"Is That So?" — Three Words I Learned from Zen Master Hakuin
Zen Master Hakuin was falsely accused of fathering a child. He didn't defend himself. He just said "Is that so?" — and these three words changed how I see blame and misunderstanding.
"Is That So?" — Three Words I Learned from Zen Master Hakuin
I was flipping through an old book today and came across the story of Zen Master Hakuin.
Honestly, I've read this story before. But every time, something about it taps me gently on the shoulder.
Hakuin was a Zen master in Edo-era Japan. He lived in a temple near a small town. In that town, a couple ran a tofu shop. They had a daughter.
The story goes like this — one day, their daughter turned up pregnant. In those days, in a small town, an unmarried girl being pregnant was a massive scandal. Her parents were furious. They demanded to know who the father was.
The girl refused to say. Pressed to the breaking point, she blurted out a name: "Master Hakuin."
You can imagine the town's reaction. Everyone was outraged. They stormed the temple, screaming at Hakuin. They called him a hypocrite, a fraud, a disgrace. Some threw dirty water at him. Others scrawled insults on his door.
Through all of it, Hakuin said only one thing.
"Is that so?"
That was it. No defense, no anger, no self-pity. He just said, quietly, "Is that so?"
When the baby was born, the parents dropped the infant in front of Hakuin and said, "This is your child. You raise it."
Hakuin took the baby and said, "Is that so?"
And then he raised the child. A monk, holding an infant, going around town begging for milk, begging for food. Nobody respected him anymore. The man who had been a revered Zen master became the town's laughingstock, its shame.
He lived like this for over a year.
Then the girl couldn't bear the guilt anymore. She told the truth — the real father was a young man who worked at the fish market. She had lied because she was afraid of getting him in trouble, so she had pinned it all on Hakuin.
Her parents knelt before Hakuin, weeping, begging for forgiveness.
Hakuin handed the baby back to them and said:
"Is that so?"
When I read this, I was turning my mala beads. Turning and turning, and then I stopped.
"Is that so?" — I kept thinking about these words for a long time.
What do they really mean?
It's not a confession. Hakuin didn't say "Yes, I did it." He didn't deny it either. He didn't say "It wasn't me, you've got the wrong person."
He just said, "Is that so?"
Sometimes I think these might be the most powerful words in the world.
Because "Is that so?" contains no resistance. It doesn't say "you're wrong" and it doesn't say "you're right." It simply receives what is happening, and then gently, quietly, sets it down.
You know, I think about what I would do if someone accused me unfairly — say, a coworker thought I was talking behind their back, or a friend believed I'd betrayed them. What's my first reaction?
Probably to explain. To argue. To feel hurt. To say "how could you think that about me?"
None of those reactions are wrong. But they're exhausting.
What Hakuin's story makes me wonder is: are all those arguments really necessary?
I'm not saying we should silently accept every accusation. Some things in life need to be clarified. Some misunderstandings need to be untangled. But so often, we spend enormous energy on "proving we're right." And that proving itself becomes the source of suffering.
"Is that so?" isn't weakness. On the contrary — it takes tremendous strength. Not the strength of resistance, but the strength of a deeper understanding: who I am is not determined by someone else's judgment.
Hakuin knew he was innocent. That was enough. He didn't need anyone to believe him. He didn't even need to prove himself in the end — when the truth came out, he didn't say "I told you it wasn't me." He just gave the baby back and said the same thing again.
"Is that so?"
Lately I've been trying to use this method.
Not with other people — with myself.
Like the other day, I made a mistake, and the voice in my head started up: "How could you be so stupid?" "You always do this." "You'll never learn."
I tried saying to myself: "Is that so?"
And the voice actually quieted down a little.
Not because it disappeared, but because I stopped fighting it. I stopped saying "I'm not stupid," and I stopped saying "I really am stupid." I just accepted it — oh, you think that. Is that so?
And then the thought left on its own.
Just like the insults hurled at Hakuin — they came, he received them, and then they scattered on their own.
Maybe that's how life works. Not everything thrown at you needs to be caught. Some things, you can just let pass through.
"Is that so?"
Easy to say. Hard to do. But today, I want to try to remember these three words.
Three questions for you:
- Has something happened recently that made you want to defend yourself, to prove yourself right?
- If you had said "Is that so?" to yourself in that moment, what might have happened?
- What do you think is the difference between "accepting" and "giving up"?
