UnMind 19. Zen Practice Quartet 3: Gassho

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Gassho is the bow.
The Buddhist bow, not social —
their meanings differ.

“Gassho” is the Japanese word for the Buddhist bow. The palm-to-palm gesture is not limited exclusively to Zen or Buddhism, of course, but appears ubiquitously across various cultures and religious systems. The bow in Zen is not simply a greeting, however, nor does it signify a kind of prayer.

Matsuoka Roshi explained that one hand represents the person or self we are trying to improve, or perhaps to rid ourselves of altogether. The other denotes the idealized self, or “buddha-nature,” which literally means “fully awake.” So the Buddhist bow indicates the aspiration to wake up spiritually, as Buddha is said to have done.

The two seemingly separate hands are obviously not separate, but part of one body, one being. Similarly, the ideal self and the ordinary self are seen as not separate, but innately one, or at least, not-two. When we bow to each other, it means that we recognize each other’s buddha-nature, the same for both of us. When we bow upon entering the zendo, it expresses appreciation for having a practice place, and similarly when we bow to our cushion. When in doubt, bow, in such situations. It is almost never the wrong thing to do.

But the Zen bow is not a social greeting. Making the gassho to somebody on the street in Tokyo, say, would be equivalent to genuflecting to someone, other than the Pope, on the streets of Rome. The social bow in Japan is less formal, the hands resting on the thighs, or clasped together on the stomach, with the thumbs hidden, called shashu in Japanese. Variations on this theme are seen in martial arts circles as the students bow to the teacher, sensei, to the referee, or to each other, when beginning a match.

When we first begin imitating our teacher and other members of our Zen community by participating in the bowing, it can feel artificial, like public religiosity; or obsequiousness, placing ourselves below another; or even idolatry, when bowing to the altar during chanting service. It is none of these things, however, and with enough repetition, the simple act of bowing becomes empty of such associations.

Paul Klee, the famous artist who was part of the Bauhaus faculty in Weimar, Germany before the war, produced prints from etchings early in his career. One of them illustrated two gentlemen in the costume of the time, with large feathered hats, bowing and scraping to each other in a flagrant display of social ingratiation. The caption indicated that the two were meeting for the first time, each suspecting the other to be of higher rank. So it is understandable that we would cast a jaundiced eye on such shenanigans in the context of Zen.

But even the deep prostration bow — where one drops to one’s knees, stretching out on one’s elbows, and touching the forehead to the floor — does not represent subjugation to a higher power, or any other connotations such behavior may imply, in religious or political settings. It is simply a way of throwing oneself into the bow, as a total mark of devotion. Looked at from a global perspective, it becomes clear that the body is turning toward the earth, curling up into the fetal position, then returning to the upright stance. Perhaps it suggests man’s evolution from quadrupedal to bipedal ambulation. One curious translation of Buddha’s titles I have seen declared that he was “honored among bipeds.”

Master Dogen reminds us, in Raihai Tokuzui, “Prostration to the Attainment of the Marrow,” that we prostrate even to a seven-year-old girl, if she is a Dharma-holder. This was an even more radical idea in the misogynistic Japan of his day than it is in the cultural context of 21st century America, which is still misogynistic. But it still holds true. Buddha-nature is not gendered. Nor is it dependent upon age, intelligence, or any other arbitrary circumstance of birth or status. It is our innate birthright as human beings.

Eventually, through sufficient repetition, and after the bow has emptied itself of any preconceived significance, like the proverbial teacup, it may fill back up with deeper meaning, but one that we may not be able to articulate to others. It becomes deeply personal, yet also transcendental, and a complementary activity to our meditation practice. Some sects stress bowing as many as 108 times each day, all in one go, and some Soto rituals go even beyond that.

The half-prostrations typical of Zen are actually very good for promoting flexibility of the joints, as well as resilience of the body, and breathing in general, a bit like aerobic exercises. Like most aspects of Zen practice, the traditional protocol has both a deep symbolic dimension, as well as a practical effect.

In public, of course, we do not make an ostentatious display of bowing to each other, nor chanting the meal chant in a restaurant, or flashing our wrist mala, called juzu in Japanese. We tend to err on the side of humility, keeping our light under a bushel, as the saying goes. We do not even self-identify as “Buddhist” as such, as this would be simply substituting one arbitrary self-identity label for another. We leave the question of what we are as just that — a question.

The bow can evolve to a point that it is not necessary to actually bow. We may find ourselves bowing internally, so to speak, when confronted with a difficult situation, or when something particularly auspicious seems to occur. The bow becomes more of an attitude than an activity.

There is an interesting term in modern Zen called the “negative bodhisattva.” At least I think it is a relatively recent development, not being sure of its provenance. Others may treat you badly, even bordering on verbal or emotional abuse, such as a bad boss or an irritating colleague. When and if this occurs, as your practice matures, you may find yourself regarding such behavior as teaching you the Dharma, though in a way that you do not really appreciate. From such a standpoint you may recognize that your reaction to their actions has changed dramatically. You may even see their behavior as a peculiar form of suffering.

If this is the case, it may signal the opening of your eye of compassion. Be sure to balance it with wisdom. Reacting to others, or taking action to benefit them, is the other side of the coin. Whatever an individual may think they want — what they may want from you, or for you to do for them — it may not be the best thing, either for them or for you. That is, sometimes, true compassion looks like cruelty. The action you take may appear indifferent or uncaring, but its deeper import is the opposite. Like tough love, the intention is to help the recipient get over — or beyond — whatever ignorance may be getting in their way. But you cannot be attached to the outcome. It is their life, not yours.