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宗般玄芳 Sōhan Genhō (1848-1922)

松雲 Shōun; 紫野松雲 Murasakino Shōun; 見性宗般 Kenshō Sōhan; 松雲室 Shōun Shitsu; 奥田松雲老師 Okuda Shōun rōshi

Sōhan Gempō (松雲 Shōun, 1948-1922)
The Art of 20th-Century Zen: paintings and calligraphy by Japanese masters (by Stephen Addiss with Audrey Yoshiko Seo, with a chapter by Matthew Welch), Shambhala, Boston, 1998. pp. 84-93.

One-Sroke Daruma by 松雲 Shōun aka 宗般玄芳 Sōhan Genhō (1848-1922)

Sōhan Gempō
by Stephen Addiss
In: The Art of 20th-Century Zen: paintings and calligraphy by Japanese masters
Shambhala, Boston, 1998. pp. 84-93.

Peaceful Daruma

Just as watching
the moon brighten
brings happiness,
so too in the mind
clouds may disappear

Sōhan Gempō, often known as 松雲 Shōun, was born the eldest
son of a Shinto priest in Ishikawa Komatsu. At the age of twelve he became
a monk at Kōgen-ji in Kanazawa. After a long period of study and travel,
Shōun entered Empuku-ji outside Kyoto in 1880 to study uncler the priest
伽山全楞 Kasan Zenryō (1824-1893).

Sōhan Genhō's Dharma Lineage
白隱慧鶴 Hakuin Ekaku (1686-1769)
峨山慈棹 Gasan Jitō (1727-1797)
卓洲胡僊 Takujū Kosen (1760-1833)
蘇山玄喬 Sosan Genkyō (1798-1868)
伽山全楞 Kasan Zenryō (1824-1893)
宗般玄芳 Sōhan Genhō (松雲 Shōun, 1848-1922)
玄峰宜雄 Genpō Giyū (山本 Yamamoto, 1865-1961)

伽山全楞 Kasan Zenryō (1824-1893)
Kasan trained uncler Sekiō Sōmin at Ernpuku-ji and after Sekiō's cleath rnoved
to Tokugen-ji in Nagoya to train uncler Sōzan Genhō (1799-1868), from whom
he eventually received inka. Kasan became head of Chōfuku-ji in lyo and then
was asked to supervise the training hall at Empuku-ji. ln 1881 he moved to Sōkei-ji
in Tokyo, but he returned to Empuku-ji a year later. ln 1883 he traveled to
China to observe Chinese Buddhist practices. Upon his return to Empuku-ji, he
reported to his rnonks that the Chinese rnonks rnaintained the Buddhist precepts
rigorously; he then banned the drinking of alcohol in the temple. He was
appointed abbot of Daitoku-ji in 1891 and died two years later.

Shōun approached his Zen training ancl meditation with complete
determination, and also demonstrated a love of learning. His dedication to
Zen practice was reflectecl in his approach to kōan study. When he received
from Kasan the kōan, "The Single Hand at Mount Fuji's Summit" (a sub-
question of Hakuin's "Sound of One Hancl Clapping''), Shōun climbed Fuji
and meclitated there in an attempt to penetrate the kōan. When Kasan
not satisfied with his answers, Shōun climbed Fuji again. ln all, Shōun
climbed Fuji seven times seeking to deepen his understanding of the kōan.

Many late-nineteenth-century monks approached Zen training
Shōun did. Not highly eclucated, and not having attended college, they took
a pragmatic rather than intellectual approach to their Zen studies. lf the
kōan was about Fuji, it made sense to go directly to Fuji and experience it.
These monks were considered very serious in an earnest way, regardless of
outside study. ln this regard Nantenbō attended a meeting at
Kennin-ji in Kyoto in 1879 to cliscuss the planned establishment of a large
Zen studies center. Nantenbō believed that monks should concentrate on
their monastic training practice rather than scholarship. He wrote:

The most important thing is to understand the Buddha's spirit. Even laymen
can study. They have money [for books], so they can study. We should not compete
with such laymen ín scholarship. Other sects, as a business, sell the Buddha's
spirit through scholarship. . . What we should have is a big Zen
training hall to discipline true priests who can then serve our country.

Shōun eventually left Empuku-ji and went to Dōrin-ji in Tokyo to
train under Nantenbō, from whom he eventually received inka. He then returned
to study further under Kasan at Empuku-ji. Upon completion of his
training in 1893, Shōun went to Kenshō-ji in Kumamoto and took the name
見性 Kenshō.

In 1898 the monk Hōrin of Empuku-ji died, and Shōun was invited to
return to his former temple to run the rnonks' training program in the sōdō.
At this time he took the name 松雲室 Shōun Shitsu and initiated the repair and
renovation of the ternple's structures as well as tending to its lay followers.

Shōun was warm-hearted, candid, and unpretentious in manner.
Large in stature, he was affectionately referred to as Hotei after the jolly god
of good fortune (Chinese, Pu-t'ai). When visiting the houses of his parishioners,
Shōun often amused the children by carrying them around on his
back. His unassuming nature did not change while he was at the temple.
Even a visít by the chief priest of Kenshō-ji in 1898 did not affect Shōun's
personality; he treated all people the same. For this reason he was known as
a modern-day Ikkyū. His easygoing nature is revealed in one of his poems:

For fifty years
I have been satisfied
roasting chestnuts—
my chopsticks are also
a dream of the floating world.

In 1901 Shōun traveled to China to observe local religious practices,
just as his teacher Kasan had done eight years earlier. In Shōun's absence,
Nantenbō was asked to take over the monk's training hall, but he stayed less
than a year. Convinced that the monks lacked any determination or subtance,
Nantenbō left Empuku-ji in disgust, turning the training program
back to Shōun. Since he was already well versed in many religious teachings,
Shōun's one-and-a-half-year stay in China had only enhanced his
knowledge and deepened his spiritual awareness. Upon his return to Japan,
his composure and dignity had increased and he revealed a more active, energetic
approach to life and Zen practice—as if the whole world were now
his temple.

In 1908 Shōun was appointed Kanchō of the major Kyoto temple
Daitoku-ji; he served three consecutive terms, until 1922. Daitoku-ji has one
of the longest and richest histories of all Zen rnonasteries in Japan. Built in
1319 as a temple to house the increasing number of followers who carne to
study with Daitō Kokushi (1282-1337), Daitoku-ji rose to prominence originally
as one of the Gozan (Five Mountains) but eventually received special
status as the rnonastery in which prayers for the Ernperor's health were
given, thus forging strong Irnperial ties. During the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries Daitoku-ji becarne the center of Zen cultural activities, particularly
the tea cerernony under tea rnasters such as Sen no Rikyū (1522-1591)
and Kobori Enshū (1579-1647). Its role as a cultural center fostered increasing
Irnperial and political patronage of the temple during this period. As a
result, Daitoku-ji Zen Masters wielded considerable influence in medieval
Japan culturally, spiritually, and politically.

Nevertheless, on the day of his shinzan (investiture) ceremony, Shōun
approached the event as he would any other. Not one for pretense, even on
this momentous occasion he left Empuku-ji unawed by the coming events,
strolling to Daitoku-ji in plain robes. Having no concern for ceremonial
matters, he had no perception of the need for special attire for this ceremony.
On his journey to Daitoku-ji, Shōun gazed at the scenery as he
strolled along casually. If his legs got tired, he simply stopped and stretched
out in a grassy field until he was rested, then continued on his way. Even the
pageantry of this auspicious ceremony left him unfazed.

As Kanchō of such a large and culturally prominent temple as
Daitoku-ji, Shōun was responsible for numerous administrative duties encompassing
hundreds of Daitoku-ji sect temples and subtemples throughout
Japan. He was also obliged to represent the temple in an official capacity at
large Buddhist assemblies and Imperial functions. For example, when the
Taishō Emperor was crowned in 1912, Shōun was invited to come to the ceremony.
Not interested in pomp and circumstance, he attended out of obligation.
He left the temple in his usual everyday robes, and when he arrived at
the ceremony looking like a beggar, he was quickly escorted by a guard to the
local police station. After questioning by the police chief, it was revealed that
this "beggar" was in fact Abbot of Daitoku-ji. Shōun was allowed to leave.

Despite his casual manner and lack of formal education, Shōun was
well versed in Buddhist texts and history, as well as being skilled in calligraphy,
painting, and seal carving. He also had a great affinity for poetry, both
Chinese and Japanese, and often composed waka (five-line poems in Japanese),
many of which were collected in an anthology titled Dokuge-shū. One
of these waka shows his respect for the earlier Zen Master Sengai Gibon
(1750-1837):

UPON READING SENGAI'S WAKA
COLLECTION, DRIFTING BOAT

In this world
a drifting boat
in any bay or inlet
when entrusted to the breeze
can cross over to the other side.

Other poems by Shōun reflect his daily life. Tōzan Sōkaku Rōshi of
Empuku-ji recounted that, as an attendant to Shōun, he once escorted his
Master to Kyoto Station when Shōun was embarking on a lecture tour. First-
class tickets had been purchased by Tōzan, but Shōun was nowhere to be
found; a station attendant had mistakenly escorted him to the third-class car.
Tōzan eventually found Shōun seated in a small corner seat. "Rōshi, the first-
class car is this way," explained Tōzan. "Oh, is that so?" replied Shōun, not
bothered by any problems or inconveniences. As they made their way to the
first-class car, Tōzan described the Rōshi's retreating figure as "floating without
a care." On journeys such as this, Shōun found time to write poetry:

COMPOSED IN A TRAIN

The autumn moon
exchanged from the past
to right now—
seen from a train
it looks rather charming.

One day in the Spring of 1919 Shōun was traveling with two of his
pupils, one of whom was Yamamoto Gempō. The two
young monks got into a discussion of what the following day's weather would
be like as they continued on their journev with Shōun. The first monk said
it would be good weather, but Gempō said, "No, tornorrow it will rain."
Back and forth they argued, good weather, bad weather. Finallv Shōun, who
was amused by the discussion, suggested that the loser of the discussion
should chant the Wísdom Sutra (Hannya-kyō) one thousand times for the
winner's benefit. The monks agreed. The next morning as they departed the
inn, the day was clear, but when they boarded the boat, a few drops of rain
fell. Gempō claimecl that he was victorious, but the other monk claimecl he
was the winner since it had been clear when they left the inn. Neither would
give in. Finally they mutually agreed to chant the Wisdom Sutra one thousand
times for the benefit of each other. Shōun congratulatecl them on their
solution.

Despite his warm-heartecl, easygoing nature, Shōun was strict in the
training hall. For examp]e, one day when a monk offered an answer to a
kōan, Shōun turned to his desk and started doing calligraphy instead of listening.
The monk, having no method for dealing with this situation, went
and sat down next to Shōun, who was still doing calligraphy, and offered his
solution to the kōan again. Again there was no expression of acknowledgment.
When the monk was finishecl, Shōun did not say yes or no. The monk
finally concluded by hirnself that the kōan had not been penetrated; realizing
this, he had no choice but to leave the room.

Shōun was very' firm with his followers ancl didn't give them any hints
in their kōan training. ln his chambers, when a monk gave a correct answer,
Shōun merely nodded his head, but if an incorrect answer was given, here
revealed only indifference. Receiving even one word in reply was encouraging
to the monks, but when only silence was received, Shōun's fierceness was
understood. Similarly, Shōun showed no care for comfort or ease. One of his
waka exemplifies the rigors of temple life:

LINGERING COLD WIND

Again this moming
the wind blows cold—
at the mountain temple
water offered to the Buddha
remains solid ice

Although temple life was strict, Shōun received lay visitors graciously,
and every day people could request a visit at any time. As a believer in country
manners, he made no social or economic distinctions. If someone was
seeking the Way, Shōun would devote his attentions to providing a serious
explanation to this one person. He generally spoke with a storyteller's art,
projecting a warrn magnanimity.

Collecting antiques was Shōun's only hobby. In particular, he had
great affinity for Buddhist sculpture and while traveling he took pleasure in
walking to secondhand shops to see if he could find any unique pieces. If
there happened to be a sculpture with some spirit, he would disregard the
expense and buy it. Handing over the Master's purse, his attendant, who was
unaccustorned to this type of extravagance, thought it quite serious. At worst,
if Shōun purchased a particularly costly piece, the attendant would repeatedly
chastise hím. Sometimes Shōun didn't have enough money, so his attendant
would be sent back to pay for it later.

Shōun lined up the sculptures in his room and was very particular
about their order and placement. In the morning the attendant would come
in to clean the room and had to do it quickly while the other monks were doing
their morning chanting. Occasionally, a sculpture got put back in the
wrong place, upsetting Shōun. Fukushima Keidō Rōshi of Tōfuku-ji explains
that this type of appreciation for something is a form of samari, rneaning
"at play," committed fully but with playfulness.

Shōun's own artworks reflect his natural demeanor—sometimes playful
but alwavs maintaining a powerful Zen presence. In his image of a menpeki
Daruma (wall-facing Daruma), Shōun has brushed an imposing shape
that represents the seated figure of the Zen Patriarch as he meditated before
a wall for nine years at a Shaolin temple in China. Such menpeki
figures, usually created with a single, continuous stroke of the brush, have
been popular images in Zen since the Edo period when Zen Masters such
as 大心義統 Daishin Gitō (1656-1730), Hakuin, and Tōrei created simplified
representations of the Patriarch. Shōun's teacher, Nantembō, also created
single-stroke figures and in his accompanying inscription often likened their
shape to the melons and eggplants of the Yamashiro district of Kyoto.

Unlike most menpeki images, which depict the figure from the back
with a single outline, Shōun's figure is less clearly defined and the brushstroke
circles around into the figure's interior. We know that the abstracted
shape is Daruma because of the inscription above:

The old wall-gazer's form
seen from behind
springtime of flowers.

If we examine a srnaller work of the sarne subject by Shōun, we see
that he has utilized the same basic shape curling in upon itself (PLATE 42),
but in this example he has added two eyes at the top, thereby more clearly
defining the figure by enhancing the impression of a face with a frowning
mouth. The inscription on the smaller irnage is the same haiku as on the
previous scroll.

In the larger work, Shōun not only has omitted the eyes, but has approached
the subject differently; the brushstroke is a bold sweep of black,
punctuated by sections of "flying white" where the white paper shows
through the ink. This is particularly prominent on the right side of the figure
where Shōun's brush comes up and then circles inward. This "flying white,"
beyond adding visual interest and variety, enhances the sense of gestural en-
ergy. The shape of the larger figure is also more balanced and stable: it does
not reveal the slighth precarious balance of the smaller image, but appears
solid and stable in meditation. Without any eyes, it seems to have closed in
upon itself in concentration. Thus, even in what may seem like a simple, abstracted
image, the spiritual essence and power of a Zen Master is revealed,
not merely in the representational subject but in a dramatic artistic gesture.

[...]

One of Shōun's landscapes, painted on an album leaf, is minimalistic
but still powerfullv direct in its austerity (PLATE 45). With five
strokes of his brush (the descending stroke broken into three sections), he
deftly reveals the shape of Mount Fuji. Since it is one of the most revered
symbols in Japanese culture, there is no need for additional detail or scenic
enhancement; the shape is instantly recognizable. To the left, Shōun has
written an inscription reflecting more Shinto than Buddhist sentiments:

Above the clouds
towers Mount Fuji's
lofty peak—
the eternal mother's form
from the age of the gods.

Like other Zen Masters before him, Shōun also painted on objects
including ceramics for the tea ceremony. In one exarnple, he boldly
painted an image of pine trees in blue on the surface of a teabowl, the knotted
trunk rising up with needled branches outstretched, as clouds float in
the background (PLATE 46). Because the inscription is signed at age seventy-five,
the year he died, the painting can be interpreted as a type of final selfportrait
since the image of a pine tree (shō) and clouds (un) reflects his
name, Shōun.

Shöun's disciple Yamamoto Gempō later commented, "When a sick
man begins to gasp out his last breath, 'Paku paku,' I know he has little time
left. ... Monks in training have many chances to see people in their final
moments. Sōhan would say to me when someone was dying, 'Please come
and be in attendance; it is good for you to witness this."

Shōun himself died peacefully on December, 23, 1922, at the age of
seventy-five. The following poem was chanted at his funeral:

My followers appear hazy—
like the moon of Suma and Maigo
on a summer evening.