This is a delightfully frank, clear study of Zen practice. I understand it is widely considered one of the best books on Zen, specifically zazen, which is why I turned to it in the middle of a brief course I am taking at the Chapel Hill Zen Center in North Carolina.
Kasho Uchiyama was somewhat unique in that he began his studies focused on Western philosophy and Christianity before deciding to become a Zen priest and eventually serving as the abbott of a Zen temple near Kyoto. As a consequence, he had a good handle on many of the left-brain tricks Western civilization plays in highlighting the analytic, rational dimensions of human experience at the expense of the right-brain's tendency to wander in the synthetic, irrational dimensions of experience that emphasize unity over division.
His fundamental point, made repeatedly in different ways, is that Zen is the self being the self, meaning that that which we consider our individual self actually is indivisible from the interdependent totality of the universal self. I am inseparable from you, you from me, we from the wind, the present moment, and the peace of recognizing that the best way to understand this is through minimal exertion and ambition, i.e., through zazen, which is sitting quietly for forty and fifty minutes at a time in a certain posture that facilitates our observing the illusory nature of our thoughts coming and going, changing nothing.
He draws on sayings of the Buddha and ancient Zen masters deftly, tells tales and recounts parables, and deals with the confusion that words inevitably generate by suggesting we practice zazen to experience the wordless moments that come before and between thoughts.
The impact of the book definitely is enhanced by the collaborative translation efforts of Tom Wright, Jisho Warner, and Shohaku Warner. They give Uchiyama a relaxed, personal voice in English that reads almost like a transcript of someone simply thinking out loud.
Real masters in a discipline are often this simple and direct. King Lear is more simply written than Hamlet, for example. This is known as "old age style" and can be found throughout the arts.
A book about zazen is in some ways a non sequitur. As Uchiyama frequently points out, the issue is not really discussing zazen but rather sitting for ten years and then sitting for another ten years. That's when you come to understand the significance of sitting. Enlightenment or mental health or stress reduction are not on his agenda. To the contrary, he maintains that the more goal-oriented you are, aggrandizing your personal self, the less likely you will be to come into touch with the universal self.
He contends that zen is more or less a godless religion but a religion nonetheless. The reason for this appears to be that he considers God to be what some others might think of as that fuzzy term, the Godhead, that is, the universal self from which we emerge and to which we return, life and death being a necessary continuum, more peaceful and compassionate and less disturbing when it is thought of as such. There is no apex in this continuum, no crisis, no heaven, no hell, simply an opportunity to pass from one's individual self into the aforementioned universal self.
I'm in accord with William James on religions: if they have a positive effect on the believer or practitioner, good. This "proves" nothing about metaphysical reality in an empirical sense, but pragmatically, it suggests they "work." Almost all of us can tell when a believer or practitioner is happy and at peace. If you read this book, you will see that Uchiyama, whose life was not always easy, clearly found happiness and peace.