“Receive a guest,” advised the Zen master Soyen Shaku (1860-1919), “with the same attitude you have when alone. When alone, maintain the same attitude you have in receiving guests.”
Zen masters’ pronouncements are often enigmatic, but this one is particularly baffling. For one thing, it seems to blur, if not collapse, the distinction between social and private conduct. What we do and say when hosting a guest may be very different from our speech and behavior when no one is in earshot and no one is watching. And rather than liberate our minds, as Zen teachings purport to do, Shaku Roshi’s admonition seems unduly restrictive. When we are alone and things go awry, the words we choose to express our frustrations may be impermissible in public discourse. And conversely, the constraints we impose upon ourselves when entertaining guests may be irrelevant to the ways we dress, speak, and act when home alone.
Yet if Shaku Roshi’s advice may be puzzling to a Western sensibility, it becomes more intelligible if understood in the context of traditional Japanese culture in general and the formal tea ceremony in particular. In that venerable ritual, traditionally conducted in a tea hut, both host and guest have prescribed roles to play. The host must assemble and arrange such essentials as a Zen slogan for the hanging scroll in the alcove, seasonal flowers, and sweets to accompany the tea. And his or her physical movements throughout the ceremony must be orchestrated down to the last detail. Little wonder that tea masters train for many years to perfect their exacting art.
On the other side of the host-guest equation, guests are expected to observe the conventional protocols. Before entering the tea hut, they cleanse their mouths in water from a stone basin. Entering, they pass through a low door, requiring even the most self-important guest to assume a posture of humility. Once inside, guests are to bow when appropriate, to assume a kneeling posture as they prepare to be served, and to express appreciation for the beauty of the tea bowls. Together, these ritualized interactions, performed within the muted setting of the tearoom, generate an atmosphere consistent with the four principles governing the formal tea ceremony: Respect, Purity, Harmony, and Tranquility.
Such an atmosphere is as rare as it is desirable, and the conditions by which it is created may well be unique to its place and occasion. But the attitudes underlying the Way of Tea, derived primarily from the Zen tradition, may be cultivated anywhere and at any time, whether one is sitting alone in zazen (seated meditation), or hosting a public event, or having a few friends over for dinner and conversation.
Chief among those attitudes is the practice of continuous attention, which encompasses both the one-pointed attention of zazen and what is sometimes called “soft eyes”: the panoramic vision required of quarterbacks, equestrians, and soldiers on reconnaissance. Just as the tea master meticulously attends to the processes of brewing and serving tea, committed Zen practitioners strive to remain mindful throughout the day, whether they are sitting in zazen, chopping vegetables, or raking leaves. And whether they are alone or in company is largely irrelevant. Although the objects of attention will differ, the quality of attention will remain the same.
Second, Zen practitioners are encouraged to remain open to whatever is presently occurring, within and without. “Include everything,” a traditional Zen slogan, encapsulates this aspect of the practice. Contrary to popular belief, Zen is not a practice of splendid isolation. Nor is it a practice of detachment. Rather, practitioners endeavor to welcome the whole of their experience but to do so with an attitude of non-attachment. Thoughts, sensations, and feelings are allowed to arrive, endure, and dissipate on their own. Practitioners may arrive at important insights, which they can act upon at a later time. But while engaged in zazen, they aspire to a state of stillness, silence, and non-judgmental awareness. “Everything” may indeed be included, but it is not to be judged, reacted to, or pursued.
Third and last, Zen practice fosters an attitude of non-separation. “We are here,” wrote the Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh, “to awaken from the illusion of separateness.” Rather than view the self as separate and apart from other people, groups, and cultures, Zen teachings urge awareness of the web of interconnectedness that unites the individual with the larger human family. In similar fashion, practitioners are encouraged to treat the natural world with reverence and respect, rather than as a resource to be ruthlessly exploited.
As twenty-first century Westerners, we live in a culture far removed from medieval Japan. But in a time when sustained attention, openness, and awareness of interdependence are often in short supply, there is much to be learned from the custom of serving and receiving tea in an atmosphere of tranquility and respect. And whatever the historical and cultural distance, there is much to be said for treating both ourselves and others as honored guests.