Essays in Zen Buddhism · 49 of 66

Practical Methods of Zen Instruction, Part 6

So far Zen appears to be nothing but a philosophy of negation and contradiction, whereas in fact it has its affirmative side, and in this consists the uniqueness of Zen. In most forms of mysticism, speculative or emotional, their assertions are general and abstract, and there is not much in them that will specifically distinguish them from some of the philosophical dictums. Sings Blake for instance:

“To see a world in a grain of sand, And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour.”

Again listen to the exquisite feelings expressed in the lines of Wither:

“By the murmur of a spring, Or the least bough’s rustling; By a daisy, whose leaves spread Shut when Titan goes to bed; Or a shady bush or tree— She could more infuse in me Than all nature’s beauties can In some other wiser man.”

It is not very difficult to understand these poetic and mystical feelings as expressed by the highly sensitive souls, though we may not all realise exactly as they felt. Even when Eckhart declares that “the eye with which I see God is the same with which God sees me,” or when Plotinus refers to “that which mind, when it turns back, thinks before it thinks itself,” we do not find it altogether beyond our understanding to get at their meaning as far as the ideas are concerned which they try to convey in these mystical utterances. But when we come to statements by the Zen masters, we are entirely at sea how to take them. Their affirmations are as irrelevant, so inappropriate, so irrational, and so nonsensical—at least superficially, that those who have not gained the Zen way of looking at things can hardly make, as we say, heads or tails of them. The truth is that even with full-fledged mystics they are unable to be quite free from the taint of intellection, and leave as a rule “traces” by which their holy abode could be reached. Plotinus’ “flight from alone to alone” is a great mystical utterance proving how deeply he delved into the inner sanctuary of our consciousness. But there is still something speculative or metaphysical about it, and when it is put side by side with the Zen utterances to be cited below, it has, as the masters would say, a mystic flavour on the surface. So long as the masters are indulging in negations, denials, contradictions, or paradoxes, the stain of speculation is not quite washed off of them. Naturally, Zen is not opposed to speculation as it is also one of the functions of the mind. But Zen has travelled along a different path altogether unique, I think, in the history of mysticism, whether Eastern or Western, Christian or Buddhist. A few examples will suffice to illustrate my point.

A monk asked Jōshu, “I read in the Sutra that all things return to the One, but where does this One return to?” Answered the master, “When I was in the province of Tsing I had a robe made which weighed seven chin.” When Kōrin (Hsiang-lin Yüan) was asked what was the signification of Bodhi-Dharma’s coming from the West, his reply was, “After a long sitting one feels fatigued.” What is the logical relation between the question and the answer? Does it refer to Dharma’s nine years’ sitting against the wall as the tradition has it? If so, was his propaganda much ado for nothing except his feeling fatigued? When Kwazan (Hê-shan) was asked what the Buddha was, he said, “I know how to play the drum, rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub!” (chieh ta ku). When Baso Dōichi was sick, one of his disciples came and inquired about his condition, “How do you feel to-day?” “Nichimen-butsu, Gwachimen-butsu!” was the reply which literally means “sun-faced Buddha, moon-faced Buddha!” A monk asked Jōshu, “When the body crumbles all to pieces and returns to the dust, there eternally abides one thing. Of this I have been told, but where does this one thing abide?” The master replied, “It is windy again this morning.” When Shuzan (Shou-shan) was asked what was the principal teaching of Buddhism, he quoted a verse:

“By the castle of the king of Ch‘u, Eastward flows the stream of Ju.”

“Who is the teacher of all the Buddhas?” was the question put to Bokuju (Mu-chou), who in reply merely hummed a tune, “Ting-ting, tung-tung, ku-ti, ku-tung!” To the question what Zen was, the same master gave the following answer, “Namu-sambo!” (namoratnatrayāya). The monk however confessed that he could not understand it, whereupon the master exclaimed, “O you miserable frog, whence is this evil karma of yours?” On another occasion, the same question called out a different answer, which was, “Makahannyaharamii!” (mahāprajñāpāramitā). When the monk failed to comprehend the ultimate meaning of the phrase, the master went on:

“My robe is all worn out after so many years’ usage, And parts of it in shreds loosely hanging, have been blown away to the clouds!”

To quote another case from Bokuju, he was once asked by a monk, “What is the doctrine that goes beyond the Buddhas and Fathers?” The master immediately holding up his staff said to the congregation, “I call this a staff, and what would you call it?” No answer was forthcoming, whereupon the master again holding forth the staff asked the monk, “Did you not ask me about the doctrine that goes beyond the Buddhas and Fathers?”

When Nan-yin Yê-gu (Nan-yüan Hui-yung) was once asked what the Buddha was, he said, “What is not the Buddha?” Another time his answer was, “I never knew him.” There was still another occasion when he said, “Wait until there is one, for then I will tell you.” So far Nan-yin does not seem to be so very incomprehensible, but what follows will challenge our keenest intellectual analysis. When the inquiring monk replied to the master’s third statement, saying, “If so, there is no Buddha in you,” the master promptly asserted, “You are right there.” This evoked a further question, “Where am I right, sir?” “This is the thirtieth day of the month,” replied the master.

Ki-su Chi-jo (Kuei-tsung Chih-ch‘ang) was one of the able disciples of Baso (Ma-tsu). When he was weeding in the garden, a Buddhist scholar versed in the philosophy of Buddhism came to see the master. A snake happened to pass by them, and the master at once killed it with a spade. The philosopher-monk remarked, “How long I have heard of the name of Kisu, and how reverently I have thought of it! But what do I see now but a rude-mannered monk?” “O my scholar-monk,” said the master, “you had better go back to the Hall and have a cup of tea over there.” Kisu’s retort as it stands here is quite unintelligible as far as our common-sense knowledge of worldly affairs goes; but according to another informant Kisu is reported, when he was reproached by the monk, to have said this, “Who is the rude-mannered one, you or I?” Then said the monk, “What is rude-mannered?” The master held up the spade. “What is refined? “He now assumed the attitude as if to kill the snake. “If so,” said the monk, “you are behaving according to the law.” “Enough with my lawful or unlawful behaviour,” demanded the master, “when did you see my killing the snake anyway?” The monk made no answer.[6.34a]

Perhaps this is sufficient to show how freely Zen deals with those abstruse philosophical problems which have been taxing all human ingenuity ever since the dawn of intelligence. Let me conclude this part with a sample sermon delivered by Goso Hōyen (Wu-tsu Fa-yen); for a Zen master occasionally, no, quite frequently, comes down to the dualistic level of understanding and tries to deliver a speech for the edification of his pupils. But being a Zen sermon we naturally expect something unusual in it. Goso was one of the ablest Zen masters of the twelfth century. He was the teacher of Yengo (Yüan-wu) famous as the author of the Hekiganshu. One of his sermons runs thus:

“Yesterday I came across one topic which I thought I might communicate to you, my pupils, to-day. But an old man such as I am is apt to forget, and the topic has gone off altogether from my mind. I cannot just recall it.” So saying, Goso remained quiet for some little time, but at last he exclaimed, “I forget, I forget, I cannot remember!” He resumed however, “I know there is a mantram in one of the Sutras known as The King of Good Memory. Those who are forgetful may recite it, and the thing forgotten will come again. Well, I must try.” He then recited the mantram, “Om o-lo-lok-kei svāha!” Clapping his hands and laughing heartily he said, “I remember, I remember; this it was: When you seek the Buddha, you cannot see him: when you look for the patriarch, you cannot see him. The muskmelon is sweet even to the stems, the bitter gourd is bitter even to the roots.”

He then came down from the pulpit without further remark.