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　　 Let me conclude this chapter with the following quotation from one of the earliest Zen writings. Doko (Tao-kwang), a Buddhist philosopher and a student of the Vijnaptimatra (absolute idealism), came to a Zen master and asked:

"With what frame of mind should one discipline oneself in the truth?"
Said the Zen master, "There is no mind to be framed, nor is there any truth in which to be disciplined."
"If there is no mind to be framed and no truth in which to be disciplined, why do you have a daily gathering of monks who are studying Zen and disciplining themselves in the truth?"
The master replied: "I have not an inch of space to spare, and where could I have a gathering of monks? I have no tongue, and how would it be possible for me to advise others to come to me?"
The philosopher then exclaimed, "How can you tell a lie like that to my face."
"When I have no tongue to advise others, is it possible for me to tell a lie?"
Said Doko despairingly, "I cannot follow your reasoning."
"Neither do I understand myself," concluded the Zen master.[1]

　　 Although Suzuki warns us that in Zen "Questions and Answers" there "are no quibblings, no playing at words, no sophistry,"[2] this little dialogue sparkles with the most serious wit, irony, and directness. Involved is the immediate confrontation of a Buddhist philosopher and a Zen master. The philosopher, being a philosopher, assumes -- on the basis of his own ignorance, which he undoubtedly regards as wisdom -- that Zen is, indeed, a philosophy, concerned with disclosing a truth to be grasped by the mind or intellect. The reply on the part of the master is completely to the point. The philosopher has come to the wrong place. Zen is not a philosophy; there is no "truth" to be grasped by the "mind," and one who supposes that there is such a truth has already come in the wrong frame of mind (or the wrong frame of something), exhibiting his ignorance by speaking about a "frame of mind" in the first place.

　　 The master's reply may be surprising, but Doko is not set back on his heels. Like a chess player determined to win and sure of his rules and his skills, he tries again, pointing out what he takes to be evidence incompatible with the master's statement: the obvious presence of monks who are, equally obviously, studying Zen and disciplining themselves in the truth. The master's reply is without hesitation as he sticks to his guns. Men there are, but there are no monks; indeed, in a zendo there is no more room for monks of the traditional variety than there is for deaf men at a musical concert -- occupying seats, they would deny room to others and yet would hear not a sound. More-

1.　　 D. T. Suzuki, An Introduction to Zen Buddhism (New York: The Philosophical Library, 1949), p. 57.

2.　　 Ibid., pp. 56-57.

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over, the men who have come have come of their own accord. The master, so to speak, is not a recruiter. He has no cross to carry and has no slogan of the form: "Take up my cross and follow me." Thus the master's reply is simple and open and is most certainly not intended to be paradoxical.

　　 But the philosopher, forgetting his manners, forgetting that he himself is, at best, an uninvited guest and, not realizing that he is a bull in a china shop, now accuses the master, to whom his initial approach was that of a humble seeker, of being a liar. The master, undisturbed by such rudeness, replies with the utmost simplicity, suggesting in his way that it was Doko who formulated the questions in the first place. If he is not satisfied with the replies, they have been given in good faith, not on the basis that stupid questions deserve equally stupid replies, but perhaps with the suggestion that questions themselves are not without presuppositions (which may be quite erroneous), such that those who ask illegitimate questions may not be satisfied at all with the answers they receive. If Doko had been enlightened enough to ask the right questions, he would not have asked any questions at all.

　　 At this point Doko is in despair. He does not understand. The Zen master is sympathetic and human. He does not understand either. Left hanging in the air, unformulated but clearly involved, is the question: "Who started this discussion in the first place?"

　　 Insofar as this question applies to me, it is easy to answer. I initiated the discussion in this paper. At this point I now terminate it, with salutations and -- if need be -- apologies to Suzuki, the master, and Charles A. Moore, the Conference Director, without whom this paper would never have been written.