Fourth story of Twenty-one Zen stories from “A Cup of Zen” is “The Master Who Insulted Him” By Kai Tsukimi
The Encounter
A Governor, who held considerable authority in his village, had developed a keen interest in Zen. He had heard about two respected Zen masters, Renji and Kaito, who were travelling through the region. Eager to meet them, he invited them to his home, hoping to learn from their wisdom.
On the appointed day, he waited in his courtyard to receive his guests. When the two masters arrived, he welcomed them respectfully and expressed his pleasure at having them visit.
Here was a man who had power and position, yet was willing to place himself in the position of a student. There is something encouraging about that. An interest in learning does not necessarily depend on where we stand in society. A person may hold authority over many and still recognise that there are things yet to be understood.
But I wonder what the Governor expected from this meeting. Perhaps he imagined conversations that would open new doors of understanding. Perhaps he hoped the masters would recognise his intelligence and his readiness to learn. After all, when we approach something we admire, we sometimes carry an expectation of how that encounter should unfold.
Master Renji was the first to respond to the Governor’s enthusiasm. He observed that the Governor was intelligent and perceptive and believed he would make an excellent student of Zen.
The Governor was pleased.
Renji’s words were encouraging. They acknowledged the Governor’s abilities and affirmed his interest in learning. There was nothing unpleasant in this exchange. The Governor received the appreciation graciously.
Yet, there is something worth noticing here. Praise can make us feel understood, but it can also strengthen the picture we already have of ourselves. When someone recognises qualities we believe we possess, we are naturally inclined to welcome their observation.
Then came Master Kaito’s response.
Unlike Renji, Kaito was unimpressed. He challenged the very suggestion that the Governor would make a good student. He remarked that the Governor might possess authority and intelligence, but would not recognise Zen even if it struck him in the face.
The remark was blunt, almost dismissive.
The atmosphere changed. The Governor, who had been enjoying the exchange moments earlier, was suddenly confronted with something he had not expected. His pride was wounded. His hands tightened into fists. This was not how people usually spoke to someone of his standing.
And here the story takes an interesting turn.
We do not know how often the Governor had encountered disagreement in his life. Perhaps people around him were accustomed to being careful with their words. Perhaps he was used to receiving respect, agreement and acknowledgement. Whatever the reason, Kaito’s remark was clearly outside the familiar pattern of his interactions.
Was it the insult itself that surprised him, or was it the absence of fear in the person delivering it?
Kaito did not appear to be measuring his words against the Governor’s position. He spoke what he perceived, without first considering whether it would please the person listening.
That does not automatically make Kaito right. Being outspoken is not the same as being wise, and an uncomfortable statement is not necessarily a truthful one. But his remark presented the Governor with an unfamiliar perspective, and perhaps that was enough to make him pause.
The Governor could have responded with anger. He could have reminded Kaito of his position or demanded an apology. He could have dismissed the master and ended the meeting.
Instead, he took a breath and allowed the moment to settle.
After a long pause, he smiled and thanked the two masters, saying that he now knew what he needed to do.
The following day, he made his decision. He did not build a temple for Renji. He built one for Kaito, and chose to study Zen under the very man who had insulted him.
The story ends there, leaving us to consider what might have happened within the Governor during that brief but significant encounter.
Perhaps he recognised something in Kaito’s fearlessness. Perhaps he realised that the person who made him uncomfortable had offered him an opportunity to examine himself. Or perhaps he understood that the path to learning would not always be lined with reassuring words.
What matters is that he did not allow his immediate hurt to make the decision for him.
He chose to remain a student.
Looking Beyond the Insult
There is a tendency in human interactions to evaluate the person before examining what the person has said.
When someone praises us, we may readily consider them kind, perceptive and understanding. When someone criticises us, we may begin questioning their intentions, character and credibility.
We create categories of good, bad and ugly, often based on how comfortable or uncomfortable we feel in their presence.
But is that always a reliable way of recognising wisdom?
The Governor’s encounter with the two masters offers an interesting contrast. Renji’s words made him feel good about himself. Kaito’s words disturbed that comfort. Yet, the Governor chose to give greater consideration to the person who challenged him.
Perhaps this was the beginning of his real learning.
There is an important distinction between accepting another person’s opinion and being willing to examine it. Someone else’s perception need not necessarily be a mistaken or deliberate falsification of our own understanding. It may reveal an aspect of ourselves that we have not considered.
We do not have to agree with every observation made about us. Nor should we assume that every criticism carries wisdom. But dismissing an opinion simply because it hurts our pride can close the door to a new understanding.
Kaito’s remark also raises another question. Does authority sometimes create a distance between us and the truth? When people are reluctant to disagree with us, we may begin to mistake their silence for agreement. Someone who is not intimidated by our position can sometimes offer a perspective that others hesitate to express.
However, courage in speaking must be accompanied by discernment in listening. Not every person who speaks bluntly is a master, just as not everyone who speaks gently possesses wisdom.
The Governor could not have known everything about Kaito from one encounter. Yet he was willing to consider that the man’s words might have something worth exploring.
That willingness is significant.
Perhaps we spend too much time searching for the perfect teacher: someone whose words are comforting, whose conduct is admirable and whose understanding matches our expectations. But learning does not always arrive in such a convenient form.
A teacher may question us. A colleague may point out a weakness. A friend may disagree with a decision we feel strongly about. Even an unfamiliar person may make an observation that causes us to reconsider something we have long taken for granted.
The challenge is to separate the message from the messenger without surrendering our judgement.
We must be able to ask ourselves: Is there something here I need to examine? Is my resistance coming from a genuine disagreement, or am I simply uncomfortable with being challenged?
The Governor did not have to consider himself wrong in order to recognise that Kaito might have something to teach him.
And perhaps this is the most valuable part of the story.
We often speak of finding a master who can guide us through life’s lessons. But before looking for such a person, perhaps we need to cultivate the qualities of a student: curiosity, humility, patience and the willingness to question our own assumptions.
A master may point towards a direction, but the responsibility to examine, understand and learn remains ours.
The Governor built a temple for Kaito. We do not know whether he eventually mastered Zen. The story does not tell us.
Perhaps it does not need to.
It leaves us with something more immediate: a man who was accustomed to authority chose, for a moment, to set aside his pride and listen.
Sometimes that is where learning begins.
Reflection
- When someone criticises us, do we examine what they have said, or do we first judge the person delivering the criticism?
- Do we find ourselves more receptive to people who affirm our beliefs than to those who question them?
- Have we ever dismissed an observation simply because it made us uncomfortable? Could there have been something worth considering in it?
- How do we distinguish between honest criticism that encourages growth and words intended merely to hurt or diminish us?
- When we seek a teacher or mentor, are we looking for someone who will confirm what we already believe, or someone who will help us examine what we have yet to understand?
A Moment of Zen
Think of a recent occasion when someone challenged your opinion, questioned your decision or pointed out something you did not wish to hear.
Before deciding whether the person was right or wrong, revisit the words themselves.
Pause and ask:
- What exactly was being pointed out?
- Did I react to the message, or to the discomfort of hearing it?
- Is there something in that observation that deserves further thought?
- Can I disagree with the person while still considering their perspective?
You need not accept every criticism, and you need not seek approval from everyone.
Simply practise listening without immediately defending, dismissing or categorising the person.
Wisdom does not always arrive in a voice we welcome. Sometimes, the first step towards understanding is allowing ourselves to listen before turning away.
