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Crooked Cucumber: The Life and Zen Teaching of Shunryu Suzuki
Shunryu Suzuki is known to countless readers as the author of the modern spiritual classic Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind . This most influential teacher comes vividly to life in Crooked Cucumber , the first full biography of any Zen master to be published in the West. To make up his intimate and engrossing narrative, David Chadwick draws on Suzuki's own words and the memories of his students, friends, and family. Interspersed with previously unpublished passages from Suzuki's talks, Crooked Cucumber evokes a down-to-earth life of the spirit. Along with Suzuki we can find a way to "practice with mountains, trees, and stones and to find ourselves in this big world."
468 pages, Paperback
First published February 9, 1999
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November 9, 2021
I’ve just read 400 pages about a Buddhist monk? The subject matter seems like a snoozer, yet I was riveted. I had read two of Suzuki’s dharma books, which reveal something of his kind personality, but this biography which surveys his long training as a monk in Japan and his subsequent removal with his wife and son to America is a pleasure and a heartbreak.
American Zen has the advantage of not being weighed down by 15 centuries of tradition such as Suzuki Shunryu Suzuki went through in pre-WW2 Japan. His father was a Zen master, so Shunryu grew out of that culture. Perhaps that was the background he needed to emerge from enormous spiritual and personal challenges so unruffled and clearheaded. In the 1930s the Japanese state licensed Suzuki to teach ethics. Under this mantle of protection he wrote pieces during wartime on such questions as “What are the root causes of peace?” Such abstract discussions permitted him to operate free of the police.
In the same way, more than twenty years later, when visited by the J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI—for Suzuki was a figure in San Francisco’s so called “countercultural” circles by then; he’d waved to a jubilant crowd from the stage of a Grateful Dead concert, a “zenefit” supporting the acquisition of land on which the Tassajara monastery would rise—he out maneuvered the agents by telling them, “Oh yes, I have a son in Vietnam. He’s a barber and a mechanic in the U.S. Army. He enlisted. My wife is worried about him, but I think he needed to get out and do something.” He then showed them a letter from the soldier son.
If one knows Suzuki’s books, especially his first, Zen Mind, Beginners Mind, one sees how his wartime behavior is completely in accordance with his pacifism, his belief in the Buddhist precepts, and the enlightened thought of the 13th century founder of the Soto school, Dogen, who wrote the key Soto Zen text, Shobogenzo.
I don’t believe much here is hagiography here. Certainly some sanitizing has occurred in the writing. That’s in the nature of texts; they distort. But the author’s approach is warts and all. Suzuki, for example, was for much of his life given to fits of temper and he was terribly absentminded. Chadwick had even worried about the possibility of authorial distortion early on when considering whether or not to write the book.
Suzuki had a sizable family. While still in Japan, he was very much the gruff Japanese patriarch. Suzuki was rough with his children in a manner reminiscent of his father, and his taciturn first master, So-on. When his second wife was brutally killed by a mentally disturbed monk, he blamed himself. The scene in which he apologizes to his children, and asks that they hate him, instead of the assailant, is profoundly moving.
But Suzuki grew restive in Japan, where Zen has long been in decline, in part because the temple system allows fathers to pass possession of temples down to theirs sons, who may have little or no interest in Zen. Suzuki decided to go to America in his mid-fifties, which constituted the renewal of a very young man’s dream. He was shocked by the filthy state of Sokoji when he arrived in San Francisco. He began to clean. Slowly he attracted disciples. He reinstated zazen as the rightful keystone of the zendo. But his elderly Japanese-American congregation, which had a dated ancestor-worship view of Zen, were increasingly at odds with the hippie newcomers, whom Suzuki was grooming as disciples, and they rudely fired him. In the end it was a blessing. For he carried on his teaching of Zen in other digs, the San Francisco Zen Center, and its satellite, Zen Mountain Monastery in Tassajara, California. Green Gulch Farm was acquired posthumously.
(It was at SFZC that Chris, the young son of Robert M. Pirsig, was staying when he was brutally murdered in the Haight district. If you’ve read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance you may know this sad tale, which happened after the book’s initial publication in 1974, and which Pirsig wrote about in an anniversary edition Afterword.)
For those who have read Suzuki’s books— I have read two of the three—there’s the added attraction here that author Chadwick went through some 300 hours of Suzuki’s dharma lectures (teisho) and pulled many quotes that he uses interstitially throughout the book, virtually new material that’s never seen publication. It’s reassuring hearing Suzuki’s voice again saying new and unknown things. That alone, I think, is worth the price of the book. But there’s so much more.
The second half of the biography is really the story of the sangha that grew around him in San Francisco. He died of cancer in 1969. He is said to have been the first Soto Zen master to have come from Japan to teach in America and start a monastery, which is Tassajara. His dharma heirs have ensured that the institution he started has endured.
American Zen has the advantage of not being weighed down by 15 centuries of tradition such as Suzuki Shunryu Suzuki went through in pre-WW2 Japan. His father was a Zen master, so Shunryu grew out of that culture. Perhaps that was the background he needed to emerge from enormous spiritual and personal challenges so unruffled and clearheaded. In the 1930s the Japanese state licensed Suzuki to teach ethics. Under this mantle of protection he wrote pieces during wartime on such questions as “What are the root causes of peace?” Such abstract discussions permitted him to operate free of the police.
In the same way, more than twenty years later, when visited by the J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI—for Suzuki was a figure in San Francisco’s so called “countercultural” circles by then; he’d waved to a jubilant crowd from the stage of a Grateful Dead concert, a “zenefit” supporting the acquisition of land on which the Tassajara monastery would rise—he out maneuvered the agents by telling them, “Oh yes, I have a son in Vietnam. He’s a barber and a mechanic in the U.S. Army. He enlisted. My wife is worried about him, but I think he needed to get out and do something.” He then showed them a letter from the soldier son.
If one knows Suzuki’s books, especially his first, Zen Mind, Beginners Mind, one sees how his wartime behavior is completely in accordance with his pacifism, his belief in the Buddhist precepts, and the enlightened thought of the 13th century founder of the Soto school, Dogen, who wrote the key Soto Zen text, Shobogenzo.
I don’t believe much here is hagiography here. Certainly some sanitizing has occurred in the writing. That’s in the nature of texts; they distort. But the author’s approach is warts and all. Suzuki, for example, was for much of his life given to fits of temper and he was terribly absentminded. Chadwick had even worried about the possibility of authorial distortion early on when considering whether or not to write the book.
Suzuki had a sizable family. While still in Japan, he was very much the gruff Japanese patriarch. Suzuki was rough with his children in a manner reminiscent of his father, and his taciturn first master, So-on. When his second wife was brutally killed by a mentally disturbed monk, he blamed himself. The scene in which he apologizes to his children, and asks that they hate him, instead of the assailant, is profoundly moving.
But Suzuki grew restive in Japan, where Zen has long been in decline, in part because the temple system allows fathers to pass possession of temples down to theirs sons, who may have little or no interest in Zen. Suzuki decided to go to America in his mid-fifties, which constituted the renewal of a very young man’s dream. He was shocked by the filthy state of Sokoji when he arrived in San Francisco. He began to clean. Slowly he attracted disciples. He reinstated zazen as the rightful keystone of the zendo. But his elderly Japanese-American congregation, which had a dated ancestor-worship view of Zen, were increasingly at odds with the hippie newcomers, whom Suzuki was grooming as disciples, and they rudely fired him. In the end it was a blessing. For he carried on his teaching of Zen in other digs, the San Francisco Zen Center, and its satellite, Zen Mountain Monastery in Tassajara, California. Green Gulch Farm was acquired posthumously.
(It was at SFZC that Chris, the young son of Robert M. Pirsig, was staying when he was brutally murdered in the Haight district. If you’ve read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance you may know this sad tale, which happened after the book’s initial publication in 1974, and which Pirsig wrote about in an anniversary edition Afterword.)
For those who have read Suzuki’s books— I have read two of the three—there’s the added attraction here that author Chadwick went through some 300 hours of Suzuki’s dharma lectures (teisho) and pulled many quotes that he uses interstitially throughout the book, virtually new material that’s never seen publication. It’s reassuring hearing Suzuki’s voice again saying new and unknown things. That alone, I think, is worth the price of the book. But there’s so much more.
The second half of the biography is really the story of the sangha that grew around him in San Francisco. He died of cancer in 1969. He is said to have been the first Soto Zen master to have come from Japan to teach in America and start a monastery, which is Tassajara. His dharma heirs have ensured that the institution he started has endured.
September 18, 2011
I don't have heros, but Shunryu Suzuki comes close. He is as human as you and I, with countless faults, bad habits and temptations. His life shows us that we can all be a Zen master, that it doesnt require a person with perfect character. It requires hard work and dedication, it requires constant attention and patience and a beginner's mind. But these characteristics are available in all persons, including you and me. That's what I like about his teaching: it is firm, it is strict, but it always accepts that we are human, that we are faulty.
Suzuki lives as Zen priest in Japan until he decides to bring his teaching to the US. He is the first Japanese Zen teacher that is able to translate and implement Zen teaching in Western society by bringing the strict rules of Zen without being authoritive. David Chadwick shows in great detail the activities and discussions between Suzuki and his American students, but I think that the actual tight-rope balance between the clashing American culture and Zen teaching cannot be described in a book. Only by seeing and hearing Suzuki will a person be able to understand why so many people in the US finally understood Zen. He goes on to found a monastary at the height of the 70s hippie movement. He also angers his family and old friends by disregarding them. Great achievements, petty fights - how normal can a person be?
The main attraction for me was the abundant availability of Suzuki quotes and life lessons. The most important lesson Crooked Cucumber taught me was this: It is not lack of understanding or knowledge that makes a person discouraged or doubtful. The missing piece is hara, the sense that life today is exactly as it should be. It provides courage to deal with everything that crosses one's path.
Suzuki lives as Zen priest in Japan until he decides to bring his teaching to the US. He is the first Japanese Zen teacher that is able to translate and implement Zen teaching in Western society by bringing the strict rules of Zen without being authoritive. David Chadwick shows in great detail the activities and discussions between Suzuki and his American students, but I think that the actual tight-rope balance between the clashing American culture and Zen teaching cannot be described in a book. Only by seeing and hearing Suzuki will a person be able to understand why so many people in the US finally understood Zen. He goes on to found a monastary at the height of the 70s hippie movement. He also angers his family and old friends by disregarding them. Great achievements, petty fights - how normal can a person be?
The main attraction for me was the abundant availability of Suzuki quotes and life lessons. The most important lesson Crooked Cucumber taught me was this: It is not lack of understanding or knowledge that makes a person discouraged or doubtful. The missing piece is hara, the sense that life today is exactly as it should be. It provides courage to deal with everything that crosses one's path.
November 7, 2007
Despite having a deep interest in the subject matter it took me a while to get intimate with this book. This book seemed to start off like many biographies do beginning with childhood. Suzuki had a unique childhood in the sense that he had a father who was a priest and Suzuki became a monk himself at a very young age. What follows from there is a tracing of his life from his own priestly and temple duties in Japan to his eventual coming to America to spread the dharma.
I think the most striking thing about this book is its simplicity and ability to portray Suzuki as an ordinary man. What better legacy than to be revealed as something natural which is the way of Zen. Natural and accepting of reality in all its many facets. It seems to me Suzuki always displayed a life of humility and wisdom. He had such flaws as a short temper and forgetfulness but always had a deep respect for others and sincere practice.
While reading this book the old biblical idea of "a prophet is never honored in his own land" rang true. Many other priests in Japan viewed Suzuki as something less than special. Perhaps this is the way Suzuki would have wanted it. Sure, he had plenty of friends but it seems some other priests of notable standing suffered from jealousy or were stuck in outmoded ways of thinking. It was only after Suzuki came to America (well into adulthood) that he began to amass a following of serious students in the west. Some of these students were extremely devoted and saw Suzuki for what he was. An ordinary man yes, but also a deeply realized spiritual being. He made many wonderful friends in America and established not only a city Zen center in San Francisco but also a monastery type retreat in Tassajara, California. Perhaps his greatest contribution, though, was in spreading a style of Zen that attempted to be pure Zen. That is, to break free of stodgy old monastic rules and to establish a practice that sought to get to the heart of reality.
One more thing of importance to mention is that the book contains many small paragraphs taken from Suzuki's talks or letters. These offer different elements of wisdom which have a true Buddhist sense to them.
Anyone who is interested in how to live your life with integrity, dignity, humility and grace right up to the end will strongly like this book. Also, anyone interested in learning about someone who is somewhat similar to other great spiritual figures. A person who realizes his limitations, accepts his weaknesses, but never quits the pursuit of truth. This person can be said to be a true Bodhisattva-a being who works for the enlightenment of all and makes any sacrifice necessary towards that end. The only thing left to say at the end was that Suzuki-Roshi was a good man.
I think the most striking thing about this book is its simplicity and ability to portray Suzuki as an ordinary man. What better legacy than to be revealed as something natural which is the way of Zen. Natural and accepting of reality in all its many facets. It seems to me Suzuki always displayed a life of humility and wisdom. He had such flaws as a short temper and forgetfulness but always had a deep respect for others and sincere practice.
While reading this book the old biblical idea of "a prophet is never honored in his own land" rang true. Many other priests in Japan viewed Suzuki as something less than special. Perhaps this is the way Suzuki would have wanted it. Sure, he had plenty of friends but it seems some other priests of notable standing suffered from jealousy or were stuck in outmoded ways of thinking. It was only after Suzuki came to America (well into adulthood) that he began to amass a following of serious students in the west. Some of these students were extremely devoted and saw Suzuki for what he was. An ordinary man yes, but also a deeply realized spiritual being. He made many wonderful friends in America and established not only a city Zen center in San Francisco but also a monastery type retreat in Tassajara, California. Perhaps his greatest contribution, though, was in spreading a style of Zen that attempted to be pure Zen. That is, to break free of stodgy old monastic rules and to establish a practice that sought to get to the heart of reality.
One more thing of importance to mention is that the book contains many small paragraphs taken from Suzuki's talks or letters. These offer different elements of wisdom which have a true Buddhist sense to them.
Anyone who is interested in how to live your life with integrity, dignity, humility and grace right up to the end will strongly like this book. Also, anyone interested in learning about someone who is somewhat similar to other great spiritual figures. A person who realizes his limitations, accepts his weaknesses, but never quits the pursuit of truth. This person can be said to be a true Bodhisattva-a being who works for the enlightenment of all and makes any sacrifice necessary towards that end. The only thing left to say at the end was that Suzuki-Roshi was a good man.
November 22, 2021
How do you like zazen? How do you like brown rice? I think this is a better question. Zazen is too much. Brown rice, I think, is just right. But actually, there is not much difference.
Thomas Merton's The Seven Storey Mountain is the best spiritual biography I've read, but this account of Shunryu Suzuki comes in a close second. It has a different angle than Merton's book and it lacks the suspicious trappings of an autobiography -- instead of the privilege of interiority it has the love of a devoted student and follower. Chadwick captures the warmth and eccentricity of Suzuki as if he were showing us his personal photo collection, with an anecdote to go with each picture. Suzuki was serious man but he was also a little goofy at times, absent minded, and often very funny. And of course he was one of the great 20th century teachers of Zen Buddhism in America. All that comes through in this even-tempered and joyful story of Suzuki's life.
Thomas Merton's The Seven Storey Mountain is the best spiritual biography I've read, but this account of Shunryu Suzuki comes in a close second. It has a different angle than Merton's book and it lacks the suspicious trappings of an autobiography -- instead of the privilege of interiority it has the love of a devoted student and follower. Chadwick captures the warmth and eccentricity of Suzuki as if he were showing us his personal photo collection, with an anecdote to go with each picture. Suzuki was serious man but he was also a little goofy at times, absent minded, and often very funny. And of course he was one of the great 20th century teachers of Zen Buddhism in America. All that comes through in this even-tempered and joyful story of Suzuki's life.
October 7, 2017
I read "Not Always So", a book of Suzuki-roshi's teachings, so many times that it was finally just a pile of papers, with neither covers nor spine. I sought out this book hoping for more news of Suzuki, more dharma. As a long-term resident of Japan, student of this era, and earnest if hopeless dharma student, I expected to find many reasons to disapprove!
But, no, this is simply an astonishingly good book: as a glimpse at Japan before and during the war, as a record of the coming of Zen to America, and, above all, as a book of dharma. Forgive me for sounding hokey -- it is an important teaching, a real transmission, a swift smack of the stick. How generous that so many people shared their memories of Suzuki-roshi, and that David Chadwick wrote this book so skillfully you'll feel like you're in the room with him. That means a lot of laughter and instruction, but I must also admit that a book has never made me cry more, or harder. Crooked Cucumber deserves to be considered a treasure of the dharma.
(A small side note for students of Chogyam Trungpa, or students of Naropa University, for whom this book should be required reading! Until I read this, I never understood the connection between Trungpa and Suzuki, or why Naropa's contemplative practices, ostensibly Tibetan, are actually vastly more Zen. If you also have questions on this score, this is the book to read! It is also admirable for its capacity to write about the difficult, addiction-laden, brilliant dharma teachers of the time -- Trungpa, Alan Watts and Richard Baker -- with both honesty and sympathy.)
But, no, this is simply an astonishingly good book: as a glimpse at Japan before and during the war, as a record of the coming of Zen to America, and, above all, as a book of dharma. Forgive me for sounding hokey -- it is an important teaching, a real transmission, a swift smack of the stick. How generous that so many people shared their memories of Suzuki-roshi, and that David Chadwick wrote this book so skillfully you'll feel like you're in the room with him. That means a lot of laughter and instruction, but I must also admit that a book has never made me cry more, or harder. Crooked Cucumber deserves to be considered a treasure of the dharma.
(A small side note for students of Chogyam Trungpa, or students of Naropa University, for whom this book should be required reading! Until I read this, I never understood the connection between Trungpa and Suzuki, or why Naropa's contemplative practices, ostensibly Tibetan, are actually vastly more Zen. If you also have questions on this score, this is the book to read! It is also admirable for its capacity to write about the difficult, addiction-laden, brilliant dharma teachers of the time -- Trungpa, Alan Watts and Richard Baker -- with both honesty and sympathy.)
April 22, 2012
This isn't quite a review, but rather my interpretation of some ideas in the book compared to another that I recently read about Yogic practice-- 'Autobiography of a Yogi'.
--
It was very interesting for me to read, in a short period of time, both Paramahamsa Yogananda's 'Autobiography of a Yogi' and David Chadwick's 'Crooked Cucumber'. The books detail the journeys of two of the greatest spiritual teachers of the last century-- two men who can each be attributed with bringing a traditional school of eastern mystical thought to prominence and acceptance in the west in the mid-1900s (Paramahamsa Yogananda was a yogi & guru who brought Kriya Yoga to the west-- the first Hindu teacher of yoga to spend a large part of his life in the West. Suzuki was a Zen priest who established the first monastic practice in America and helped adapt traditional Zen teaching to the rhythms and quirks of western culture).
The parallels don't end there-- Yogananda expounds on the benefits of Kriya Yoga practice and observing the breath; at the heart of Suzuki's Soto Zen is the basic act of zazen-- sitting and breathing with awareness. Both philosophies account for a type of Cosmic Reality-- the divine nature at the center of all things and moments which can otherwise be referred to as God, buddha nature, the Tao, consciousness-- that can be realized with enough devout practice.
My interest is particularly in where the two seem to differ. In his book, Yogananda extols miracle after miracle-- stories of sages apparating and transporting themselves to different time periods and places (astral projection); priests who go years without eating, their only form of sustenance their extreme devotion to God; divine interventions and visions that present themselves to him because of his sheer overwhelming love for the "Divine Mother"; gurus wrestling and conquering tigers and bears; holy men literally conjuring feasts out of thin air.
These stories strongly suggest the idea of maya as I understand it in the Vedanta sense-- the sensory world that we are trapped in because of our small-mindedness due to the human condition (caught up in dualistic, ego-fulfilling ideas as is our wont). With extreme devotion and practice in mastering our bodies and minds, we can one day attain a state of being that allows us to transcend these limitations, where miracles such as the above are commonplace. Once we understand the principles of maya-- once we attain the Divine Understanding and communion with God (nirvikalpasamadhi)-- we will be able to master and circumvent the very principles that otherwise govern Reality as we know it.
Zen thought similarly discusses a state of enlightenment that can be achieved after years of labor. But Suzuki, in his version of Soto Zen, thoroughly de-emphasizes enlightenment and repeatedly reminds students to practice without any gaining ideas. Indeed, the end and the practice are one and the same-- we sit in order to sit.
Zazen is a practice of meditation centered around awareness of the present moment-- someone seated in zazen merely sits, counts the breath, and observes thoughts and emotions as they arise. With a careful, deliberate study of the patterns our mind works in, we can slowly understand and strip away these intellectual trappings (cut down the chattering of "monkey mind", as Zen masters would say) and begin to experience Reality itself.
It is interesting to note that miracles are rarely ascribed to any Zen masters. They're merely described as serene, cherubic individuals with a particular warmth to them-- sages who float through the world with considerable awareness and full-minded attention to the present moment and their actions in it. In Zen, there is no notion of transcendence of the present, or of manipulating reality and performing tricks and improbable acts of power-- merely of accepting the present moment and interacting with it with your full being.
Why, then, does Yogic thought so heavily emphasize metaphysical miracles? I think it comes down to the concept of bhakti-- religious devotion. In Hindu thought, each individual is said to have a soul, or atman, that can eventually merge with the cosmic consciousness, or brahman-- a process of self-abnegation through surrendering where egotistical, dualistic ideas disappear. This can only happen if you truly believe in a divine power, and surrender your ego to that greater being. Miracles are a way to convince jaded laypeople to place faith in those higher principles and embark down the road of devotion-- seeing is believing, as it were.
In contrast, Zen enlightenment is achieved by slowly stripping away the ego through deliberate practice, and the only way to do this is to get rid of all gaining ideas-- if you believe in miracles, and enlightenment, and something "special"-- you inevitably remain attached to that goal and your ego. According to Suzuki, you merely need to place faith in the habit of your practice-- and no external concepts otherwise-- to achieve a breakthrough and eventually escape the shackles of the ego. This difference in approach probably stems from the Zen/Buddhist metaphysic (or lack thereof)-- the very genesis of Buddhism was a refreshing move away from the intellectual ideas and concepts that had bogged down Hinduism. In this approach, deliberate practice is the key to nirvana, whether or not you place faith in any specific ideas about God.
Ultimately though, the end goal of the two practices is one and the same, I believe-- to strip yourself of all egotistic notions and experience communion with the Divine, Present Moment (enlightenment, self-realization). Different paths to the same end.
--
It was very interesting for me to read, in a short period of time, both Paramahamsa Yogananda's 'Autobiography of a Yogi' and David Chadwick's 'Crooked Cucumber'. The books detail the journeys of two of the greatest spiritual teachers of the last century-- two men who can each be attributed with bringing a traditional school of eastern mystical thought to prominence and acceptance in the west in the mid-1900s (Paramahamsa Yogananda was a yogi & guru who brought Kriya Yoga to the west-- the first Hindu teacher of yoga to spend a large part of his life in the West. Suzuki was a Zen priest who established the first monastic practice in America and helped adapt traditional Zen teaching to the rhythms and quirks of western culture).
The parallels don't end there-- Yogananda expounds on the benefits of Kriya Yoga practice and observing the breath; at the heart of Suzuki's Soto Zen is the basic act of zazen-- sitting and breathing with awareness. Both philosophies account for a type of Cosmic Reality-- the divine nature at the center of all things and moments which can otherwise be referred to as God, buddha nature, the Tao, consciousness-- that can be realized with enough devout practice.
My interest is particularly in where the two seem to differ. In his book, Yogananda extols miracle after miracle-- stories of sages apparating and transporting themselves to different time periods and places (astral projection); priests who go years without eating, their only form of sustenance their extreme devotion to God; divine interventions and visions that present themselves to him because of his sheer overwhelming love for the "Divine Mother"; gurus wrestling and conquering tigers and bears; holy men literally conjuring feasts out of thin air.
These stories strongly suggest the idea of maya as I understand it in the Vedanta sense-- the sensory world that we are trapped in because of our small-mindedness due to the human condition (caught up in dualistic, ego-fulfilling ideas as is our wont). With extreme devotion and practice in mastering our bodies and minds, we can one day attain a state of being that allows us to transcend these limitations, where miracles such as the above are commonplace. Once we understand the principles of maya-- once we attain the Divine Understanding and communion with God (nirvikalpasamadhi)-- we will be able to master and circumvent the very principles that otherwise govern Reality as we know it.
Zen thought similarly discusses a state of enlightenment that can be achieved after years of labor. But Suzuki, in his version of Soto Zen, thoroughly de-emphasizes enlightenment and repeatedly reminds students to practice without any gaining ideas. Indeed, the end and the practice are one and the same-- we sit in order to sit.
Zazen is a practice of meditation centered around awareness of the present moment-- someone seated in zazen merely sits, counts the breath, and observes thoughts and emotions as they arise. With a careful, deliberate study of the patterns our mind works in, we can slowly understand and strip away these intellectual trappings (cut down the chattering of "monkey mind", as Zen masters would say) and begin to experience Reality itself.
It is interesting to note that miracles are rarely ascribed to any Zen masters. They're merely described as serene, cherubic individuals with a particular warmth to them-- sages who float through the world with considerable awareness and full-minded attention to the present moment and their actions in it. In Zen, there is no notion of transcendence of the present, or of manipulating reality and performing tricks and improbable acts of power-- merely of accepting the present moment and interacting with it with your full being.
Why, then, does Yogic thought so heavily emphasize metaphysical miracles? I think it comes down to the concept of bhakti-- religious devotion. In Hindu thought, each individual is said to have a soul, or atman, that can eventually merge with the cosmic consciousness, or brahman-- a process of self-abnegation through surrendering where egotistical, dualistic ideas disappear. This can only happen if you truly believe in a divine power, and surrender your ego to that greater being. Miracles are a way to convince jaded laypeople to place faith in those higher principles and embark down the road of devotion-- seeing is believing, as it were.
In contrast, Zen enlightenment is achieved by slowly stripping away the ego through deliberate practice, and the only way to do this is to get rid of all gaining ideas-- if you believe in miracles, and enlightenment, and something "special"-- you inevitably remain attached to that goal and your ego. According to Suzuki, you merely need to place faith in the habit of your practice-- and no external concepts otherwise-- to achieve a breakthrough and eventually escape the shackles of the ego. This difference in approach probably stems from the Zen/Buddhist metaphysic (or lack thereof)-- the very genesis of Buddhism was a refreshing move away from the intellectual ideas and concepts that had bogged down Hinduism. In this approach, deliberate practice is the key to nirvana, whether or not you place faith in any specific ideas about God.
Ultimately though, the end goal of the two practices is one and the same, I believe-- to strip yourself of all egotistic notions and experience communion with the Divine, Present Moment (enlightenment, self-realization). Different paths to the same end.
September 7, 2011
I try to limit myself mostly to fiction in my postings to Goodreads, but this is such a great book, it has to go here. I read it when it first came out, and decided to give it a second read. Suzuki Roshi's life and teaching are the ultimate Buddhist teaching. He must have been a wonderful, fascinating, and very human teacher. And in this and the other three books I have related to him (Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind = the ultimate book on Buddhist practice; Not Always So = addditional great teachings edited posthumously; and his book on the Sandokai (whoops, forgot title), he embodies the spirit of Buddha's teaching even though Japanese Soto Zen is a long way from India of 2,500+ years ago.
This book is absolutely fabulous.
This book is absolutely fabulous.
January 25, 2024
Student: Roshi, what are you doing here?
Suzuki: Nothing special.
Last year, I fell in love with Suzuki Roshi after reading and listening to his teachings, Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, Zen Is Right Here, and Zen Is Right Now.
This book, Crooked Cucumber, is about his life and also contained his teachings. Indeed, his life itself is his teaching.
I listened to the audiobook edition which the author, David Chadwick, narrated the book himself. He was not a professional narrator. But you can feel his genuine enjoyment in his voice.
In the introduction, he apologized for the audio quality of the recording. He also mentioned that he might laugh at times, and that he could't help it.
It turned out that he just didn't laughed but also cried, unable to contain his emotions. Yes, he just couldn't help it.
He wasn't acting out those laughs and cries. This book isn't just a book for him. He was a close student of Suzuki. So this book holds deep personal significance for him. Listening to him reading this book felt to me like witnessing zen in action. I simply loved it. I laughed with him, I cried with him.
This audiobook has an added bonus which can't be included in the physical book: the audio recordings of Suzuki's lectures. There are short clips from Suzuki's lectures throughout this audiobook. Hearing Suzuki's voice while listening to his life story, nothing could be better than this.
Suzuki: Nothing special.
Last year, I fell in love with Suzuki Roshi after reading and listening to his teachings, Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, Zen Is Right Here, and Zen Is Right Now.
This book, Crooked Cucumber, is about his life and also contained his teachings. Indeed, his life itself is his teaching.
I listened to the audiobook edition which the author, David Chadwick, narrated the book himself. He was not a professional narrator. But you can feel his genuine enjoyment in his voice.
In the introduction, he apologized for the audio quality of the recording. He also mentioned that he might laugh at times, and that he could't help it.
It turned out that he just didn't laughed but also cried, unable to contain his emotions. Yes, he just couldn't help it.
He wasn't acting out those laughs and cries. This book isn't just a book for him. He was a close student of Suzuki. So this book holds deep personal significance for him. Listening to him reading this book felt to me like witnessing zen in action. I simply loved it. I laughed with him, I cried with him.
This audiobook has an added bonus which can't be included in the physical book: the audio recordings of Suzuki's lectures. There are short clips from Suzuki's lectures throughout this audiobook. Hearing Suzuki's voice while listening to his life story, nothing could be better than this.
February 7, 2018
An insightful biography of a twentieth-century Japanese Zen Buddhist cleric whose experiences of Japanese imperialism and the USA 1960s cultural rebellion as characterised by the “beat generation” seem to have reinforced his philosophy of nonduality as well as confirming his faith in Zazen – the practice of sitting meditation. The book also reveals Shunryu Suzuki’s human failings; his occasional outbursts of emotion, especially when his students failed to grasp the essence of his teaching; “just to work, just to live in this world with this understanding – That is true Zazen.” The creation of a truly American Soto Zen community in San Francisco together with the Tassajara Zen Mountain Centre – the first training monastery outside of Japan – can be viewed as Suzuki’s legacy to the world of Buddhism. His death in 1971 was not the end of his contribution to US/Japanese cultural understanding. This was continued through his circle of disciples, several of whom underwent rigorous training in Japan before assuming key roles in the expanding California Sangha.
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September 14, 2017What a wonderful visit with Shunryu Suzuki. Chadwick has paired all the stories he could find about Suzuki with Suzuki's own words, illustrating his teaching. A life rooted in physicality. Suzuki was always either cleaning something, sitting zazen or working in his garden. With little talk and more action, Suzuki created the long-lasting Zen Center, Tassajara and Green Gulch Farms in northern California. His teaching, wary of absolutes and religious feeling, is very much home to me.
January 29, 2025
It really gives a real sense of Zen /\
April 2, 2023
There is nothing that is absolute for us, but when nothing is absolute, that is absolute.
Zen is a branch of Buddhism. It teaches its adherents to find Enlightenment by way of meditation and rigorous physical discipline. Some take years to achieve this, some months, days perhaps, some never at all. In Japan, they call such Enlightenment satori. The annals of Zen Buddhism have recorded its happening to young novices, untrained monks and temple sweepers as well as learned sages and temple patriarchs. It is indiscriminate, when it comes, it comes.
Zen has spread and its influence is not only felt in Japan, but also across the globe. In this book we are told about how it influenced Shunryu Suzuki and made him the man that he was. David Chadwick shares Shunryu's experiences before and during his life as a Zen master. Chadwick touches on several topics about life, including birth, pain, death, east-west politics, war, and teaching.
As seen from my comments and this review, I enjoyed most the topic on suffering. Can one suffer with dignity? To paraphrase the words of Colonel William Donovan, speaking to his brother Father Vincent Donovan, not only is suffering inevitable in life, but we have abstractions that can help us sustain and give dignity to our suffering. One of these abstractions is 'enlightenment'. Wordsworth said,
Overall, we have to accept life as it is. We are all heading for the grave, in fact we should dig it ourselves. But also, as individuals you should remember that only 'you' alone can escape through the single door open to heaven. In other words, cheer up! We're all on borrowed time.
Zen is a branch of Buddhism. It teaches its adherents to find Enlightenment by way of meditation and rigorous physical discipline. Some take years to achieve this, some months, days perhaps, some never at all. In Japan, they call such Enlightenment satori. The annals of Zen Buddhism have recorded its happening to young novices, untrained monks and temple sweepers as well as learned sages and temple patriarchs. It is indiscriminate, when it comes, it comes.
Zen has spread and its influence is not only felt in Japan, but also across the globe. In this book we are told about how it influenced Shunryu Suzuki and made him the man that he was. David Chadwick shares Shunryu's experiences before and during his life as a Zen master. Chadwick touches on several topics about life, including birth, pain, death, east-west politics, war, and teaching.
As seen from my comments and this review, I enjoyed most the topic on suffering. Can one suffer with dignity? To paraphrase the words of Colonel William Donovan, speaking to his brother Father Vincent Donovan, not only is suffering inevitable in life, but we have abstractions that can help us sustain and give dignity to our suffering. One of these abstractions is 'enlightenment'. Wordsworth said,
Who is the happy warrior...
That every man in arms would wish to be?
-It is the generous spirit...
Who, doomed to go in company with Pain,
And Fear, and Bloodshed...
Turns his necessity to glorious gain...
Overall, we have to accept life as it is. We are all heading for the grave, in fact we should dig it ourselves. But also, as individuals you should remember that only 'you' alone can escape through the single door open to heaven. In other words, cheer up! We're all on borrowed time.
May 10, 2022
Not long after they were married though, Shunryu's new wife was diagnosed with tuberculosis. She was hospitalized, and it was hoped that she would recover as he had six years earlier. With the passage of time, though, it became clear that she was not improving and would not be able to fulfill her duties as temple wife, nor could she receive proper care at Zoun-in. There was a stigma attached to having had tuberculosis, even if one recovered, because people were afraid they'd catch it. With much sadness Shunryu and his wife agreed to an annulment. She went back to the home of her parents, where she could be well looked after. He wanted to take care of her but was bound by duty - as a priest first, a family man last. He would seldom speak of this wife. Her name and the dates of the marriage are forgotten.
Omi no longer lived at home. About three years after her mother died she had started to act strangely. She would laugh at inappropriate times or wander away from home and have to be found and brought back. She couldn't apply herself in school and got caught shoplifting. Finally her behavior became so unsettling that Shunryu consulted the family physician. Dr. Ozawa recommended that Omi go away for treatment; he thought her family could no longer take care of her. By 1957 she had been in an institution for several years.
Buddhist ideas had been infiltrating American thought since the days of the Transcendentalism of Emerson and Thoreau. At the World Parliament of Religions in Chicago in 1893, Soen Shaku turned heads when he made the first public presentation of Zen to the West. His disciple and translator, D. T. Suzuki, became a great bridge from the East, teaching at Harvard and Columbia, and publishing dozens of widely read books on Buddhism in English. When confused with D. T. Suzuki, Shunryu Suzuki would say, "No, he's the big Suzuki, I'm the little Suzuki."
The first small groups to study and meditate gathered with Shigetsu Sasaki on the East Coast and Nyogen Senzaki on the west. Books informed by Buddhism by Hermann Hess, Ezra Pound, and the Beat writers were discussed in the coffeehouses of New York and San Francisco and by college kids in Ohio and Texas. Alan Watts, the brilliant communicator, further enthused and informed a generation that hungered for new directions.
I bowed, tipping my body as Japanese do (without joining hands), and said something polite in Japanese.
Priests of the Soto school of Zen had only begun taking wives a few decades earlier, encouraged strongly by a government bent on diminishing the power of the Buddhist clergy.
Toshi was actually eleven, almost twelve, at the time. He calculated thirteen by the prewar counting method, wherein a person was one at birth and two on the following New Year's Day.
When they reached a wooded area he told them to go first since they were wearing tabi, and it was the time of year when the mamushi, poisonous snakes, would be out. Mamushi are not large snakes, and tabi offer a certain amount of protection.
Once So-on put a large persimmon in the rice so it would ripen there.
At Zoun-in pickles were made to eat year-round but especially in the winter, when there were few fresh vegetables. There were pickles made from cucumbers, carrots, eggplants, cabbage, and daikon, the giant white radishes. A batch of takuan, daikon pickles, had been undersalted and had gone bad. So-on was told about it. He was just like Sogaku when it came to food. He wouldn't throw it out. "Serve it anyway!" he ordered. So for meal after meal decomposing daikon were served, and the pickles were getting worse with the passage of time. One night when they could take it no more, after they were sure So-on was asleep, Shunryu and a couple of cohorts took the pickles out to the garden and buried them.
The boys were pleased with themselves, thinking they had gotten away with their prank. But a few days later when they sat down for breakfast at the low wooden table, So-on brought in a special dish - the rotten pickles back from the dead! So-on ate the pickles with them. Shunryu gathered his courage and took the first bite, then the next. He found that he could do it if he didn't think about it. He said it was his first experience of nondiscriminating consciousness.
If we have surrendered to our master, we employ all our effort to control our mind so that we may exist under all conditions, extraordinary and ordinary.
The first day of September is a traditional day of bad omens, and on Saturday, September 1, 1923, the great Kanto earthquake devastated Tokyo and Yokohama.
Tangaryo was uninterrupted sitting in the full-lotus posture - sitting for meals, sitting to listen to the near-constant chastisement of senior monks, sitting to receive the kyosaku, the long flat stick whacked against sleepy monks' shoulders, and sitting waiting for the next wave of pain to grip muscles and mind.
Our mind should always be subtle enough to adjust our conduct to our surroundings.
One day after a rain Shunryu enlisted the assistance of two other monks to help him return the rain doors to their cabinet at the end of the walkway. The heavy wooden doors protect the paper shoji from the rain and wind.
He accepted, his sponsors were happy, there was a celebratory dinner party, and the next day he resigned. The subtle distinction between refusing and resigning made all the difference.
It was December 8, 1941, still December 7 in the West. In the name of the emperor and with his full knowledge, the Japanese military had struck in Hawaii, Hong Kong, Malaysia, Singapore, and the Philippines on the morning of Buddha's enlightenment. What a day to have chose to launch this insanity!
He also regularly visited a leper colony and wrote a book on the eta, the Japanese untouchables - a subject that was virtually taboo.
If he'd come on his own, the customary one night's hospitality for a traveling monk would have fulfilled Shunryu's obligation, but he had been sent by Kishizawa, who had no work for him at Gyokuden-in.
The mood in the station was different from anything they'd felt before - angry and frightened. People were breaking windows to get into the train.
As the rays of the sun struck the bamboo on the hill, the air heated quickly, and the stalks expanded, emitting sharp, pinging noises of different pitches, a strange little song of farewell in the still morning.
Before they parted Suzuki told them he sat zazen for forty minutes every morning except for days with the numbers four or nine in the dates (the traditional days for an abbreviated schedule and doing personal chores in Zen monasteries).
At breakfast she broke a raw egg over her dress, because she thought it was hard boiled, not being familiar with the Japanese custom of mixing a raw egg with hot rice for breakfast.
There were two periods of zazen in a row with a walking period called kinhin in between. Suzuki demonstrated, walking slowly with hands held together at the solar plexus.
During sesshin, everyone would have a private interview with Suzuki called dokusan
Bowing is a very good practice, and after sitting we feel very good when we bow.
Somehow Grahame picked up on the Japanese custom of offering more tea when it's time to leave.
His studies of Western and Eastern philosophy, art, and poetry at Harvard, in Greenwich Village, and in North Beach had brought him into contact with extraordinary minds, but he had yet to meet an exemplar he could respect and trust.
Our mind should be big enough to know, before we know something. We should be grateful before we have something. Without anything, we should be very happy. Before we attain enlightenment, we should be happy to practice our way - or else, we cannot attain anything in its true sense.
Unless you know how to practice zazen, no one can help you. Heavy rain may wash away the small seed when it has not taken root. You should not be like a sesame with no roots, or your practice will be washed away. But if you have a really good root, the heavy rain will help you a lot.
As for Suzuki, right away he saw that Katagiri was a sincere monk and treated him with utmost respect. Mainly that meant Suzuki gave him a lot of responsibility and left him alone.
Jodo Shin priests don't practice zazen. It's antithetical to their way, which emphasizes the futility of personal effort. Jodo Shin is called "other power" in contrast to Zen's "self power." Their central practice is to invoke the name of Amida Buddha, chanting with the understanding that they are fundamentally already saved.
Ogui realized that he was discouraged not because he lacked understanding of the dharma or because of English vocabulary, but because something was lacking in his mind. He was lacking in hara - in being centered and courageous.
The character Bud Diefendorf in Jack Kerouac's Dharma Bums was based on Claude.
Mel was an artist and a flutist in his mid-thirties who drove a cab to get by.
Yasutani was giving sesshins on the West Coast and had attracted a following, partly due to the success of Philip Kapleau's new book, The Three Pillars of Zen, which told a great deal about zazen, koan work, and Yasutani's brand of Zen.
When Sawaki died in December 1965 at the age of eighty-five, Grahame joined the forty-nine-day memorial sesshin in his honor.
After years of patiently following leads to potential spots for a rural retreat, Shunryu Suzuki had found what he wanted - Tassajara.
Tatsugami was polite and interested in what Suzuki was doing in America, but Grahame also knew that Tatsugami regarded Suzuki as an inferior, a temple priest not qualified to start a monastery.
Suzuki sat down, slid a newspaper inside his robe over his belly for warmth, and dozed.
In Kamakura, Grahame and Pauline visited Philip Kapleau, who had been studying for years with Yasutani. Kapleau was furious with them for having been in Japan a year without looking him up. Wasting their time! He told them that none of the Soto teachers were enlightened - not Suzuki, not Uchiyama, nor anyone at Eiheiji, and that they should have studied with his teacher. "I'm very happy to have studied with such unenlightened teachers," Grahame told him. It was a disappointment to have that sort of exchange with Kapleau after the wonderful time they'd had four years before, when the Kapleaus had visited Zen Center.
Wanting Zen Center to be as solvent as possible, he had strongly supported the idea that they continue to run Tassajara as a summer resort.
No hurry. Sit zazen, and compulsive thinking and dominating emotions will be eroded, as a mountain is smoothed over in time by wind and rain.
Philip told them of a saying at Eiheiji: "Don't say no for the first five years."
As is common in communal situations, there was often wrangling at Tassajara over food.
Suzuki frequently used an indirect approach. In lecture he said that if he scolded you in front of others, not to feel too bad, because it might be intended for someone else who isn't ready to hear it.
In zazen leave your front door and your back door open. Let thoughts come and go. Just don't serve them tea.
When he spoke on the precept forbidding consumption or distribution of alcohol or intoxicants he sometimes gave it a surprising interpretation. "This means don't sell Buddhism," or, "This means don't try to give people some medicine, don't boast about the superior teaching of Buddhism. Not only liquor but also spiritual teaching is intoxicating."
Alan Watts, Richard De Martino, and Eric Fromm, among others, had written about Zen and psychoanalysis.
In another lecture Suzuki said, "If you're dissatisfied with your zazen, it shows you have a gaining idea."
"It is very difficult to help people," Suzuki answered. "You may think you're helping them and end up hurting them."
"How can you expect to do anything in the world when you can't even tie your own shoes?"
Marian told Suzuki that Richard was opposed to the idea of her doing the book. He thought she was too new a student. Suzuki suggested she pass the manuscript on to Richard so he could edit it. In March of 1967 Marian gave the completed manuscript to Richard, which she had titled Beginner's Mind. Much to Marian's frustration, it took him months to get around to looking at it. When he did read it the following fall, he agreed it was good material for a book - after more work. Marian let go of the project.
The Zen practice at Page Street had nothing to offer the poor, disenfranchised neighbors - no money, no self-defense, no visible power. It was hard to figure out how to be helpful. Some neighbors complained that these newcomers made it harder to park. They were being called rich, self-involved hippies who didn't care about the problems of the local poor.
We're not advanced enough students for koans or shikantaza [Dogen's term for just sitting].
It was the Japanese characters nyorai, or tathagata in Sanskrit, "thus come," one of the ten traditional names for Buddha.
Okusan was irritated at the picture on the back cover, a black-and-white close-up of Suzuki's head and shoulders, a picture taken at Tassajara shortly before he shaved his head and face (done once every five days, on four-and-nine days, in a Zen monastery).
Richard had left Eiheiji before the end of the practice period. He was completely fed up with the hollowness of the practice, which was, for the most part, aimed at getting a temple license. He detested the show of practice put on daily for hundreds of visiting lay Buddhists and busloads of tourists.
Katagiri had asked Suzuki's attendant, Niels Holm, a carpenter and sailor from Denmark, if Suzuki had left the city yet.
Suzuki's relationship with Trungpa disturbed some people, maybe because Trungpa, in addition to being a brilliant, inspiring speaker and the beloved teacher of many disciples, was also an outrageous alcoholic who slept with some of his female students.
Though he loved rituals, Watts had scorned discipline, zazen, and the institutions that reminded him of the stuffiness of British boarding schools. He had interpreted Zen to millions and helped open the minds of a generation, yet Suzuki's simple presence could make him feel off balance.
Watts was a heavy drinker.
Ryuho discovered Suzuki could be short-tempered. Once Ryuho commented on a Buddha statue, casually saying it was just a piece of wood. Suzuki barked at him not to speak so flippantly: until he knew the true meaning of the statue he should shut up. Then as quickly as the anger came, it was gone. Ah, thought Ryuho, he's innocent and honest, like a child.
Entering Suzuki's bedroom, Stunkard saw that Suzuki was scratching. [...] He knew there were two types of jaundice - one infectious (hepatitis), the other obstructive. An obstruction to the outflow of bile causes itching. The most common obstruction is cancer.
Suzuki asked Yvonne about Silas and was pained to hear that he had already left to lead sesshins in Portland and Quadra Island near Vancouver.
August 5, 2016
I first came across Shunru Suzuki on the back cover of `beginners mind'.
In the picture he looks mischievous and has a twinkle in his eye. Looking at his image, I figure this man was doing something right and I wanted to learn from him.
That book was full of contradictions, and although I had an inkling of what he was trying to convey I wasn't sure. Reading about his life I maybe understand a bit better. The contradictions are there to blow away the cobwebs and the fixed ideas.
The book moves slowly in some ways, and I got a little impatient. But the more I read, the more I felt this was in keeping with his philosophy. Just sit. There is nothing to understand. There is nowhere to go. Mundane when I write it, and yet the lesson in patience was what I needed. Not like a dull book, but like good exercise or meditation. Sweet tasting medicine.
And it was quite the life. The book recalls his take on war-time Japan, and how he relatively late in life finally realized the dream of taking Soto Buddhism to the US. A man of few absolutes, but a deep sincerity. By the end it seemed he thought Japanese Soto Zen had as much to learn from his American disciples as his American friends had from his original teachers.
The book is filled with wisdom. But it is couched in anecdotes and quotes, only there if you feel like reaching out to it. So gentle and so warm, you might miss it.
Thank you Roshi.
September 29, 2009
I guess I was finally ready to read this biography of Shunryu Sukuki who brought Zen practice to anglo americans. Beautifully written, no hero worship...just the story of an ordinary Japanese zen monk who came to the US, San Francisco, to be a priest in Japantown temple...and history, culture and 60s combustion all collided to create SF Zen Center. His life (3 marriages, tragedies, dissatisfactions, WW2 in Japan) is so compelling. Though I've read and reread Zen Mind Beginners Mind many times, this book really gave me a sense of the human being, small, imperfect, wise and charming.
May 24, 2015
This book was recommended to me by a friend and it kept my attention. Suzuki lead an interesting life and died much too young. The book would have been tighter and more interesting by being 50 - 100 pages shorter. Mr. Chadwick included administrative details of Suzuki's life as well as observational details that were unnecessary to the story and interrupted the flow. He should have better explained the difference between different sects of Buddhism, as Suzuki's students studied under different masters.
June 23, 2010
As a fan of biographies generally and a recent devotee of zazen, it comes as no surprise that I like this book quite a lot. Suzuki is depicted warts and all, an all too human man of his times who was at times a poor husband, father and friend. His gifts it seems were his ability to connect with the Americans he met in San Francisco in the 60s and render the dharma in eloquent English making it accessible to a new Western audience.
June 15, 2011
Loved this book. Full of detail of the life of the founder of the San Francisco Zen Center. Reading this book is like watching a movie.
June 18, 2013
One of the best spiritual biographies ever - insight into the life of a rare spiritual pioneer in America - Zen Master Suzuki Roshi.
February 18, 2025
Initially, I'd put this book down – the Kindle addition has many typos and formatting errors. But I'm glad I picked it back up. Suzuki-roshi left behind a beautiful life.
February 1, 2021
Superlative! ... Chadwick integrates the contexts of two continents, one man, and the transplanting of Japanese Zen on American soil. Other Japenese Zen teachers had arrived before Shunryu Suzuki, but no one among them succeeded in growing the following he did. He, more than any other, facilitated the spread of Zen Buddhism in the United States. Ironically, however, he has not been recognized as a leading teacher by Soto Zen teachers in his own country. Possibly, this is partly for Suzuki sought to shape Zen for the new land, which needed a Zen shaped for its culture, not as it was traditionally in Japan. So, Suzuki walked a thin line between respect for the tradition and flexibility.
The success of Suzuki-roshi is linked with his person, as Chadwick demonstrates. In a real sense, and in tune with Zen wisdom, Suzuki-roshi was not merely a teacher of Zen, he was Zen. Hence, too, Suzuki valued sitting meditation as much more important than teaching.
Chadwick, a student of Suzuki's in the 60s and early 70s, allows the narrative to elucidate both the strengths and weaknesses of his teacher. Part of the strength of this autobiography is how the author elucidates the shadow-side of this beginning American Zen, that of Suzuki, and, also, of the followers. For example, Suzuki was clearly, by his own confession, not a good father to this children. Also, he tended toward emotional neglect of his spouse, Mitsu, though she served him faithfully. Hence, he was not free of his times or its patriarchal prejudice against women. Suzuki admitted he had no confidence in training women for the priesthood. In secret and while on his death-bed, he apologized to one of his long-time women students for not ordaining her - though he had ordained many men. Suzuki clearly did not want to be seen as a plaster-saint, but as a real, fallible human being, one who could see and admit his fallibilities.
Hence, this book serves to counter the idealism with which Westerners exalt to 'godllke' adoration gurus-roshis-priests-preachers and, also, idealize Zen Buddhism as somehow above the pettiness and hypocrisies of Western religions. Even before Suzuki died, there was already discord over his choice of a successor - Richard Baker. Though not covered in this book, for it ended with Suzuki's death, Baker eventually left after accusations of sexual misconduct with students. - For an assessment of how San Francisco Zen Center became compromised by the individualism of American culture, see Michael Downing. Shoes Outside the Door: Desire, Devotion, and Excess at San Francisco Zen Center.
Two inspirations from this book for me.... I appreciated the teacher and man Suzuki more by seeing how truly he was both a remarkable teacher and wonderful human among humans -not exalting himself above those he loved and served. Suzuki never seems to have forgotten the honor of serving others. Second, I was further inspired in my spiritual practice of sitting and life. And, to Suzuki, the sitting (zazen) was, like with the Zen founder, Dogen, everything one does, every moment of one's life.
The success of Suzuki-roshi is linked with his person, as Chadwick demonstrates. In a real sense, and in tune with Zen wisdom, Suzuki-roshi was not merely a teacher of Zen, he was Zen. Hence, too, Suzuki valued sitting meditation as much more important than teaching.
Chadwick, a student of Suzuki's in the 60s and early 70s, allows the narrative to elucidate both the strengths and weaknesses of his teacher. Part of the strength of this autobiography is how the author elucidates the shadow-side of this beginning American Zen, that of Suzuki, and, also, of the followers. For example, Suzuki was clearly, by his own confession, not a good father to this children. Also, he tended toward emotional neglect of his spouse, Mitsu, though she served him faithfully. Hence, he was not free of his times or its patriarchal prejudice against women. Suzuki admitted he had no confidence in training women for the priesthood. In secret and while on his death-bed, he apologized to one of his long-time women students for not ordaining her - though he had ordained many men. Suzuki clearly did not want to be seen as a plaster-saint, but as a real, fallible human being, one who could see and admit his fallibilities.
Hence, this book serves to counter the idealism with which Westerners exalt to 'godllke' adoration gurus-roshis-priests-preachers and, also, idealize Zen Buddhism as somehow above the pettiness and hypocrisies of Western religions. Even before Suzuki died, there was already discord over his choice of a successor - Richard Baker. Though not covered in this book, for it ended with Suzuki's death, Baker eventually left after accusations of sexual misconduct with students. - For an assessment of how San Francisco Zen Center became compromised by the individualism of American culture, see Michael Downing. Shoes Outside the Door: Desire, Devotion, and Excess at San Francisco Zen Center.
Two inspirations from this book for me.... I appreciated the teacher and man Suzuki more by seeing how truly he was both a remarkable teacher and wonderful human among humans -not exalting himself above those he loved and served. Suzuki never seems to have forgotten the honor of serving others. Second, I was further inspired in my spiritual practice of sitting and life. And, to Suzuki, the sitting (zazen) was, like with the Zen founder, Dogen, everything one does, every moment of one's life.
December 27, 2018
Chadwick's biography of Shunryu Suzuki is an intimate and affectionate portrait of his teacher that attempts to show the zen master in full. The reader sees Suzuki's occasional impatience and frustration along with his devotion to his students; his failures as a parent as well as his attempts to rectify his mistakes; his willingness to follow along with ambitious plans as well as his failure to head off errors of omission that might have made things flow more smoothly. Nevertheless, the story of this diminutive figure who didn't amount to much in the Soto zen world in Japan but managed to plant this practice in the United States is well told, with Suzuki's own words and teachings along with a narrative that becomes richer as we come to know the great teacher. The biography includes passages quoting Suzuki's teachings, but the most important one for this reader is this: The practice is the teaching. For those interested in how zen practice and meditation came to be rooted in the US, this is a very good place to begin.
May 21, 2020
A very interesting book. Chadwick was a student of Suzuki and this is clearly a heartfelt story for him. The first half or so deals with Suzuki’s life in Japan before he came to America and gives a good feel for what life was in that era for a somewhat small time Zen priest in Japan before, during and after World War II; the second half for the most part is the history of the founding and early years of the San Francisco Zen Center, up to Suzuki’s death.
Chadwick clearly admires Suzuki to the point of reverence, but does avoid presenting him as a flawless person. This makes a good companion to Shoes Outside the Door, for another look at the SFZC after Suzuki’s death and from a much less enamored point of view.
Chadwick clearly admires Suzuki to the point of reverence, but does avoid presenting him as a flawless person. This makes a good companion to Shoes Outside the Door, for another look at the SFZC after Suzuki’s death and from a much less enamored point of view.
September 8, 2019
After having read "Not Always So"; I thought this book would have more teaching in it. But, because is is an autobiography, it was more about Shunryu Suzuki's life. It was most moving, the difficulties and trials that he went through. And I want to thank Shunryu Suzuki for bringing Zen teaching to America!!! Because I am a mental health counselor, I especially appreciate it. I am also in a Meditation/Spiritual Group with Zen teachings. This book was a great way to get to know the teacher behind the teaching, how he lived his life, and an example for us all. A peacemaker, a Zen teacher, and a wonderful human being. Thank You!!
November 6, 2025
Biography content was great. Narrator for the audio version was a problem. He laughed and cried while narrating the text, which is inappropriate and not what I want or need from a narrator. He also did not have a voice suited to the task. The content was good enough that I pushed through his worst narration moments. Honestly, I do not know what they were thinking with this narrator. If he starts crying, you record that segment again. That is not an asset. I can cry if I feel like it, I am the listener, but why would I ever want to hear the narrator cry. WTF.
I recommend the book but NOT the audiobook.
I recommend the book but NOT the audiobook.
June 24, 2018
Early in the book, I felt bogged down by the narrative and almost gave up. At one point I felt that, if I'd personally known Suzuki, the b00k may have held more meaning for me. That feeling, however, faded as I became enwrapped in learning about the details of Suzuki's amazing life journey and his teaching. This is an intimate and balanced portrait. I finished not only deeply grateful for having read this book but also for the amazing amount of research that clearly went into its making. Thank you, David Chadwick. Grateful for crooked cucumbers everywhere!
December 8, 2017
A really insightful biography of Shunryu Suzuki Roshi's life. Not a literate masterpiece, but it does cover an incredible amount of detail, from his early life in Japan to his founding of the San Francisco Zen Center and the Tassajara Retreat. He was not taken very seriously by his peers in Japan, but his success in the United States really surprised everyone. It provides an insight into the state of Zen Buddhism in Japan.
April 15, 2023
They say you should never meet your heroes, but if possible I think you should. It will kick them down a notch in your eyes, humanize them in a way that is necessary if you earnestly want to follow in their footsteps. I'm glad to find that Shunryu Suzuki was just that: human. We all deserve the full spectrum of the human experience, and this memoir of sorts makes it seem like he truly did. おめでとうございます!
October 20, 2023
A very measured, contemplative biography. The author's own relationship with Suzuki is a bit of a tension because it can be difficult to parse reality from his own perception of his subject at times. Kind of a weird read because as it goes on I like the subject less and less, though the author gets more and more sentimental about him. A bit hard to judge because I ended up disliking the vibes of the community they built.
June 11, 2025
As a practioner in suzukis lineage, I had an image of him in my mind as this enlightened zen teacher who could do no wrong. This biography, by staying close to his teachings while remaining historically accurate, added a much more human element to my understanding of him. He feels to me like a much more relatable character now, a man who devoted his life to transforming the minds of others while dealing with his own human problems. I beleive is important not to idolize our dharma ancestors, but rather to connect with them more deeply through our shared humainty and way-seeking minds.
I was lucky enough to read this book while staying at the SF city zen center (Hosshin-ji) where Suzuki spent his final years in America, which added a lovely touch to my reading experience. :)
I was lucky enough to read this book while staying at the SF city zen center (Hosshin-ji) where Suzuki spent his final years in America, which added a lovely touch to my reading experience. :)
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