In reading Suzuki it is not always easy to distinguish between the early antinomian radical and the later more cautious and more orthodox Buddhist writer.　Suzuki’s tendency is to emphasis the spontaneity and radical nature of Zen.　Thus after providing an entirely orthodox account of Zen Buddhist origins in Japan he goes on “Zen undertakes to awaken Praj~naa found generally slumbering in us under the thick clouds of ignorance and karma.　Ignorance and karma come from our unconditioned surrender to the intellect; Zen revolts against this state of affairs . . . .  Zen disdains logic and remains speechless when it is asked to express itself.　The worth of the intellect is only appreciated after the essence of things is grasped.　This means that Zen wants to reverse the ordinary course of knowledge and resort to its own specific methods of training our minds in the awakening of transcendental wisdom.” (Suzuki 1938:5).

p.556

But what is this Zen to which his use of the word applies──a person, a system, a belief, a form of yoga? Later, in referring to the way in which a master answer questions, he says: “. . . the answering mind does not stop anywhere but responds straightaway without giving any thought to the felicity of the answer.　This ‘non-stopping’ mind remains immovable as it is never carried away by the things of relativity.　It is the substance of things, it is God . . . the ultimate secret etc.” (p.80).　In these moods Suzuki appears to forget pratiitya samutpaada, the interconnectedness of things and the identity of opposites completely.　While the intimations that arise in meditative practice may be psychologically transcendent, the world within which they happen is far from so──the everyday grind of monastic living.　Can one distance “Zen” from this supporting context?  Doing so has become the root of much confusion.

Yet Suzuki did not go unchallenged.　In 1953 Dr. Hu Shih, a one time President of the National Peking University, tackled him on the non-historicity of Zen and its being beyond intellectual understanding.　He gives a detailed account of the history of Chan and proposes historical reasons for the development of the idiosyncrasies apparent in Zen transmission which in his eyes have a rational, social if obscure basis.　Suzuki’s rebuttal is trenchant.

Hu Shih does not seem to understand the real significance of the “sudden awakening or enlightenment” in its historical setting . . . .  All the schools of Buddhism . . . owe their origin to the Buddha’s enlightenment experience . . . no other than a “sudden enlightenment.”

He goes on to argue that this Zen “way of looking at life may be judged to be a kind of naturalism, even an animalistic libertinism.” Quoting Spinoza, he argues:

This kind of intuition is absolutely certain and infallible and, in contrast to ratio, produces the highest peace and virtue of

p.557

mind. . . .

History deals with time and so does Zen, but with this difference: While history knows nothing of timelessness, perhaps disposing of it as a “fabrication,” Zen takes time along with timelessness──that is to say, time in timelessness and timelessness in time.

Zen is thus seen to be apart from its historical setting.

Yet Hu Shih and Suzuki seem to be at cross purposes.　Suzuki is speaking of experience, Hu Shih of context.　They do not seem to be able to fit these together.　Suzuki always felt that his version of Rinzai Zen provided an ultimate vision beyond history.　His indeterminate status between monk and layman, between scholar and popularist, between practitioner and missionary, between Japan and America, led to a view in which all things remotely resembling Zen could be assimilated into one vision; and everything else rejected.　The Kyoto School of Philosophy created by Suzuki's friend Nishida has largely followed this line.　The result has been a kind of Suzuki monism closed to the usual forms of academic criticism through a direct appeal to an absolutism of the non-historical.

　　 From the same basis Suzuki argued strongly against “gradualism” which he saw as inherent in the Soto tradition (Tsao tung) of “just sitting” or “Silent illumination.”　He backs Ta-hui in his confrontation with Hung-chih (1091~1157) on this issue and emerges therefore as strongly partisan in his interpretation of practice and its meaning in Chan.　Leighton and Yi Wu (1991) have however shown that these two great contemporaries were actually friends who cooperated as teaching colleagues sending students to one another.　Ta-hui’s criticisms were not at Hung-chih personally but at those who used the “just sitting” methods without appropriate mindfulness.　He himself also “sat” and was aware that koans too have defects, leading in some cases to intellectually obsessive worrying over old stories.　Suzuki also ignores Dogen who

p.558

warmly approved of both these old antagonists while favouring Hung-chih as the founder of his own practice.　Not surprisingly Suzuki’s lop-sided Zen has produced strange effects and a biased leaning in the transmission of Zen to European shores.