entrance to the secure parking area of a sports arena hoping to catch a glimpse of Kobe Bryant or Ichiro. Although you will probably never see any sports star in the US get "dropped off" by a taxi or private car at the stadium or arena.
According to the article, the sumo wrestlers will exit right out of a taxi cab at the sidewalk already dressed in their colorful robes. Yokozuna Asashoryu of course does not enter the arena like this. He and other top stars enter in limousines and are not seen by the fans out on the street. It is the lower level wrestlers that often arrive by cab, private car, or even the subway but that appears to be ok for the many fans waiting outside the back gate.
Most tickets for the New Year Grand Sumo Tournament start at $35 (approximately 3500 Yen) which does not seem too expensive but I guess due to the recession and the cost of living in Tokyo, that is more than many people can justify paying.
Back in the late 80's, early 90's, I did this after attending some Los Angeles Laker games at the old Forum. Magic Johnson and the other big Laker stars parked in the secure parking area under the Forum. I once saw Magic drive out in a large dark Mercedes. But some of the lower level players had to park outside. A few times I waited by the exit to their parking area and got a couple of autographs.
