Teaching without Teishos

What a Teisho Is

Consider these two definitions, typical of what you might find in a web search:

“The [teisho] is not a sermon or an academic lecture; it is more a presentation of insight than an exposition of factual knowledge. Often a koan is discussed, and on occasion some teachers will permit a question and answer period following the teisho…some students will look at nothing in particular and just allow the words to wash over them, yet trusting the value of the talk to sink in.” — Austin Zen Center

“… to give a teisho is to stand in the place of the Buddha or a patriarch and give a talk on the essence of any given koan.” — Joshu Sasaki Roshi

It Would Be Good to Rethink This!

I am skeptical about the value of such an understanding, for several reasons:

• We are taught that a teishos is “a presentation of insight” by the teacher. But Zen teaches that Buddhism teaches that one’s own insight can only be found by oneself. So what good does it do to see the teacher’s insight? Are we supposed to admire it? Imitate it? Feel honored to be permitted to be in its presence?
• The definitions emphasize a status difference between the Sensei or Roshi and everybody else: “…on occasion some teachers will permit a Q&A…” That is, the students are silent or ask the teacher questions. The teacher is assumed to be superior, Buddha-like, and the source of all the answers.
• The idea that students might “allow the words to wash over them” may be appropriate if a talk is, say, poetic. But that instruction can also be used in a cultish way. One method of gaining control over people is to encourage them to suspend their rational thought. Training students to not question nonsense presents dangers.
• “Trusting the value of the talk to sink in” assumes that all talks given by the teacher are valuable. Are Zen teachers unique among humans in that they never have an “off” day?
• Speaking of trust, the author of the second quote, Joshu Sasaki, notoriously engaged in serial sexual abuse. No doubt his claim to represent “the Buddha or a patriarch” during his talks added to his purported spiritual authority and increased the pliability of his students. I have written elsewhere of the danger to students of submitting to a fellow human being: That is very different from surrendering to the Dharma. And I’ve also written about how such reverent treatment by students can lead to ego-inflation on the part of the teacher.

Yet we often do need—or at least can benefit from—teaching. It would be hard to take up Zen without some instruction, explanation, encouragement, example, story, inspiration, and demonstration. Practitioners bring questions such as:

• How do I do zazen?
• What is Zen, and what is its purpose?
• Where did Zen practice come from?
• What do the foreign words we recite or chant mean?
• What stories (including koans) are foundational to this tradition?
• There seem to be many contradictions in Zen teaching—what should we do with those?
• Is there poetry that can inspire us?
• How do we practice Zen in the world?

Contrary to the first quote above, talks that usefully address these questions could draw on academic study. Or they could be sermon-like, seeking to both inform and encourage.

Who Can Teach?

Related to the question of what is taught is the question of who can teach. People often come to our Zen community having done a lot of reading. They may bring knowledge or insight about some specific topics even to their first visit to a zendo. The “secret” documents historically given only to teachers at the time of transmission are now published and on the web, along with many commentaries. Some of our sangha members are good at researching a topic. Others are skilled in in public speaking. A few are excellent at facilitating discussions. Even the least articulate of members can still contribute insights from a sincerely-led Zen life.

In our sangha-led sangha we have moved in the direction of fewer talks and more discussions. Instead of a teisho at our sits and retreats, someone will suggest a question or reading for discussion. We often use, at least initially, a circle-practice format so that everyone gets a chance to speak. Usually there are at least one or two long-time practitioners (perhaps including me) in the group who can provide factual knowledge as well as contributions from our own lived experience. Sincerity in inquiry and practice is the only qualification that making a valuable contribution really requires. Practice Leaders also offer basic orientations to newcomers, and we’ve experimented with koan salons. Informative talks are given once a month via the internet.

Do We Still Need Authorized Teachers?

I would argue that we still need Zen teachers—in exactly the same way that we need algebra teachers and literature teachers and carpentry teachers and music teachers. We need people to inform us, inspire us, and show us how to do things. Sometimes these folks will be peers, but often we may need help from someone who has gone more deeply into the subject. We may look for an individual who holds some kind of teaching credential. No one expects their shop teacher to be super-human. The same should go for those who teach Zen.

I also think there is a role for authorized teachers in providing individual guidance, provided that they are well-informed about appropriate professional boundaries and thoroughly committed to prioritizing the well-being of the student. Sangha members may find themselves in life situations that they don’t want to share with a group. Some find one-on-one work on koans with a teacher to be useful.

And, sometimes and with great care, we may need teachers or priests to lead rituals and ceremonies. These may speak to us in a way that ordinary interactions do not, and often quite powerfully. I’ll address this in a later blog post.

I don’t think a teacher’s role should include leading the sangha. We don’t expect a math teacher to also be the principal and the school board. And we might rightly expect trouble if the math teacher were their own supervisor!

Teaching with Humility

We would do well to recall that all words, all teachings, and all teachers are only fingers pointing at the moon. They are not to be confused with the bright moon of illumination itself. Too often we regard teaching as a literal transfer of something from teacher to student. The only kind of moonshine that can be actually handed over, though, is the kind brewed in a bathtub.

Instead of representing the Buddha or “presenting insight,” I think we would do well, as teachers, to remember that we are human beings just presenting what we ourselves think we know (rightly or wrongly).

So let me end with my favorite koan passage. In Case 84 of The Blue Cliff Record, Manjushri Bodhisattva visits wise lay practitioner Vimalakirti (as depicted in the 6th century Chinese carving above). Vimalakirti asks a question, and Manjushri prefaces his response with the words:

“According to what I think…”

It seems that even Manjushri—the iconic Bodhisattva of Wisdom, for goodness’ sake!—can only respond with their own thoughts, rather than a declaration of Ultimate Truth. How much more, then, should Zen teachers be humble in our teaching.

Related posts: Ancestry Without Lineage, Rituals Without Superhumans