Hamlet, a Study in Satori

BY TED GUHL

Part Two

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If it be now, 'tis not to come;
if it be not to come, it will be now;
if it be not now, yet it will come. The readiness is all.
(V.ii.)

However, can this view of Hamlet's development be supported by the rest of the play? When a Zen Master wishes to illuminate his student about some element of Zen it is usually accomplished either by example or an illustrative tale that illuminates the particular hurdle the student is struggling with. While such tales are generally very simple, there is no reason one cannot look at the story of Hamlet as if it were such a tale (albeit a far more complex one), one that illustrates many of the common elements a Zen pupil might encounter. Such elements include: a longing to be done with 'life'; a struggle with reason and emotion; the concept of no-mind; use of koans; a loss of self (ego); a renunciation of attachments to worldly concerns; and finally, acceptance of things as they are.

We have ample enough examples of the developmental stages (and inevitable pitfalls) a Zen pupil goes through to prepare himself for a transcendent experience. The task is to find these elements in the play and then examine Hamlet's development toward the final moment in light of them.

The path traditionally begins with a recognition by the pupil (the one who is to prepare for satori) that he is living in pain and uncertainty, and longing for something he cannot truly define. Typically normal, mundane views of reality and truth no longer satisfy him. He wants answers to his most profound questions. Answers that are not dogmatic. And this very desire to find a deeper truth sets him apart from others and automatically leads him to the path or master. Should he come to a master without such desire he will either be turned away or challenged to find it, As Thein-An writes in An Approach to Zen: "Most people would rather go to church to pray to some supreme being for salvation than work out their salvation by themselves. But Zen ... demands that its followers think. We ask: What am I? What is the meaning of life? What is the purpose of life? What is my true self?"

When we first see Hamlet he is suffering. Pain over the loss of his father, disgust with his mother's too quick marriage to his uncle and frustrated anger with his society's superficial, indeed hypocritical, demonstrations of concern and understanding permeate his behaviour and language.

But I have that within which passes show;
These but the trapping and suits of woe. (I.ii )

"O God, God,
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't, ah fie, 'tis an unweeded garden
That grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely." (I.ii)

It is not, nor it cannot come to good. (I.ii )

Along with the pain, and dissatisfaction with everyday life, it is also understood that there must be a genuine willingness to be done with all attachments to worldly things. Again to quote Thein-an: "Our world is a world of desire. We are born from the desire between our father and mother. Then when we emerge into this world, we become infatuated with many things, and become ourselves well-springs of desire. For every desire there is an attachment, namely, to the object of desire. "

And until this attachment to desires is dropped the special event cannot happen. As Zen master Sokei-an Sasaki put it: "One day I wiped out all the notions from my mind. I gave up all desire. I discarded all the words with which I had thought and stayed in quietude. ... and Ztt! I entered. "

The willingness to do this is generally recognized to result from either a surfeit of experiences, one has "seen it all", or from a deepened sensitivity to the gross and deadening nature of abused power and unrestricted pleasure arising from a shock that has caused one to reexamine basic assumptions. These conditions are certainly true for Hamlet:

O that this too too sullied flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew... (I.ii )

Hamlet easily fulfils the first requirement of a Zen acolyte.

Now we come to a very critical element of Zen - the use of the intellect to "focus" upon a specific question, statement or task. This usually involves the assignment of a Koan to the pupil. A Koan originally referred to a public document that set up a standard of law or judgment. As it has come down to us through zen practice it is a generally a statement (or question or answer) made by a master that the student is supposed to hold in his mind at all times. It is often used as a focus in mediation. Obviously, Hamlet has no "master", at least not in the traditional sense and is never asked to "meditate". And yet there are some intriguing similarities between Hamlet's experience with the Ghost in Act One and the experience of a zen pupil who has been given a Koan. While the obvious task that the Ghost sets Hamlet is to revenge his murder, there is another less obvious but no less important statement made by the ghost:

Adieu, adieu, adieu. Remember me. (I,v )

The repetition of words, and the fact that this is the Ghost's final statement to Hamlet, gives it emphasis. It aslo suggests that while revenge is important , it is also important to bring the truth to light. In other words Hamlet is being asked to 'remember' the truth. Later, in Act 3 Scene 4, in the only reappearance of the Ghost he begins with the line, "Do not forget." Furthermore, in virtually every one of Hamlet's scenes the concept of remembering is prominently expressed.

And what is Hamlet's response to the Ghost's request?

Remember thee? Ay, thou poor distracted ghost, whiles memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember Thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past That youth and observation copied there, And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain ... It is "Adieu, adieu, remember me. I have sworn't." (I.v)

Not only does Hamlet say that this statement will be his only focus, he also express the intent to practice another element of satori which is the state of "no-mind", a condition in which all of one's learning, knowledge, past experience is "dropped" so that one exists only in the moment. In the Guide to Zen Practice, by S. Ogata there are two strikingly relevant passages that describe this: "He who wishes to study prajna must first rouse great compassion in himself, and take the great vow... That is to say, he is to give up all contracts, stop everything, bring body and mind into oneness... " and "If you want ... to be the free master of yourself ... stop your hankering monkey-like mind from doing mischief, keep it quietly under control..."

In fact the use of a Koan has two clear purposes in Zen; one is to arrive at "no-mind" and the other is to learn to respond to life immediately and with pefect appropriateness. By practicing a Koan, one is challanged to constantly consider one's own actions and thoughts in light of it's often paradoxical message. Certainly, everything Hamlet does from this moment in the play, can be seen as a struggle to fulfil his dreadful promise without compromising his integrity. This leads him to constantly question either the task or his own response to it.

At this point it should occur to the serious student of the play that Hamlet's entire journey can be seen as a successful attempt to achieve the conditions he sets himself in this early speech. From this perspective he hesitates to complete the task of revenging his father's murder, not because he is a "man of thought" or lacking in the will to act, but because he is not ready. He has not achieved the proper state of being (satori) that is his true goal. Hamlet must not merely revenge his father, he must do it in an uncompromising and appropriate way, one that fulfills his promise to remember.

Having come this far the other elements of Zen appear increasingly relevant to Hamlet's struggles. D.T. Suzuki states, in Zen Buddhism: "The first object is to escape the bondage in which all finite beings find themselves, but if we do not cut asunder the very chain of ignorance with which we are bound hands and feet, where shall we look for deliverance? And this chain of ignorance is wrought of nothing else but the intellect and sensuous infatuation... "

Much has been written about Hamlet's struggle with rationality and intellectual conceits. We have such statements as:

...for there is nothing
either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
To me it is a prison. (II.ii. )

And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought... (III.I. )

Sure he that made us with such large discourse,
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and godlike reason
To fust in us unused. Now, whether it be
Bestial oblivion or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on the event... (IV.iv.)

This last speech is particularly interesting in that Hamlet appears to be struggling to find choice in the difference between "godlike reason", bestial oblivion" and "thinking too precisely". What is the answer? Obviusly "bestial oblivion" isn't acceptable, one does not wish to simply "gaze out" without self awareness. Yet to be caught in a relative world of weighing the precise balance of right and wrong in each action would seem to give free reign to such affects as cowardice or ineffective action. How can one arrive at one's "godlike reason" and, what exactly is it? The answer lies at the heart of Hamlet's real task, and his "Koan" - to remember.

In Toehold On Zen Jeffrey Swan writes: "The existence of knowledge presupposes the knower and the known; therefore there is a duality. How can we come into relationship with the real or the actual? It is obvious that it cannot be done through knowledge, because knowledge is the dividing factor, creative relativity. It is the repository of information-about-things and not about things themselves. " In other words, the problem Hamlet is facing may be that he has forgotten what he originally swore to do - "wipe out all saws of books... etc." "Godlike reason" would mean doing what has to be done, without worrying, thinking, planning, etc. In other words behaving in a manner that is fully appropriate to the circumstances.

Let us again turn to Herrigle: "...(the Zen pupil) behaves like a man who is trying to remember something." That Hamlet cannot do this at first is an indication that his is not in harmony with reality, truth, the actual. He is not in a state of satori. And it is his thinking that is the problem. He has not "learned" the right use of intellect. In fact his intellect is muddied with all sorts of habits, but most particularly with the habits of rationality and emotionality. In other words he is infatuated with planning, comparing, questioning, and with suffering. Ogata says, in Guide To Zen Practice: If you want ... to be the free master of yourself ... stop your hankering monkey-like mind from doing mischief, keep it quietly under control...

The best example (among many) of the futility of Hamlet's rationality-habit is in Act III Scene iii when he comes upon his Uncle who appears to be praying. That Hamlet refrains from killing Claudius at this moment is a great irony; for Claudius, by his own admission, cannot pray. This is as fine an example of the problem of Hamlet's "sicklied thought" as we will find.

But what of the emotional aspect of this problem? From the very first of Hamlet's soliloquies we are presented with the portrait of suffering that, while psychically real, is exaggerated. No less than five times in his first soliloquy Hamlet uses the emotional exclamation "O". For thirty lines he bemoans the loss of his father and his mother's marriage, then finishes with the ironic line, "But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue". Although the content of this speech provides some exposition and shows us the despair that Hamlet rightly feels, its effect is unquestionable a portrait of someone who is overly dramatic. And this portrait is repeated again and again, in almost every soliloquy in the play. This is a typical condition for a Zen pupil. As Herrigle says: "For hours, days, and weeks the pupil ... thinks the problem through in all possible directions. All in vain, the solution will not come. He doubts his own abilities, begins to despair, and does not know where to turn."

Hamlet, himself, is aware of it at times:

Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murdered,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words
And fall a-cursing like a very drab...(II.ii)

An interesting sidelight of Hamlet's self-awareness can be seen in his advice to the players, which follows immediately the above soliloquie. The main thrust his advice is to "acquire and beget a temperance" to "o'erstep not the modesty of nature" to "hold the mirror up to nature". This would suggest that he is already Buddha (able to expresse his "godlike reason) but he isn't living it. If he were he would exhibit more modest emotional responses, as Herrigle says: "(The Zen Master has) an aversion to the dishonest of exaggerating. (He) is aware of the danger inherent in the expression of feeling: of saying more than you feel..." and "This freedom does not mean being untouched by joy and suffering, love and hate, but feeling both of them intensely and yet remaining independent, not losing yourself in them, not being consumed by them."

The two aspects of Hamlet's problem are connected. His too precise thoughts are colored by his over-emotional expressions of suffering, and both his thoughts and his feelings distract him from the tasks at hand. He is caught in paradox, another prominent aspect of Zen teaching. He knows what he must do but knowing blocks doing. He has promised to revenge his father's murder (morally correct in his world). He has set himself (unprepared) against the evil and untruths of his Uncle's reign, without fully realizing that in doing so he has got himself into a real fix. His real task is to become enlightened, although he is not aware of that. What can he do?

On to Part Three