Ritual

Simple forms express zazen mind
The larger Soto Zen tradition includes a number of elaborate and decorative ceremonies and rituals, and in some times and places these are completely appropriate. Our particular aspiration at Sanshin is to retain the intention, meaning and spirit of our simple forms without letting them become empty gestures, done simply because custom dictates that they be done.
Sanshin inherits this simple style from Antaiji. “One of the unique aspects of Antaiji, compared to other Zen temples, was that we conducted almost no ceremonies,” Okumura Roshi recalled. Other than in special circumstances for visitors, there were no daily services and no chanting during the formal meals using oryoki. “We Antaiji monks had a bad reputation when we went to other monasteries for practice because we could not chant even the Heart Sutra without seeing a sutra book.”
At Sanshin we keep forms and ceremonies simple in order to understand what we’re doing and why, and to maintain their connection with zazen. It’s not that forms aren’t important, but that rather than being merely performances or events on a calendar, they should come from the mind of shikantaza as an expression of respect and gratitude.
This approach extends to many aspects of our practice life in addition to forms. At Sanshin, you won’t see the elaborate versions of clerical robes that you may find in Japan or elsewhere. You won’t be placed in a fixed position in a sangha hierarchy. You won’t be practicing in a fancy Asian-style building in front of a complex altar with brocade hangings. All of those elements are truly important in some circumstances, but on a day-to-day basis at Sanshin, we put them aside in favor of something more basic. In that, we follow Uchiyama Roshi’s advice: The zazen practiced among the followers of Bodhidhdharma and Dogen Zenji has nothing to do with whether we have a magnificent building or not. What’s really important is to foster real practitioners. To do that we have to teach bit by bit. The followers of Bodhidharma must persist in this way no matter where they go. [The Wholehearted Way, p. 69]
Within Sanshin style, “real practitioners” are those who rely only on the arousing of bodhi mind and their own awakening rather than the experience of special surroundings in order to practice. Little by little, we simply follow our teachers’ example, watching, learning and emulating until we too deeply understand emptiness and interconnectedness and can embody them moment by moment.
Our manners and customs are uncomplicated, but we try to do them thoroughly and without separation into an “I” that’s “performing” a “ritual.” Without engaging in extras like using them to build our egos or compare ourselves to others, we just engage in forms and ceremonies and fold ourselves seamlessly into the activity of the community. They are done wholeheartedly and sincerely and thus they are alive as the complete functioning of practice-realization. As Sanshin Network member Shoryu Bradley has pointed out, the liturgy that follows morning zazen is the way we dedicate that zazen to all beings, another manifestation of interconnection between sitting, services and the community.
However, Uchiyama Roshi warned that we can get caught up even in the forms related to shikantaza. When [some] people practice zazen, they consider rituals such as turning clockwise or counter-clockwise essential. They make zazen a kind of ceremony. Ceremonies [can be] empty forms that have no real content. They simply become authority. Zazen shouldn’t be [such] a ceremony, but we should live by zazen. [The Wholehearted Way, p. 148]
The larger Soto Zen tradition includes a number of elaborate and decorative ceremonies and rituals, and in some times and places these are completely appropriate. Our particular aspiration at Sanshin is to retain the intention, meaning and spirit of our simple forms without letting them become empty gestures, done simply because custom dictates that they be done.
Sanshin inherits this simple style from Antaiji. “One of the unique aspects of Antaiji, compared to other Zen temples, was that we conducted almost no ceremonies,” Okumura Roshi recalled. Other than in special circumstances for visitors, there were no daily services and no chanting during the formal meals using oryoki. “We Antaiji monks had a bad reputation when we went to other monasteries for practice because we could not chant even the Heart Sutra without seeing a sutra book.”
At Sanshin we keep forms and ceremonies simple in order to understand what we’re doing and why, and to maintain their connection with zazen. It’s not that forms aren’t important, but that rather than being merely performances or events on a calendar, they should come from the mind of shikantaza as an expression of respect and gratitude.
This approach extends to many aspects of our practice life in addition to forms. At Sanshin, you won’t see the elaborate versions of clerical robes that you may find in Japan or elsewhere. You won’t be placed in a fixed position in a sangha hierarchy. You won’t be practicing in a fancy Asian-style building in front of a complex altar with brocade hangings. All of those elements are truly important in some circumstances, but on a day-to-day basis at Sanshin, we put them aside in favor of something more basic. In that, we follow Uchiyama Roshi’s advice: The zazen practiced among the followers of Bodhidhdharma and Dogen Zenji has nothing to do with whether we have a magnificent building or not. What’s really important is to foster real practitioners. To do that we have to teach bit by bit. The followers of Bodhidharma must persist in this way no matter where they go. [The Wholehearted Way, p. 69]
Within Sanshin style, “real practitioners” are those who rely only on the arousing of bodhi mind and their own awakening rather than the experience of special surroundings in order to practice. Little by little, we simply follow our teachers’ example, watching, learning and emulating until we too deeply understand emptiness and interconnectedness and can embody them moment by moment.
Our manners and customs are uncomplicated, but we try to do them thoroughly and without separation into an “I” that’s “performing” a “ritual.” Without engaging in extras like using them to build our egos or compare ourselves to others, we just engage in forms and ceremonies and fold ourselves seamlessly into the activity of the community. They are done wholeheartedly and sincerely and thus they are alive as the complete functioning of practice-realization. As Sanshin Network member Shoryu Bradley has pointed out, the liturgy that follows morning zazen is the way we dedicate that zazen to all beings, another manifestation of interconnection between sitting, services and the community.
However, Uchiyama Roshi warned that we can get caught up even in the forms related to shikantaza. When [some] people practice zazen, they consider rituals such as turning clockwise or counter-clockwise essential. They make zazen a kind of ceremony. Ceremonies [can be] empty forms that have no real content. They simply become authority. Zazen shouldn’t be [such] a ceremony, but we should live by zazen. [The Wholehearted Way, p. 148]
Ritual forms us as we give it form.
While work practice is an active engagement with the community in this time and place, ritual is an active engagement with the community across space and time. Look around at the way ritual (frequently conflated with form, rite, liturgy, service and ceremony) is explained in North American Soto Zen, and you’ll encounter a few key messages over and over.
Those things aren’t wrong, but they don’t tell the full story. There’s a lot more going on here than ritual as a self-improvement program or ritual as an exercise in sangha building. Ritual, like zazen, is the complete expression of awakening. Awakening that's not expressed in practice is just our idea about awakening. There is no awakening other than what is expressed in practice. Ritual lends form and structure to that expression and gives us the opportunity to inquire deeply into what we're actually doing with body and mind. Sorting out the terms
Let’s get clear about all the terms sometimes associated with ritual so that we know what we’re talking about. We may use them interchangeably, but each has a particular connotation or points to a certain aspect. Form
Form: The shape of something, as opposed to its content or the material from which it’s made. Also, doing something according to recognized standards that have been imposed from outside. In Zen, can refer to enacting practice with the body. Rite
A prescribed form or manner governing the words or actions for a ceremony, particularly religious; also a ceremonial act itself. Ritual
The established form for a ceremony, specifically, the order of words prescribed for a religious ceremony; also a system of rites, or an act or series of acts regularly repeated in a set precise manner. Liturgy
A system of rites for public religious worship; originally the expensive offerings required of the wealthy as gifts to the state and positioned as a “public service.” Service
A form followed in worship or in a religious ceremony, or a meeting for worship. Ceremony
A formal religious or public occasion recognizing a particular event; also an act or series of acts performed according to a traditional or prescribed form. While all of these can be said to refer to actions of the body, form is the only term here that does not imply a public gathering. All the others seem to indicate a predetermined set of actions that happen with and for the benefit of the community. For our purposes here, “ritual” will point toward an organized activity of the sangha, as opposed to personal habitual behavior, like wearing a lucky hat when we play baseball or putting our keys in the same dish each time we come home.
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Resources for ritual
Sanshin style
Resources for forms and ceremonies
Hand positions Bowing Zazen Sundays Weekday mornings Sesshin Ryaku fusatsu
Dogen's approach to ritual
Dogen's canon reflects the two things he was attempting to bring back to Japan from China. One was the doctrines and teachings of the Chan school that he learned from Nyojo, writings that are about Buddhist teachings in a more theoretical or abstract sense such as the Shobogenzo, Eihei Koroku and Hokyoki. The other was the institution of the Chan monastery, including the precepts, as the training ground and container for Zen practice. He felt that this was going to carry the dharma and those doctrines and teachings forward. This part of the canon includes concrete instructions on practice such as Fukanzazengi, Gakudo Yojinshu and the Eihei Shingi. We may think at first that the categories of Dogen's writings are unrelated, that the teachings are what we’re really interested in and the rest is just somehow irrelevant. However, we need to understand that he was trying to make sure that the practice would go on after he was gone. He believed that the monastic container, with its forms and rituals, was necessary for Zen to survive into another generation; thus the teachings and the container are completely interpenetrated. |
Sanshin specialty: Nothing extra
You might be surprised to see a page here on the role of ritual at Sanshin. Given the second of our Six Points of Practice, keeping forms simple so we understand what we’re doing and why, some folks conclude that we don’t do much ritual here because we don’t like it, or don’t think it’s important or meaningful, or just don’t know how. None of those perceptions is accurate.
We don’t do rituals just because they’re on a liturgical calendar, or to carry out a beautiful and exotic performance, or to worship, appease or petition something disconnected from ourselves. However, we do undertake as complex and traditional a ritual as the situation warrants, and we do it as thoroughly and sincerely as we possibly can as a complete expression of awakening. The rituals and ceremonies we do arise directly from the life of the sangha and the needs of practitioners. Often there is an established form within the Soto Zen tradition for meeting these needs, but if not, we're not afraid to create something new. What we mean by keeping forms simple is not doing things any old which way just to get through them because the fine points don’t matter. It’s not stripping our practice of its traditional movements, gestures or implements. It’s not jettisoning elements we don’t yet understand by deciding that they’re irrelevant. “Simple” in this case means there’s nothing extra – no ideas, fabrications, attachments, aversions or assumptions. It’s the same attitude we take to the rest of our practice; when we sit zazen, nothing extra. When we work together as a community, nothing extra. When we study the dharma, nothing extra. When we wear Buddha’s robe, ring bells, offer incense and bows and chant sutras, nothing extra. In other words, keeping forms simple is dropping off body and mind. Okumura Roshi on ritual as interconnectedness
Ritual is important, especially in monastic practice where everything is ritual. It's an expression of our understanding of basic reality, that we live together with others in harmony. How can we express this awakening through our body and mind? Even so, somehow I didn't like monastic practice; there was too much formality. Within the long history of that kind of traditional monastic life, ritual can become simply empty forms. The spirit is not there, especially for the monks who live there for many years. They can do things based on the rituals and formalities without thinking about it. Forms can become really meaningless. However, I still think rituals are important. When we awaken to the fundamental reality that we are living together with others and wish to live with others in harmony, we have to show our gratitude or appreciation to others. In a sense, community life is a miniature of this network of interdependent origination. We live together, help each other and support each other because if we're not careful, we can be very egocentric and we can injure or harm each other. It's important to express our gratitude and appreciation to others, and we need some expression using language or our bodies to carry out rituals such as making prostration or gassho. I think this gesture of gassho is the same as shaking hands in Western culture. When we put these two palms together, we cannot hide anything. We cannot hide a weapon. This gesture shows "I have no intention to harm you." From this position, we cannot attack the person in front of us. Gassho is an expression of friendship, respect and intimacy with a someone. There is another, more polite way of making prostrations. I think it came from the way slaves or servants showed their gratitude to their lord. When we make prostrations, we have to put both hands both elbows and the forehead on the ground. That means we cannot attack at all; we cannot do anything, but the person standing in front of us can do anything. It's really a vulnerable posture. Without that perfect kind of surrender or obeisance, we cannot take this posture. We do this in front of Buddha, holding our hands palm up, figuratively placing Buddha's feet on our hands lifting them higher than our heads. Our heads are the highest point of ourselves, and this posture means I put buddha higher than myself. It expresses that I completely take refuge in Buddha and Buddha's teaching. We do the same posture of prostration in front of our teachers. This is a ritual, but it's an expression of respect and taking refuge. Unless we are careful, we can do this without thinking and make it just a habitual greeting. Putting our minds and our hearts into the form is really important. Form and mind or heart should be together. Otherwise, the simply the form itself is not so meaningful. See the entire interview here. Further study
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