“To a sincere student,” said the Zen teacher Zengetsu, “every day is a good day.”
Little is known of Zengetsu, who lived in ninth-century China during the latter part of the Tang dynasty. Much of his teachings are lost, except a set of terse instructions to Zen students, published in Paul Reps and Nyogen Senzaki’s Zen Flesh, Zen Bones. Unlike many of the extant koans that remain bound in the culture and times of ancient China, Zengetsu’s instructions prove accessible and relevant in our own times.
Zengetsu’s era bears resemblance to our own. The Tang dynasty was a period of cultural blossoming, economic expansion, and technological advancement. Poets like Li Bai and Du Fu penned verses that now furnish the annals of Chinese literature. Refinement in woodblock printing helped to foster knowledge and scholarship. Trade along the Silk Road brought goods and cultural exchange from distant lands. Buddhism thrived during the Tang dynasty, especially Chan (later known as Zen in Japan and the West), which established five major schools of practice, two of which remain today, Caodong and Linji (known in Japanese as Soto and Rinzai).
The renaissance of the Tang dynasty was followed by political upheaval. The An Lushan Rebellion threw China into a civil war that lasted nearly a decade. Millions suffered under displacement and famine in one of the most horrific de-population events in history. Although Tang rulers eventually reestablished dominion, their power was diminished and never fully recovered. The latter half of the dynasty was plagued by unrest and contests between imperial power and local chieftains. Zengetsu may not have witnessed the events of the An Lushan Rebellion first hand, but he lived through its aftermath. The threat of war, political instability, coupled with technological and cultural ferment, imbued his time with paradox and ambiguity. Widespread suffering had left a mark on his society.
The adversity of our current moment resembles the tumult of the Tang dynasty. War and strife have upended the world order. Many democracies reel in political turmoil. Extreme weather is ravaging landscapes across the globe, while disruptive technologies such as AI are rending the economic establishment. On a more individual level, the demands of our days do not relent: work, school, family, and relationships persist in their challenge. The vicissitudes of human life — illness, misfortune, death — remain inescapable. Considering all that conspires against us, one might be forgiven for dismissing Zengetsu’s claim — “To a sincere student, every day is a good day” — as glib and naïve.
Things are not always good, nor are the situations that befall us always pleasant. Yet, committed practice upholds a fundamental trust in the instructiveness of life. Adversity is educative — it draws out from within us a maturity that is waiting to emerge.
However, the statement is not a claim on a given state of affairs. To insist that everything is good would be a bold lie, given the atrocities and injustices that afflict millions. Rather, the statement expresses an attitude that undergirds a life of practice. Things are not always good, nor are the situations that befall us always pleasant. Yet, committed practice upholds a fundamental trust in the instructiveness of life. Adversity is educative — it draws out from within us a maturity that is waiting to emerge. By harboring this attitude, we face headwinds with greater openness and equanimity, more attuned to the whisperings of wisdom, more amenable to the stirrings of compassion.
Aversion and distraction are part of our conditioned reaction to challenge; openness to difficulty does not come to us by default. Confronted with tribulation, we often lapse to ingrained patterns: outrage, blame, resentment, moroseness, resignation, apathy. These reactions, though a natural function of our animal nervous systems, can inadvertently abet and intensify the harms that we brace against. This “ancient twisted karma” (as the Zen “Verse of Atonement” puts it) produces and reinforces much of the suffering we see today. For instance, distrust and rage can erode our ability to communicate with those with opposing views at a time when dialogue is more vital than ever. Apathy impairs effort toward decarbonization as climate change accelerates. Resentment feeds a politics of grievance, fomenting isolationist policies that undermine cooperation between nations. Anger ossifies into hatred; hatred lashes out in violence. However, for practitioners committed to ending this vicious cycle, each adversity signals an opportunity for growth. To transform our suffering, both individual and collective, we commit to seeing adversity not as an affliction, but as the precondition of growth.
This commitment to growth is most evident when we consciously elect the questions that shape our inner landscape. In my own practice as a psychotherapist, I have discovered that many clients are oppressed by questions that yield no satisfying answers. When assailed by difficult circumstances, they ask, “Why is this happening to me?” It’s not so much a question as an exclamation point that signifies vexation and distress.
Such questions feed on their own misery and torment the mind. Instead, a student committed to practice might ask: “How is this situation ushering me towards maturity?” An even simpler question might be: “What is this teaching me?” By asking the question that steers our inquiry, we orient ourselves toward growth in the face of adversity. This is the sincerity that discovers the goodness in each day.
Human life has been marked by anguish at every point in history. In this moment, convulsions of geopolitics and the ravages of climate change portend waves of pain and heartbreak. However, the sorrows that pave our path will also guide us home. Rainer Maria Rilke conveyed the same sentiment when he wrote:
“…and if we will live with faith in the value of what is challenging, then what seems most difficult will become our truest and most trustworthy friend. How could we forget the myths about dragons who at the last moment transform into princesses waiting to see us act just once with courage. Perhaps every terror is, at its core, something helpless that wants our help.”
To face life in this way is not easy, and nor does life become easier when we face it with courage. Rather, challenges become more workable, less hostile. We can see difficulties as forces that support our development. When we resolve to trust in the wisdom of life, we cannot help but see everyday as a good day.
