Essays in Zen Buddhism · 56 of 66

The Meditation Hall and Monastic Life, Part 3

As there is something to be regarded as peculiarly Zen in the table manners of the monks, some description of them will be given here.

At meal times a gong is struck, and the monks come out of the Meditation Hall in procession carrying their own bowls to the dining room. The low tables are laid there all bare. They sit when the leader rings the bell. The bowls are set,—which by the way are made of wood or paper and well lacquered. A set consists of four or five dishes, one inside the other. As they are arranging the dishes and the waiting monks go around to serve the soup and rice, the Prajñā-pāramitā-hṛidaya-sūtra is recited followed by the “Five Meditations” on eating, which are: “First, of what worth am I? Whence is this offering? Secondly, accepting this offering, I must reflect on the deficiency of my virtue. Thirdly, to guard over my own heart, to keep myself away from faults such as covetousness, etc.,—this is the essential thing. Fourthly, this food is taken as good medicine in order to keep the body in a healthy condition. Fifthly, to ensure spiritual attainment this food is accepted.” After these “Meditations,” they continue to think about the essence of Buddhism: “The first mouthful is to cut off all evils; the second mouthful is to practise every good; the third mouthful is to save all sentient beings so that everybody will finally attain to Buddhahood.”

They are now ready to take up their chop-sticks, but before they actually partake of the sumptuous dinner, the demons or spirits living somewhere in the triple world are remembered; and each monk taking out about seven grains from his own bowl, offers them to those unseen, saying, “O you, demons and other spiritual beings, I now offer this to you, and may this food fill up the ten quarters of the world and all the demons and other spiritual beings be fed therewith.”

While eating quietude prevails. The dishes are handled noiselessly, no word is uttered, no conversation goes on. Eating is a serious affair with them. When a second bowl of rice is wanted, the monk folds his hands before him. The monk-waiter notices it, comes round with the rice-receptacle called ohachi, and sits before the hungry one. The latter takes up his bowl and lightly passes his hand around the bottom before it is handed to the waiter. He means by this to take off whatever dirt that may have attached itself to the bowl and that is likely to soil the hand of the serving monk. While the bowl is filled, the eater keeps his hands folded. If he does not want so much, he gently rubs the hands against each other, which means “Enough, thank you.”

Nothing is to be left when the meal is finished. The monks eat up all that is served them, “gathering up of the fragments that remain.” This is their religion. After a fourth helping of rice, the meal generally comes to an end. The leader claps the wooden blocks and the serving monks bring hot water. Each diner fills the largest bowl with it, and in it all the smaller dishes are neatly washed, and wiped with a piece of cloth which each monk carries. Now a wooden pail goes around to receive the slops. Each monk gathers up his dishes and wraps them up once more, saying, “I have now finished eating, and my physical body is well nourished: I feel as if my will-power would shake the ten quarters of the world and dominate over the past, present, and future: turning both the cause and the effect over to the general welfare of all beings, may we all unfailingly gain in powers miraculous!” The tables are now empty as before except those rice grains offered to the spiritual beings at the beginning of the meal. The wooden blocks are clapped, thanks are given, and the monks leave the room in orderly procession as they came in.