Journal of Multidisciplinary Research at Trent

Volume 3 Issue 1

Original Research Article

Zen, Deep Ecology, and Haiku

Colin Harold Simondsa*

a
Religious Studies, Religious ecology, Ecocriticism, and Buddhist Studies (Queen's University, 99
University Ave, Kingston, ON, K7L 3N6 ).
*Correspondence to: 11cs77@queensu.ca

Received: May 4, 2021; Accepted: December 19, 2021; Published: December 31, 2021

Abstract

In the contemporary English-speaking world haiku is popularly seen as a short poetic form consisting of three lines
of five, seven, and five syllables respectively. Typically, the form is given more weight than the content, thus giving
haiku its reputation as a simplistic form of writing. This, however, is quite a different understanding of haiku than
its classical context. For example, the formative seventeenth century haiku of Matsuo Bashō (1644-1694) did
adhere to the five-seven-five syllabic restrictions but was primarily concerned with capturing a direct moment of
experience through stark, resonant imagery and season words. Moreover, in this early context, writing a successful
haiku was considered to be an extraordinary achievement as can be seen in Bashō’s statement that “one who
produces even a single good poem has not spent his life in vain” (Haiku in English, 2013, p.XX). These divergent
approaches to haiku provide very different kinds of poems and, thus, operate in very different ways. In its Japanese
context, haiku was enmeshed in a Buddhist ontology that informed how poets experienced and wrote about their
worlds. The resulting empathetic portrayal of nonhuman subjects in haiku lends naturally to ecocritical readings
conducted through lenses like deep ecology. The deep ecological approach to ecocriticism is important for its ability
to disrupt normative destructive modes of relating to and acting on nonhuman worlds, and its resonance with
classical haiku suggests that the poetic form might do the same. Thus, this paper will seek to articulate the Buddhist
ontological framework in which Bashō was writing before investigating how the form relates to a contemporary
deep ecological perspective. This will be done with two goals in mind: to demonstrate the parallel theoretical
trajectories of Buddhism and contemporary ecocriticism, and to propose haiku, as written by Bashō, as a form of
literary intervention into normative shallow environmental discourse.

Keywords: Bashō, Deep Ecology, Haiku, Ecocriticism, Buddhism

Introduction classical context. For example, the formative

In the contemporary English-speaking
world haiku is popularly seen as a short poetic
form consisting of three lines of five, seven,
and five syllables respectively. Typically, the
form is given more weight than the content,
thus giving haiku its reputation as a simplistic
form of writing. This, however, is quite a
different understanding of haiku than its
seventeenth century haiku of Matsuo Bashō
(1644-1694) did adhere to the five-seven-five
syllabic restrictions but was primarily
concerned with capturing a direct moment of
experience through stark, resonant imagery
and season words. Moreover, in this early
context, writing a successful haiku was
considered to be an extraordinary
achievement as can be seen in Bashō’s
Simonds (2021)
statement that “one who produces even a
single good poem has not spent his life in
vain” (Haiku in English, 2013, p.XX). These
divergent approaches to haiku provide very
different kinds of poems and, thus, operate in
very different ways.
In its Japanese context, haiku was
enmeshed in a Buddhist ontology that
informed how poets experienced and wrote
about their worlds. The resulting empathetic
portrayal of nonhuman subjects in haiku lends
naturally to ecocritical readings conducted
through lenses like deep ecology. The deep
ecological approach to ecocriticism is
important for its ability to disrupt normative
destructive modes of relating to and acting on
nonhuman worlds, and its resonance with
classical haiku suggests that the poetic form
might do the same. Thus, this paper will seek
to articulate the Buddhist ontological
framework in which Bashō was writing before
investigating how the form relates to a
contemporary deep ecological perspective.
This will be done with two goals in mind: to
demonstrate the parallel theoretical
trajectories of Buddhism and contemporary
ecocriticism, and to propose haiku, as written
by Bashō, as a form of literary intervention
into normative shallow environmental
discourse.
The Zen Buddhist Context
To begin, it is important to understand
the metaphysical landscape in which classical
1 Bashō himself wore the robes of a Zen Buddhist
monk and used Zen terminology, though this was likely
more a social convention of the haiku poet than a
display of religious affiliation (Aitken, 1978, p.XVIII).
2 4 The nuances of this term will be explained below, but
Etymologically the word Zen comes from the
Sanskrit word dhyana, meaning meditation. This is
rendered as Chan in China, Seon in Korea, and Zen in
Japanese. For the sake of consistency, and due to the
popularity of the term, Zen will be used throughout this
essay in reference to these historically and theoretically
interrelated meditation-based schools.
JMRT 3(1): 67-78
67
haiku was written. When Bashō settled in Edo
to take up occupation as a haiku teacher, he
had begun studying Rinzai Zen meditation
with the Zen master Butchō (Dumoulin, 1990,
p.349). His Buddhist study became so
engrained in his writing that later scholars
such as Simon P. James (2004) write: “it was
through his exemplary efforts that the
seventeen-syllable haiku verse was turned into
a religious art form” (p.24-25). While it is
fair in some cases to claim haiku as a Zen
Buddhist poetic, in general this is an
oversimplification. Haiku was an established
poetic form before it became explicitly
associated with Zen and has also been written
by individuals with no affiliation to Zen
Buddhism (Dumoulin, 1990, p.349).
However, its historical development occurred
in a Buddhist socio-cultural milieu and can
thus be seen to reflect some its ideals.1
With this in mind, we should therefore
identify what some of these Buddhist socio-
cultural ideals might be before turning to
haiku specifically. Zen Buddhism is a school
of East-Asian Buddhism found primarily in
Japan, China, and Korea.2 While it adheres to
the fundamental tenets of early Buddhism3, it
is a school of later Mahayana Buddhism
which focuses more on the direct experience
of śūnyatā 4, being a phenomenon’s
fundamental lack of independent existence,
through meditation. It is traditionally traced
back to the figure Bodhidharma who gave the
essence of Zen in a four-line verse:
3
Being the four noble truths (duḥkha, samudaya,
nirodha, marga) and the three marks of existence
(anitya, anātman, duḥkha) (Dhammacakkappavattana
Sutta, 1993).
it is commonly translated as “emptiness” or “voidness”.
These translations, however, have historically lent to
misinterpretations of Zen as nihilistic. To avoid this,
the original Sanskrit will be used throughout this essay.
Simonds (2021)
A special transmission outside the
scriptures,
Not founded on words and letters;
By directly pointing to one’s mind
It lets one see into one’s own true
nature and thus attain Buddhahood.
(Dumoulin, 2005, p.85).
Ironically, Zen has a large collection of
scripture that it uses to construct its ontology
and to explain its phenomenology. The most
important of these texts is the Prajnaparamita
Hridya Sutra, or Heart Sutra, which is
chanted daily by monastics and laypeople
alike. The Heart Sutra puts an emphasis on
śūnyatā and dialectically negates the existence
of the constituents of the self, the senses,
samsara, nirvana, and the foundational Four
Noble Truths. In short, it teaches that: “form
is no different from empty, empty no different
from form, form is just empty, empty just
form” (Prajnaparamita Heart Sutra 2006, p.
5). At first glance this may seem like some
esoteric platitude that evades rational inquiry,
but such a statement is grounded in a complex
philosophical system pioneered by the second
century philosopher Nagarjuna.
Nagarjuna is considered by some
Mahayana practitioners to be the second
Buddha due to the sophistication of his
philosophical commentaries (Kalupahana,
1986, p.2). Superficially, Nagarjuna’s
Madhyamaka is related to the Zen tradition
insofar as he is considered the fourteenth
patriarch of Indian Zen who received the
“special transmission outside the scriptures”
from Kapimala (Jōkin, 2003, p.74-82). This
transmission would pass through thirteen
other lineage holds before arriving at
Bodhidharma who brought the tradition to
China. Nagarjuna’s work also found its way
to China through the Sanlun, or “Three
Treatise”, school which imported and
subsequently developed his Madhyamaka
5
Alongside Aryadeva’s Śatakaśāstra.
JMRT 3(1): 67-78
68
thought as found in the
Mūlamadhyamakakārikā and
Dvādaśadvāraśāstra.5 However, these two
schools, Zen and Sanlun, are more than
connected simply through the figure of
Nagarjuna. Instead, Hsueh-Li Cheng has
stated that, “Zen literature shows that the
main Madhyamika tenets, such as Emptiness,
the Middle Way, the Twofold Truth and the
refutation of erroneous views as the
illumination of right views, have been
absorbed into Zen Buddhism” (1979, p. 352).
Indeed, this absorption was so final that he
claims, “In many respects Zen appears to be a
practical application of Madhyamika thought”
(Cheng 1979, p. 352).
In short, Nagarjuna’s fundamental
claim is that all phenomena are empty.
However, this emptiness is not a general
nihilistic negation of all things but refers
specifically to the absence of a particular
quality: independent existence. Nagarjuna
asserts that all things come into existence
through dependence on causes and conditions,
derive their meaning through a confluence of
causes and conditions, and are ultimately
empty because of their arising from myriad
causes and conditions. In turn, however, they
are co-constitutive of the phenomena that
serve as their own causes and conditions. This
notion of causality gets termed dependent
origination or pratītyasamutpāda and is
considered the conventional corollary of
śūnyatā. Phenomena are empty precisely
because they are dependently co-arisen, and
phenomena can only be dependently co-arisen
if they are empty of independent existence.
This understanding of the ultimate
emptiness and conventional appearance of
phenomena manifests in the Zen context in
many ways, but none more obvious than a
famous poem by 9th century Zen Buddhist
Qingyuan Weixin. This poem perfectly
Simonds (2021)
follows the Sanlun philosopher Jizang’s three
levels of two-fold truth, but portrays them in a
practical, experiential way (Cheng 1979, pp.
348-349). He writes:
Thirty years ago, before I began the
study of Zen, I said, 'Mountains are
mountains, waters are waters.' After I
got an insight into the truth of Zen
through the instruction of a good
master, I said, 'Mountains are not
mountains, waters are not waters.' But
now, having attained the abode of final
rest [that is, Awakening], I say,
'Mountains are really mountains,
waters are really waters.’ (Masao,
1985, p.4).
In this passage, we can see a movement from
an ordinary way of perceiving the world as it
appears to us (mountains are mountains) to a
perception of the mountains as empty which
negates their appearance (mountains are not
mountains) to a final affirmation of the
equality of appearance and emptiness
(mountains are mountains). This final radical
shift back to seeing the mountains as
mountains is emblematic of Zen’s non-dual
approach to ontology. The common Sanskrit
Buddhist term for this final state is
yathābhūtaṃ darśanam, or ‘seeing things as
they are’. From this final position, the
conventional is the ultimate, the immanent is
the transcendent, the profane is sacred, and so
on and so forth. This understanding of
enlightened perception not only affects the
practical dimension of Zen but also the
aesthetic dimensions of the broader Buddhist
culture as will be seen in Bashō’s haiku.
Finally, in the Buddhist worldview, this
“seeing things as they are” (as empty,
interdependent, and radically relational) has
6 This phrase has been popularized in the Sanskrit by
public Buddhist intellectuals such as Robert Thurman,
thus here I use the Sanskrit. However, I am drawing
JMRT 3(1): 67-78
69
ethical consequences. As Tibetan
Madhyamaka commentator Jamgön Mipham
puts it: “When emptiness is realized, the mind
naturally takes delight in the benefit of others.
. . Bodhisattvas realize emptiness, and
compassion spontaneously arises; it arises
effortless by virtue of realizing evenness, the
union of the two truths” (Introduction to the
Middle Way, 2004, p.314). This idea is more
succinctly put in Nāgārjuna’s Ratnāvalī which
states “śūnyatā -karuṇā-garbhaṃ”6 which
roughly translates to “emptiness is the womb
of compassion,” In other words, from the
realization of emptiness comes a spontaneous
concern for the welfare of all sentient beings.
Thus, the concept of śūnyatā becomes a lived
ontology that shapes an individual’s
relationship with their world, as well as a
theoretical position from which the analysis
and interpretation of texts can take place. It
comes to occupy a critical place in the Zen
cultural milieu of classical haiku and will be
shown to play an important part in the writing
of Bashō.
The Form and Content of Haiku
With its Zen context parsed, it is also
important to understand the basics of the
haiku form. Haiku originated as the opening
verse of a renga, a form of collaborative
poetry in which poets would take turns
writing stanzas of either seventeen sounds
(5/7/5) or fourteen sounds (7/7) (Higginson
and Harter, 2013, p.100). This verse was
referred to as the hokku (translating literally to
‘starting verse’) and came to be written as
stand-alone poems in the sixteenth century
(Haiku in English, 2013, p.305). 14th century
poetry compiler Nijo Yoshimoto says of
renga, “it should simply be an entertainment,
arousing current emotions” (Higginson and
from the Tibetan translation of the text for my
understanding of the phrase which in the Tibetan
language is as follows: “stong nyid snying rje’i snying
po can” (Hopkins, 2007, 218).
Simonds (2021)
Harter, 2013, p.192-193). This lighthearted
sentiment carried over to haiku until Bashō’s
anthology Shriveled Chestnuts which “in its
stern rejection of crudity and vulgarity in
theme and in its highly articulate, Chinese-
flavored diction, set [him] distinctly apart
from other poets” (Ueda, 1982, p.25). Thus,
haiku began its trajectory towards becoming a
separate poetic form and, in doing so, came to
develop several formal characteristics.
The first of these is classical haiku’s
form; haiku consists of seventeen onji or
syllables. These either directly present a clear
image or are broken up into two images which
are separated by a kiru or kireji (“cutting
word”) to create juxtaposition. In doing so,
they are “almost never philosophical or
didactic in intent” (Higginson and Harter,
2013, p.155). Instead, they present things as
they are reflecting a Zen emphasis on direct
experience of the interdependent world.
Moreover, haiku adopted the use of kigo from
the renga that preceded it. Kigo are season
words that, through association, help situate
the reader in a certain time and picture the
given scene with greater clarity. Higginson
and Harter write: “the hokku must be on a
seasonal topic, or kidai, and contain a season
word, or kigo. As the hokku became
independent of the renga and developed into
the haiku this rule stayed with it, right up to
the beginning of the twentieth century”
(Higginson and Harter, 2013, p.90-91) These
season words were compiled and
disseminated in a saijiki to provide a
uniformity in the poetic expression and
occupy a key place in classical haiku
composition.
Furthermore, the content of haiku
came to embody certain ecological traits or
themes that, while not rigidly adhered to,
colour the form in a particular way. These
traits are outlined in a paper by the ecolinguist
Arran Stibbe titled “Haiku and Beyond”
which identifies them as having come about
JMRT 3(1): 67-78
70
“partly through convention, but also through
revolutions caused by great masters, who
rejected the style of haiku that came before,
gave new directions to the discourse, and
provided key examples which many others
emulated” (2007, p.103) These themes are:
appreciation of the ordinary; plants and
animals as agents and sensers; things the way
they are (sonomama); the avoidance of
metaphor; identity; empathy and
unconditional positive regard, and; simplicity
(Stibbe, 2007, p.103-110).
The Principles of Deep Ecology
What remains to be seen is how
Bashō’s haiku looks under a more rigorous
ecocritical lens such as deep ecology. Deep
ecology is a theoretical position first outlined
by Arne Naess and George Sessions in 1984.
The name ‘deep ecology’ is used to
distinguish it from other, lesser kinds of
environmentalism, termed ‘shallow
ecologies’. It reflects a radical ecological
approach in which issues of environmental
degradation are treated at their core,
contrasting “approaches and solutions that do
not take such a wide perspective. . . [or,] a
succession of short-term, limited solutions”
(Naess, 1989, p.12). Its ten foundational
tenets were codified by Naess and Sessions in
1984 which can be condensed into three main
points: an emphasis on the value of nonhuman
life, an emphasis on the need to lessen
negative human interference with the
nonhuman, and an emphasis on disrupting
existing extractive ideological structures
(Naess and Sessions, 1984). Bill Devall and
George Sessions (1985) further articulated
“two ultimate norms” of deep ecology: self-
realization and biocentric equality (66-69).
Thus, deep ecology can be said to be marked
by an identification with and care for the
natural world as an extension of the intrinsic
valuation of nature.
Simonds (2021)
Interestingly, Simon P. James (2004)
notes that “Arne Naess has acknowledged
Dōgen as a major inspiration, while Bill
Devall and George Sessions refer approvingly
to Zen in articulating their conception of deep
ecology” (p.76). Thus, it is unsurprising that
these values parallel the Zen perspective in
many ways. Deep ecology’s emphasis on
affirming the value of non-human life is
something clearly seen in Buddhism. Zen
attributes sentience and Buddha nature to all
beings as can be seen in Dōgen’s exegesis of
the topic in his chapter “On Buddha Nature
(Bussho)” in his Shobogenzo (2007, p.244-
278). Furthermore, it could be argued that
deep ecology and Zen share the task of
disrupting normative modes of relating to the
world and replacing them with more realistic,
compassionate perspectives. In deep ecology
this perspective is the equal valuation of
human and nonhuman life, while in Zen this is
the understanding of śūnyatā and dependent
origination. Moreover, in both cases there is
an onus to acting upon one’s convictions. In
the case of Buddhism, once an individual
comes to experience śūnyatā and dependent
origination they are compelled to act in
accordance with karuna, or compassion.
Similarly, deep ecology asserts that should an
individual recognize the equal inherent value
of human and nonhuman life they are
obligated to implement changes for bringing
about their mutual flourishing. In this way,
both Zen and deep ecology go beyond
egocentric self-interest and work for the
benefit of the other.
7 Along with Yosa Buson (1716-1784), Kobayashi Issa
(1763-1858), and Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902).
8
A note on the translations I will be using: Bashō
wrote in Japanese and translation into English is
inevitably done with certain presuppositions and biases
JMRT 3(1): 67-78
71
Bashō’s Haiku from a Buddhist and Deep
Ecological Perspective
With this understanding we can look
at how these traits manifest in the haiku of
Matsuo Bashō. Bashō is considered the first
of the four great haiku masters7 and largely
shaped the trajectory of classical haiku from
the 17th to early 20th century. Despite the
brevity of the form, the commentaries on
haiku were typically quite long (Ueda, 1982,
p.14). They concerned themselves with
finding classical sources and allusions and, in
Bashō’s case, were highly zealous in their
praise of the work (Ueda, 1982, p.7). The
following analysis will stray from this
traditional pattern and will instead assess how
these works reflect both their Buddhist
cultural milieu and how they look through an
ecocritical lens. Moreover, the short lengths
of haiku allow for a writer’s canon to be
immense. It would be impossible to address
all of Bashō’s haiku with sufficient depth, so
only haiku that speak to the aims of this paper
will be included.
When speaking of Bashō or haiku in
general, most turn to Bashō’s “Old Pond” as
an exemplar of the form. It goes as follows:
The old pond –
a frog jumps in,
water’s sound (Ueda, 1992, p.140)8.
Much of the commentary surrounding this
poem regards the poet’s direct experience and
straightforward presentation of this scene. For
example, Chijitsuan Tosai states: “This hokku
describes a scene exactly as the poet saw it.
Not a single syllable is contrived” (Ueda,
1992, p.140). Thus, the direct presentation of
about the nature of the haiku form and its place in the
canon of global poetry. I defer translation to Makoto
Ueda as his presuppositions and biases are made
explicit in his forward to the text and, in my reading, do
justice to the original text. See: Ueda 1992, 11.
Simonds (2021)
the old pond reflects the Zen ideal of directly
experiencing tathata or true nature. In this
way, the haiku resembles a koan, a phrase or
dialogue one meditates on in order to evoke
an experience of śūnyatā. Shinten-ō Nobutane
explicitly makes the connection in his
commentary: “The Zen monk Hakuin always
talked about the sound of one hand clapping.
The sound of water in this hokku is also like
that: it is there and it is not there” (Ueda,
1992, p.140)
Haiku as a literary form emphasizes
direct experience, and Bashō’s work does this
in excellent fashion. Take, for example, the
following poem:
the first snow
just enough to bend
the daffodil leaves (Ueda, 1992, 149).
One commentator notes, “the poet saw the
scene of first snow with the innocent eyes of a
child” (Ueda, 1992, p.149). Just as in the old
pond haiku, we get a first glimpse at how
Bashō’s haiku upholds some of the principles
of deep ecology. Both of these poems present
the more-than-human world as it is outside of
human projection. Thus, in writing them,
Bashō both affirms the value of nature itself
and makes steps towards an identification
with the natural scene through presenting the
scene as a direct extension of his own
experience. This kind of extension of the self
is built right into the philosophy of Bashō’s
haiku. As he writes:
Go to the pine if you want to learn
about the pine, or to the bamboo if you
want to learn about the bamboo. And
in doing so, you must leave your
subjective preoccupation with
yourself. Otherwise you impose
yourself on the object and do not
learn… However well phrased your
poetry may be, if your feeling is not
natural – if the object and yourself are
JMRT 3(1): 67-78
72
separate – then your poetry is not true
poetry but merely your subjective
counterfeit. (Bashō, 1966, p.33)
It is therefore unsurprising that much of his
work can lead to an intrinsic valuation of
nature and a realization that the self includes
nature – these ideas are built into both his Zen
religious context and to his employment of the
form itself. This direct relation of a scene,
unfettered by metaphor or allusion, is found in
much of Bashō’s writing which, therefore,
also demonstrates an affinity with the values
of deep ecology.
Furthermore, many of Bashō’s haiku
are concerned with the expression of śūnyatā
through the ordinary, the simple, and the non-
human. Take, for example, the following
poem:
a tiny crab
crawls up my leg . . .
clear water (Ueda, 1992, p.161).
On this scene, Hori Nobuo comments, “we
might take it for another example of those
poems in which the poet found a small
creature living a self-contented life and
recorded its image exactly as he saw it”
(Ueda, 1992, p.161) The placement of an
ordinary non-human being as the subject of
the poem is commonplace in Bashō’s haiku
and reflects an ontological perspective in
which there is no phenomenological
distinction between a human and, in this case,
a crab. Each is a sentient being with the
capacity to achieve Buddhahood and each
occupies an equal position in the web of
dependent origination. Furthermore, in many
poems there is an implicit positive valuation
of nonhuman life through the placement of the
nonhuman at the focal point of the poem. In
this instance, there is no indication that Bashō
did not welcome the crab to crawl on his leg.
Instead, as commentator Komiya Toyotaka
states, “The poet’s affection towards the crab
Simonds (2021)
permeates the hokku. We can vividly imagine
both the outward appearance and the inner
feelings of the poet who calmly watches a
small crab crawling up his bare leg” (Ueda,
1992, p.161). This affection is a clear
intimation of Bashō’s commitment to the
flourishing of the crab and reflects the
relationship a deep ecologist might have with
such a crustacean. The poet does not shake off
the crab which intrudes his personal space but
instead opens up the boundaries of the self
and welcomes the crab into his experience.
This perspective can also be seen in
the following poem which, while classical
commentators read this as being directed to a
human, can be read as being directed towards
all sentient beings:
never think of yourself
as someone who did not count –
festival of the souls (Ueda, 1992,
p.393).
The deep ecologist might rewrite this as
“never think of another being / as something
which did not count…”, yet the point still
stands: unequivocally, all life has value. Thus,
Bashō haiku directly portrays this deep
ecological ideal. Like the crab poem, this
haiku also makes a clear reference to śūnyatā.
One of its commentators, Imura Ōsha, wrote:
“In this world there are the noble and the
humble, but after death there are no such
social distinctions” (Ueda, 1992, p.393).
While this may be true, the implications of
śūnyatā in this poem go one step further.
Through a Buddhist lens, this can be read as
saying everything contributes to the arising of
everything else, and to think of oneself as
apart from the world of causes and conditions
is to view oneself incorrectly. Given the
reality of śūnyatā and dependent origination,
everything matters, everything counts. We can
therefore begin to see the affinity between the
Buddhist and deep ecologist perspective
insofar as every sentient being has value and
JMRT 3(1): 67-78
73
is implicated in the flourishing of all other
beings.
Several other poems in Bashō’s canon
also show clear appeals to interdependence.
Take, for example, the following haiku:
many sad junctures -
in the end, everyone turns into
a bamboo shoot (Ueda, 1992, p.313).
As before, Bashō also depicts the principles of
deep ecology alongside the more obvious
reference to transmigration and
interdependence. The equation of a
conventionally high form of life, the human,
with a conventionally low form of life,
bamboo, challenges our normative speciesism
and affirms the deep ecological notion of
biocentric equality. We might also read an
extension of the self to bamboo in the
recognition that the human body will one day
become the soil that grows the bamboo.
Further, this poem on the bamboo shoot
expresses the notion that all phenomena are
impermanent, will cease to be, and will cause
and condition future phenomena. The
following two poems also share this
sentiment:
many, many things
they call to mind -
those cherry blossoms! (Ueda, 1992,
p.185).
all the more I wish to see
in those blossoms at dawn
the face of god (Ueda, 1992, p.193).
The latter poem can be read as expressing the
desire to experience the sacred in the profane
and demonstrates the ultimate lack of
distinction between the two in terms of their
emptiness. It also affirms an equality
somewhat beyond biocentrism by reading the
divine into the cherry blossom and blurring
the distinction between the two. Moreover,
Simonds (2021)
the former resembles a now famous
meditative exercise the Vietnamese Zen
master Thich Nhat Hanh (1991) uses to teach
dependent origination:
If you are a poet, you will see clearly
that there is a cloud floating in this
sheet of paper. Without a cloud, there
will be no rain; without rain, the trees
cannot grow; and without trees, we
cannot make paper. The cloud is
essential for the paper to exist. If the
cloud is not here, the sheet of paper
cannot be here either… If we look into
this sheet of paper even more deeply,
we can see the sunshine in it. If the
sunshine is not there, the forest cannot
grow… And so, we know that the
sunshine is also in this sheet of paper.
(p.95-96).
On the surface, Bashō’s haiku may simply be
making a brief comment about passing cherry
blossoms, but in doing so he gestures to the
Buddhist ontological position of dependent
origination underlying his experience. In
addition to his haiku being permeated with
flavors of śūnyatā and dependent origination,
such a reflection can also work towards the
kind of self-realization promoted by Devall
and Sessions. If you can see myriad
phenomena in the cherry blossoms then you
can also see myriad phenomena as implicated
in your own being, extending your sense of
self greatly outward.
Finally, compassion lies at the heart of
many Bashō haiku and his presentation of the
non-human subjects of his poems show a
genuine concern for their wellbeing. This can
be seen in the following two haiku:
playing in the blossoms
a horsefly . . . don’t eat it,
friendly sparrows! (Ueda, 1992, p.153)
JMRT 3(1): 67-78
74
plank bridge -
clinging for their lives
ivy vines (Ueda, 1992, p.210).
Upon seeing their perilous situations, Bashō
feels empathy for the horsefly and the ivy.
Just as in Buddhism the realization of śūnyatā
leads naturally into feelings of compassion,
the placement of the non-human as the
primary subject of the poem leads naturally to
an empathetic association with the other.
Further, these two poems gesture to the deep
ecological notion of lessening human
interference in the natural world. In the first
poem, Bashō expresses his concern for the
horsefly but nonetheless does not interfere in
the situation recognizing that to do so would
inevitably cause harm to the sparrows and
potentially the ecological system as a whole.
Similarly, Bashō identifies with the precarity
of the ivy, a plant which is only in its present
difficult situation because of a human
imposition in the natural environment. One
commenter, Shida Gishū, states: “The poet,
knowing how dangerous that bridge was,
wondered how the ivy could trust its precious
life to it” (Ueda, 1992, p.210) Here, Bashō
may be admonished for passively noting how
a human action threatens a nonhuman life
before passing over the bridge himself (Ueda,
1992, p.210). A deep ecologist might express
disdain for the poet’s lackadaisical
engagement with the ivy and claim that, if he
were truly concerned for its wellbeing as a
living thing of equal worth, he should have
been compelled to act directly to alleviate the
danger of the situation. However, by
identifying with the ivy’s precarity and
relating it to the human imposition on the
environment, we can read the poem as
nonetheless consonant with deep ecological
values.
This sentiment is even more clearly
seen in the following poem written about a
method of fishing where, by torchlight, a
fisherman “aboard a boat manipulates twelve
Simonds (2021)
cormorants by means of leashes and induces
them to catch trout, which they are then
forced to regurgitate” (Ueda, 1992, p.205):
so exciting
and, after a while, so sad-
cormorant fishing (Ueda, 1992, p.205)
Moro Nanimaru’s commentary on this haiku
states: “The poet had been watching the scene
with excitement, until he saw the cormorants
being forced to regurgitate the trout. Now the
excitement was all gone. Struck by the
sadness of the scene, he wondered if any
living creature would be glad to lose its life”
(Ueda, 1992, p.205). Thus, we can see how
Bashō’s identification with the suffering
cormorant reflects a realization of dependent
origination and leads to a feeling of empathy
and sadness. In this way, he can be seen to be
both realizing that his self extends to the
cormorant and that the cormorant is of equal
value. That said, Bashō’s haiku does not
necessarily reflect the lessening of human
interference in the nonhuman world which
deep ecology calls for. The poem certainly
places the nonhuman at the center of its scene,
but it does so at the peril of the cormorant. Its
description of a leashed cormorant being
forced to catch and regurgitate fish, while in
the end results in an empathetic association
with the cormorant, is done in a way that
normalizes the practice and the resulting
indignity of the bird. That said, we might also
view this poem as being similar to the last in
its depiction of the negative effects of human
action on the more-than-human world. In this
case, it might inflict in the reader a similar
kind of sympathy which could result in them
expanding their sense of self to identify with
the cormorant and might lead them to the
position of biocentric equality.
Bashō’s compassionate poetics were not
restricted to humans and animals but included
non-sentient phenomena as well. One such
poem is a haiku with the heading “Mourning
the death of Matsukura Ranran”:
JMRT 3(1): 67-78
75
in the autumn wind
it lies, sadly broken -
a mulberry stick (Ueda, 1992, p.363)
It is tempting to read the stick as a
placeholder for Ranran, but this would stray
from haiku’s insistence on presenting things
as they are without metaphor or allusion.
Instead of reading this as a literary equation of
Ranran and the stick, we can read it is a literal
equation of Ranran and the stick. In doing so,
one can see how this poem shows Bashō
feeling sorrow for the passing of both Ranran
and the mulberry stick, without distinction
between the two. As these two things are
equal in the ontological reality of śūnyatā,
they are equally lamented by Bashō whose
situatedness in this framework leads him to a
compassionate perspective. Furthermore, just
as deep ecology disseminates value across
humans and nonhumans equally, Bashō plays
with the categories of human and nonhuman
in order to give them equal weight as well.
His lament on the passing of his friend
through a poem on a broken mulberry stick
demonstrates how both human and nonhuman
life are inherently valuable and presents the
two as both worthy of flourishing (Ueda,
1992, p.363). Thus, his poem affirms the kind
of intrinsic valuation of the elements of the
natural world that we find in deep ecological
thought.
Coming Together
In the last several decades, scholars
and practitioners have looked at the various
ways in which Buddhism and
environmentalism converge. Especially in the
context of Western Buddhism, individuals
like Stephanie Kaza (2019) and David Loy
(2019) have made a concerted effort to
demonstrate the parallel trajectories of
Buddhism and ecological activism. More
specifically, the relationship between
Buddhism and deep ecology has been given
significant attention in Daniel H. Henning’s
Simonds (2021)
Buddhism and Deep Ecology (2002). As such,
it is not my intention to outline all of the
similarities and dissimilarities between the
two traditions here. However, when haiku is
seen through the individual respective lenses
of Zen and deep ecology there is clear overlap
in their assessment of the form in general and
the writing of Bashō in particular that belies
their similarity.
With respect to the characteristics of
classical haiku isolated and argued by Stibbe,
the concerns of both Zen Buddhism and deep
ecology are represented therein. The form’s
emphasis on the ordinary, on empathetic
association, and on presenting a subject “as it
is” demonstrates Zen’s preoccupation with a
direct experience of śūnyatā that leads to a
compassionate comportment to the world.
Similarly, it aligns with deep ecology’s equal
valuation of human and nonhuman life or
biocentric equality, its commitment to lessen
human interference with nonhuman
proceedings, and its task of disrupting harmful
ideological structures through a process of
self-realization. Each of these traditions –
haiku, Zen, and deep ecology – are gesturing
to similar ideals that are simply given
different labels based on their respective
context. The aesthetic priorities of haiku
developed within a Zen Buddhist milieu, so it
is not surprising that the form reflects some of
the ontological and ethical values of that
milieu. Deep ecology, however, was far
removed from haiku’s development both
geographically and temporally, and yet its
values can also be seen in the aesthetic
priorities of the poetic form.
When it comes to the specific haiku of
Bashō, however, the subjects they portray and
their style of portrayal do not necessarily
reflect all of the commitments of deep
ecology. Bashō’s poems certainly affirm the
worth of the nonhuman and, in doing so, can
function to install deep ecological values in
the reader. However, it is unclear that his
JMRT 3(1): 67-78
76
placement of the nonhuman as the subject of
the poetry is always done in a way that
necessarily promotes their flourishing. In both
Zen and deep ecology, the understanding of
the other-as-equal should lead to an active
engagement with the other to facilitate their
wellbeing, and while Bashō’s haiku certainly
affirms the positive valuations of Zen and
deep ecology, it occasionally fails to
demonstrate an ongoing commitment and
participation towards the flourishing of the
other. In poems like the one describing
cormorant fishing, Bashō relates a scene of
the negative impacts of humans on the natural
world but does not actively seek to remedy
the situation. That said, Bashō’s work is
bound to the time period in which it was
written, and both the kind of activism
prescribed by contemporary deep ecologists
as well as was some of their theoretical
positions were centuries away from being first
articulated. Thus, we can read these poems as
a remedy to the situation. By describing these
scenes, the reader is left to empathize with the
nonhuman subjects of the poems which can
lead to a view of biocentric equality and a
subsequent expansion of the reader’s sense of
self. As such, his haiku may be used by Zen
and deep ecology as a useful literary tool for
contesting harmful ecological positions and
for bringing about the ideological shifts
necessary for effecting positive change in
both the Zen and deep ecological contexts.
In this sense, Bashō’s haiku are in
accordance with the principles of both Zen
and deep ecology. Thus, by using Bashō’s
haiku and the general form as the primary
subject of analysis, we can not only see where
the aesthetics of haiku reflect the ideals of
Zen and deep ecology but also how the two
traditions reflect the values of one another. On
top of uncovering some of the themes of
Bashō’s work, this analysis has been another
piece of evidence to help make the case that
Zen Buddhism and deep ecology share similar
values and can thus be useful traditions to
Simonds (2021)
think and act alongside one another towards
their complementary goals. To this end, haiku
and the literary works of Bashō can be useful
literary devices for expressing their shared
ideals and encouraging contemporary readers
to rethink their perceptions of and relations
with the more-than-human world. While these
short poems have a reputation of being a
simplistic or juvenile literary form, we can
clearly see how haiku have the capacity for
relating important ideas that can work towards
alleviating the suffering all sentient beings in
the more-than-human world.
Acknowledgements: The author has no
acknowledgements to declare.
Author Contributions: The author was the
researcher and writer of this manuscript.
Conflicts of Interest: The author has no
conflicts to declare.
Funding: The author has no fundings to
declare.
References:
1. Aitken, R., (1978). A Zen Wave:
Bashō’s Haiku and Zen. Washington,
D.C.: John Weatherhill Inc.
2. Bashō, M., (1966). The Narrow Road
to the Deep North and Other Travel
Sketche, translated by Nobuyuki
Yuasa. Baltimore: Penguin Books Inc.,
1966. Print.
3. Cheng, H.L., (1979). “Zen and San-
lun Mādhyamika Thought: Exploring
the Theoretical Foundation of Zen
Teachings and Practices.” Religious
Studies vol. 15, no. 3: 343-363.
JMRT 3(1): 67-78
77
4. Devall, B., and Sessions, G., (1985).
Deep Ecology: Living as if Nature
Mattered. Layton: Peregrine Smith
Books.
5. Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta:
Setting the Wheel of Dhamma in
Motion (1993), translated by
Thanissaro Bhikkhu. Access to
Insight. Retrieved from:
https://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipita
ka/sn/sn56/sn56.011.than.html
6. Dōgen, E., (2007). Shōbōgenzō: The
Treasure Hosue of the Eye of the True
Teaching, translated by Hubert
Nearman. Mount Shasta: Shasta
Abbey Press.
7. Dumoulin, H., (1990). Zen Buddhism:
A History, Volume 2: Japan, translated
by James W. Heisig and Paul Knitter.
New York: Collier Macmillan Canada.
8. Dumoulin, H., (2005). Zen Buddhism:
A History, Volume 1: India and China,
translated by James W. Heisig and
Paul Knitter. Bloomington: World
Wisdom.
9. Haiku in English: The First Hundred
Years (2013), edited by Jim Kacian,
Philip Rowland, and Allan Burns.
New York: W. W. Norton Company.
10. Hanh, T.N., (1991) Peace is Every
Step: The Path of Mindfulness in
Everyday Life. New York: Bantam
Books.
11. Henning, D.H., (2002). Buddhism and
Deep Ecology. Bloomington:
Authorhouse.
12. Higginson, W.J., and Harter, P.,
(2013). The Haiku Handbook: How to
Write, Teach, and
Simonds (2021)
Appreciate Haiku. New York:
Kodansha USA.
13. Hopkins, J., (2007). Nāgārjuna’s
Precious Garland: Buddhist Advice
for Living and Liberation. Boulder:
Snow Lion Publications.
14. Introduction to the Middle Way:
Chandrakirti’s Madhyamakavatara
with Commentary by Jamgön Mipham
(2004), translated by Padmakara
Translation Group. Boulder:
Shambhala Publications.
15. James, S.P., (2004). Zen Buddhism
and Environmental Ethics. Burlington:
Ashgate Publishing Company.
16. Jōkin, K. The Denkōroku or The
Record of the Transmission of the
Light, translated by Hubert Nearman.
Mount Shasta: Shasta Abbey Press.
17. Kalupahana, D.J., (1986). Nagarjuna:
The Philosophy of the Middle Way.
Albany: State University of New York
Press.
18. Kaza, S., (2019). Green Buddhism:
Practice and Compassionate Action in
Uncertain Times. Boulder: Shambhala
Publications.
19. Loy, D.R., (2019). Ecodharma:
Buddhist Teachings for the Ecological
Crisis. Somerville: Wisdom
Publications.
20. Masao, A., (1985). Zen and Western
Thought, edited by William R.
Lafleur. London: Macmillan Press.
JMRT 3(1): 67-78
78
21. Naess, A., (1989). Ecology,
Community, and Lifestyle: Outline of
an Ecosophy, translated by David
Rothenberg. New York: Cambridge
University Press.
22. Naess, A., and Sessions, G., (1984).
“The Deep Ecology Platform”.
Foundation for Deep Ecology. San
Francisco: Foundation for Deep
Ecology. Retrieved from:
http://www.deepecology.org/platform.
htm
23. Prajnaparamita Heart Sutra:
Translated from the Chinese Version
of Xuanzang (2006), translated by
Venerable Yifa, M.C. Owens, and
P.M. Romaskiewicz. Hacienda
Heights: Buddha’s Light Publishing.
24. Stibbe, A., (2007). “Haiku and
Beyond: Language, Ecology, and
Reconnection with the Natural
World.” Anthrozoos vol. 20, no.2.
25. Thurman, R., (2006). The Jewel Tree
of Tibet: The Enlightenment Engine of
Tibetan Buddhism.New York: Atria
Books.
26. Ueda, M., (1982). Matsuo Bashō. New
York: Kodansha International.
27. Ueda, M., (1992). Bashō and His
Interpreters. Stanford: Stanford
University Press.