HISTORY OF ZEN BUDDHISM FROM BODHI-DHARMA TO HUI-NENG (YENO) (520 A.D.–713 A.D.)

HISTORY OF ZEN BUDDHISM FROM BODHI-DHARMA TO HUI-NENG (YENO) (520 A.D.–713 A.D.)

MY intention here is not to make a thoroughly critical and scientific study of the history of Zen Buddhism; for this presupposes some knowledge of the development of Buddhism in China, and there are, as far as my knowledge extends, no text-books on the subject, which are accessible to readers of this book. The main object of the present Essay will therefore be to acquaint them first with the traditional history of Zen as it is told by its followers both in Japan and China. Its critical investigation will follow when readers are in a degree prepared for the task.

The traditional origin of Zen in India before its introduction into China, which is recorded in Zen literature, is so mixed with legends that no reliable facts can be gathered from it. In the days when there was yet no critical study of anything and when things, especially relating to religion, were believed in a wholesale manner, we could not expect anything else. It may now be too late to try to unravel the mysteries enveloping the origin of Zen in India except in a general and logical way from the historical facts already known concerning the development of Mahayana Buddhism. In fact, Zen Buddhism, as was already discussed, is the product of the Chinese mind, or rather the Chinese elaboration of the Doctrine of Enlightenment. Therefore, when we want to narrate the history of Zen, it may be better in some respects not to go to India, but to stay in China and study the psychology and philosophy of her people and the surrounding conditions that made it possible for Zen to achieve a successful growth in the land of the celestials, always remembering that it is a practical interpretation of the Doctrine of Enlightenment.

Some scholars may however object to this kind of treatment of the subject, on the ground that if Zen is at all a form of Buddhism or even the essence of it as is claimed by its followers, it cannot be separated from the general history of Buddhism in India. This is quite true, but as far as facts are concerned, Zen as such did not exist in India, that is, in the form as we have it to-day; and therefore when we try to go beyond China to trace its origin and development, the only way open to us will be the one I have followed in my previous Essays collected here. That is to say, we must consider Zen the Chinese interpretation of the Doctrine of Enlightenment, which is expounded in all Buddhist literature, most intensively in the Mahayana and more or less provisionarily in the Hinayana. As time went on, this doctrine steadily grew to occupy the minds of the Buddha’s followers and to control the course of development of Buddhist thought generally; for was it not through Enlightenment that Gautama became the Buddha, the Enlightened One? and is it not the object of Buddhism to follow the footsteps of its founder in the attainment of final emancipation? But the Chinese adherents of Bodhismf77 or the upholders of Enlightenment did not wish to swallow Indian Buddhism undigested. The practical imagination of the Chinese people came thus to create Zen, and developed it to the best of their abilities to suit their own religious requirements.

When we compare Zen as a finished product to the Doctrine of Enlightenment as the latter began to unfold itself in primitive Buddhism, we find a wide and seemingly impassable gap between the two. This was however naturally to be expected. Let us consider the following facts. In the beginning, the Buddha was somewhat timid to disclose the entire secrets of the reason of Buddhahood, thinking that his disciples were not quite capable of following every step he had taken himself. The feeling he first had after Enlightenment governed him almost throughout the entire course of his earthly life. It was this, that the Perfect Supreme Enlightenment attained by him was too exalted an object for sentient beings to strive after, and that even when it were disclosed to them they would not fully comprehend it but might defile it to their own demerit. Did he not even think of passing into Nirvana right after Enlightenment? His whole life, in spite of the advice of the Brahmadeva, seems to have been controlled by this feeling—the reluctance to reveal the entirety of his inmost self-realisation (pratyātmajñāna, according to the terminology of the Laṅkāvatāra). In point of fact, the Buddha himself might have communicated what he realised to all his disciples unreservedly, but the impression we get from the Agama or Nikaya literature is that he was actually reluctant to do so. At least this was the way the earlier writers of the canonical books attempted to represent their master whatever their motives might be. This being the case, the idea of Enlightenment was not brought forward so fully and conspicuously in Hinayana literature as at once to command our attention. But as I pointed out, this idea lies only superficially buried among the other and less important ideas, and can easily be made manifest by logically and psychologically following up the course of events related in the canonical writings concerning the Enlightenment of the Buddha.

The earlier writers conceived the Fourfold Noble Truth or the Twelvefold Chain of Causation, or the Eightfold Path of Righteousness to be the central teaching of Buddhism, which also included on the psychological side the theory of non-ego (anātman). But when we reflect, both philosophically and from the Zen point of view, on the life of the Buddha and on the ultimate principle of Buddhahood, we cannot help thinking of his Enlightenment as the most significant and most essential and most fruitful part of Buddhism. Therefore, what the Buddha really wished to impart to his disciples must be said to have been the Doctrine of Enlightenment in spite of the Hinayanistic interpretation or understanding of what is known as primitive Buddhism. But as long as Buddhism flourished in India, this its central idea remained what it was, that is, such as is developed in most of the Mahayana Sutras. It was only after Bodhi-Dharma who brought it to China that the idea took root there and grew up to what we designate now specifically as the Zen school of Buddhism. The history of Zen, therefore, properly speaking or in its narrower sense, may best be regarded as beginning in China. The Indian soil was too metaphysical, too rich in romantic imagination for Zen to grow as such in its pure form.

While the attainment of Buddhahood or Arhatship was the ultimate goal of his teaching, the Buddha was practical and always close to the facts of life and insisted in his ordinary sermons on a life regulated by moral rules. Nor had he any desire to disclose intellectually or metaphysically the content of Enlightenment which must be experienced but cannot be explained. He never neglected to emphasise the significance of self-realisation, for Nirvana or Enlightenment was to be attained personally through one’s own efforts in one’s own inner consciousness. The Fourfold Noble Truth or the Twelvefold Chain of Causation or the Theory of Non-ego was an intellectual guide to the realisation of the Buddhist life. Such teaching could not have any practical meaning except as finally leading to Enlightenment. The Buddha never thought that his followers would come to lay the entire stress of his teaching on these intellectual structures which could not stand by themselves without being supported by an inner spirit. The Eightfold Path of Righteousness was an ethical guide to Enlightenment, and as such it was regarded by the Buddha. Those who have no higher insight into his teaching than reading a moral signification in it, take it for a kind of ethical culture and no more. They think that Buddhism is a positivism as philosophy and its Brotherhood (saṁgha) a body of moral ascetics. They praise the Buddha as the originator of a scientific religious system free from spiritualistic superstitions which so frequently and abundantly grow around religion. But we know better because these comments are not in full accord with the teaching of the Buddha, for they only reflect one side of it and fail to take an inner and comprehensive view of the whole field. If these critics took up the practise of dhyana as constituting the essence of Buddhism along with the above considerations, they may be said to have come nearer to the goal; but even this dhyana is a form of spiritual exercise which will prepare the way to the final realisation of Nirvana. Dhyana in itself does not distinguish Buddhism from the other philosophico-religious systems which existed in India in the day of the Buddha. Therefore, to understand Zen as expressing the Doctrine of Enlightenment which is the reason of Buddhism, we must wait for the rise of the Mahayana movements. And when this was introduced into China by Bodhi-Dharma, it grew up to what we now know by the name of Zen Buddhism.

I

The legendary story of the origin of Zen in India runs as follows: Śākyamuni was once engaged at the Mount of the Holy Vulture in preaching to a congregation of his disciples. He did not resort to any lengthy verbal discourse to explain his point, but simply lifted a bouquet of flowers before the assemblage, which was presented to him by one of his lay-disciples. Not a word came out of his mouth. Nobody understood the meaning of this except the old venerable Mahākāśyapa, who quietly smiled at the Master, as if he fully comprehended the purport of this silent but eloquent teaching on the part of the Enlightened One. The latter perceiving this opened his golden-tongued mouth and proclaimed solemnly: “I have the most precious treasure, spiritual and transcendental, which this moment I hand over to you, O venerable Mahākāśyapa!”[4.1]

Orthodox Zen followers generally blindly take this incident to be the origin of their doctrine, in which, according to them, is disclosed the inmost mind of the Buddha as well as the secret of the religion. As Zen claims to be the inmost essence of Buddhism and to have been directly transmitted by the Buddha to his greatest disciple, Mahākāśyapa, its followers naturally look for the particular occasion when this transmission took place between the master and the disciple. We know in a general way that Mahākāśyapa succeeded the Buddha as the leader of the Faith, but as to his special transmission of Zen, we have no historical records in the Indian Buddhist writings at present in our possession. This fact is however specially mentioned for the first time as far as we know in a Chinese Zen history called The Records of the Spread of the Lamp,[4.2] compiled by Li Tsun-hsü, in 1029, and also in The Accounts of the Orthodox Transmission of the Dharma compiled by Ch‘i-sung in 1064,[4.3] where this incident is only referred to as not quite an authentic one historically. In The Records of the Transmission of the Lamp,[4.4] written in 1004, which is the earliest Zen history now extant, the author does not record any particular event in the life of the Buddha regarding the Zen transmission. As all the earlier histories of Zen are lost, we have at present no means to ascertain how early the Zen tradition started in China. Probably it began to be talked about among the Zen followers when their religion had been well established in China late in the eighth century.

In those days there must have been some necessity to invent such a legend for the authorisation of Zen Buddhism; for as Zen grew in strength the other schools of Buddhism already in existence grew jealous of its popular influence and attacked it as having no authorised records of its direct transmission from the founder of Buddhism, which was claimed by the devotees of Zen. This was the case especially when the latter made so light of the doctrinal teaching discussed in the Sutras and Śastras, as they thought that the ultimate authority of Zen issued out of their own direct personal experience. In this latter they were quite insistent; but they were not, nor could they be, so critical and independent as to ignore altogether the authority of historical Buddhism, and they wanted somehow to find the record that the Buddha handed Zen over to Mahākāśyapa and from Mahākāśyapa on to the twenty-eighth patriarch, Bodhi-Dharma, who became the first patriarch of Zen in China. A line of twenty-eight Indian patriarchs thus came to be established by Zen historians, while, according to other schools, there were only twenty-three or twenty-four patriarchs after the founder. When the historians had the need for the special transmission of Zen from the Buddha to Mahākāśyapa, they felt it necessary to fill up the gap between the twenty-third or twenty-fourth patriarch and Bodhi-Dharma himself, who according to them was the twenty-eighth. From the modern critical point of view, it did not matter very much whether Zen originated with Bodhi-Dharma in China or with the Buddha in India, inasmuch as Zen is true and has an enduring value. And again from the historian’s point of view which tries scientifically to ascertain the source of development resulting in Zen Buddhism, it is only important to find a logical connection between the Mahayana Doctrine of Enlightenment in India and its practical application by the Chinese to the actualities of life; and as to any special line of transmission in India before Bodhi-Dharma as was established by the Zen devotees, it is not a matter of much concern nor of great importance. But as soon as Zen is formulated into an independent system, not only with its characteristic features but with its historically ascertainable facts, it will be necessary for the historians to trace its line of transmission complete and not interrupted; for in Zen, as we shall see later, it is of the utmost importance for its followers to be duly certified or approved (abbhanumodana) by the master as to the genuineness or orthodox character of their realisation. Therefore, as long as Zen is the product of the Chinese soil from the Indian seed of Enlightenment as I take it, no special line of transmission need be established in India unless it is in a general logical manner such as was attempted in my previous Essays.

The twenty-eight patriarchs of Zen regarded by its followers as the orthodox line of transmission are as follows:

Śākyamuni.

Mahākāśyapa.

Ānanda.

Śaṇavāsa.

Upagupta.

Dhṛitaka.

Micchaka.

Buddhanandi.

Buddhamitra.

Bhikshu Parśva.

Puṇyayaśas.

Aśvaghosha.

Bhikshu Kapimala.

Nāgārjuna.

Kāṇadeva.

Ārya Rāhulata.

Saṁghanandi.

Saṁghayaśas.

Kumārata.

Jayata.

Vasubandhu.

Manura.

Haklenayaśas.

Bhikshu Siṁha.

Vāśasita.

Puṇyamitra.

Prajñātara.

Bodhi-Dharma.

To be consistent with the view that Zen was a “special transmission from the Buddha outside of his doctrinal teaching,” Zen historians have extended this transmission even beyond Śākyamuni; for, according to tradition prevalent already among primitive Buddhists, there were at least six Buddhas prior to the Buddha of the present kalpa who was the Muni of the Śākyas; and these several Buddhas had each to leave a gāthā of “Dharma transmission” which is systematically preserved in Zen history. Now if the six Buddhas of the past had their gāthās, why not those patriarchs between Śākyamuni and Bodhi-Dharma, all inclusively? Or, if any one of them had at all any kind of gāthā, why not the rest of them too? So, they have all bequeathed their gāthās of transmission regularly prefaced with the words: “I now hand over to you the eye-treasure of the Great Law, which you will guard and ever be mindful of.” No doubt they are fictitious productions of the historical imagination which was so highly exercised by the early writers of Zen history, evidently inspired by an extraordinary zeal for their orthodox faith.

The translators of these patriarchal verses are, according to the author of the Records of the Right Transmission, Chih-chiang-liang-lou,[4.5] of the First Wei dynasty, and Na-lien-ya-shê,[4.6] of the Eastern Wei; the former came from Middle India and the latter from Kabul. Their book known as the Account of Succession in the Law[4.7] disappeared after the repeated persecutions carried out by the reigning dynasties, but the stories of these patriarchs were quoted at least in the two books, the Pao-lin Ch‘uan[4.8] and the Shêng-chou Chi,[4.9] both compiled prior to the Transmission of the Lamp, in which they are referred to. But they too were lost some time after Kaisu (Ch‘i-sung) in the Sung dynasty. Therefore at present the Transmission of the Lamp is the earliest history of Zen where the twenty-eight patriarchs and their verses of law-transmission are recorded in detail.

To quote as samples two of the six Buddhas’ gāthās, the first Buddha Vipaśyi declares:

The gāthā of the sixth Buddha, Kāśyapa, who just preceded the Muni of the Śākyas, runs thus:

When the Buddha belonging to the present age ordered Mahākāśyapa to be the orthodox transmitter of the Good Law, he uttered the following verse:

The sixth patriarch Dhṛtaka has:

The twenty-second patriarch, Manura, gave his view thus:

In these gāthās we notice the teaching generally characteristic of Mahayana Buddhism as it prevailed in India. As I said before, as far as the doctrinal side of Buddhism was concerned, Zen had nothing particularly to offer as its own; for its raison d’être consists in its being a spiritual experience and not in its being a special system of philosophy or of certain dogmas conceptually synthesised. We have Zen only when the Mahayana Buddhist speculation is reduced to the actual things of life and becomes the direct expression of one’s inner life. And this did not come to pass until Buddhism was transplanted into China and made there to grow nourished by a people whose practical turn of mentality refused to swallow the Indian tradition undigested. The form of thought as adopted in the so-called patriarchal verses did not appeal to the Chinese mind. When they got into the thought itself, they wished to express it in their own way, they wished to live the thought as was natural to them, and not to hoard it as something imported from abroad and not inherently belonging to their psychology.

When Bodhi-Dharma gave his full sanction to his disciples, he is supposed to have composed the following gāthā:

By this “bearing of fruit” did Dharma prophesy the full development of Zen later in China? The “five petals” are supposed to mean the five Zen Fathers in China after Dharma when Zen came to be recognised as a branch of Buddhism with a message of its own. Whether this gāthā was really a prophetic one by Dharma himself, or whether it was composed by some Zen historian after the sixth patriarch Hui-nêng (Yeno), we have no means to decide. The one thing is certain historically that Dharma’s teaching began to be naturalised in China about two hundred years after him and assimilated by her people in a manner best suited to their mental idiosyncracies. Zen in the form we have it to-day could not mature anywhere outside China. India was too metaphysical, or too given up to mystic imagination. It was the home for the Yuishiki (Yogācāra), the Shingon (Mantra school), the Kegon (Avataṁsaka), or the Sanron (Śūnyatā or Mādhyamika). As for Zen, it needed a mind which had already been deeply steeped in the Laotzŭan ideas and feelings and yet could not detach itself from the details of daily life. Aloofness, romanticism, a certain practical temperament, and yet an even, steady, well-balanced character—these were needed to develop Zen to its present form. That is to say, if Mahayana Buddhism as was expounded by Nāgārjuna and Aśvaghosha, and in the Vimalakīrti, Prajñāpāramitā, and other Sutras, especially in the Laṅkāvatāra, were not worked upon by Chinese genius, Zen as such could not at all have come into existence.

It may not altogether be out of place here to show by concrete examples how much the Indian method diverges from the typically Chinese one in demonstrating the truth of Zen Buddhism. As I have repeatedly illustrated, Buddhism, whether primitive or developed, is a religion of freedom and emancipation, and the ultimate aim of its discipline is to release the spirit from its possible bondage so that it can act freely in accordance with its own principles. This is what is meant by non-attachment (apratishṭita-cittam). The idea is negative inasmuch as it is concerned with untying the knots of the intellect and passion, but the feeling implied is positive, and the final object is attained only when the spirit is restored to its original activity. The spirit knows its own way, and what we can do is to rid it of all the obstacles our ignorance has piled before it. “Throw them down,” is therefore the recurring note in the Buddhist teaching. The Indian Buddhist way of impressing the idea is this: A Brahman named Black-nails came to the Buddha and offered him two huge flowering trees which he carried each in one of his hands through his magical power. The Buddha called out, and when the Brahman responded the Buddha said, “Throw them down!” The Brahman let down the flowering tree in his left hand before the Buddha. The latter called out again to let them go, whereupon Black-nails dropped the other flowering tree in the right hand. The Buddha still kept up his command. Said the Brahman, “I have nothing now to let go. What do you want me to do?” “I never told you to abandon your flowering plants,” said the Buddha, “what I want you to do is to abandon your six objects of sense, your six organs of sense, and your six consciousnesses. When these are all at once abandoned and there remains nothing further to be abandoned, it is then that you are released from the bondage of birth-and-death.”

In contrast to this plain though somewhat round-about talk of the Buddha, the following case of Jōshu (Chao-chou)f79[4.16] is direct and concise and disposes of the matter in a most unequivocal manner. A monk came and asked the master,[4.17] “How is it when a man brings nothing with him?” “Throw it away!” was Jōshu’s immediate response. “What shall he throw down when he is not burdened at all?” “If so, carry it along!” The Zen masters delight in paradoxes, and Jōshu’s remark here is a typical one.

The problem of emancipation is important, but the still more important one is, “Who or what is the Buddha?” When this is mastered, Buddhism has rendered its full service. What did the Indian philosophers think of the Buddha? There was an old lady who lived at the time of the Buddha. She was born at the same time as the Buddha himself and lived in the eastern part of the city. She had a singular aversion against the Buddha and never wished to see him. Whenever he passed by she would run away. But whichever way she turned she would encounter him, east or west. She covered her face with her hands, and lo! she saw the Buddha between her fingers. This is beautiful and illuminating. What follows is the Zen way of treating the subject: A monk came to Ch‘i-an who was one of the disciples of Ma-tsu,[4.18] and asked: “What is the original body of Vairochana?” Said the master, “Would you mind passing that water-pitcher over to me?” The monk handed it to the master as asked. Then the master requested him to put it back where he got it. The monk did so. But not getting any answer as he thought to his first question, he asked again, “What is the original body of Vairochana Buddha?” The master expressed his regret, saying, “Long it is since the departure of the old Buddha!” These two instances will suffice to illustrate where the Chinese Zen mind deviates from the Indian.

II

The history of Zen dates with the coming of Bodhi-Dharma (Bodai-Daruma)[4.19] from the west, 520 A.D. He came to China with a special message which is summed up in the following lines:

These four lines as describing the principles of Zen teaching as distinguished from other schools of Buddhism already in existence in China were formulated later and not by Dharma himself. We cannot exactly tell who was the real author, as we have no definite information on this subject. One historian, Tsung-chien,[4.20] who compiled from the T‘ien-tai point of view a Buddhist history entitled The Rightful Lineage of the Śākya Doctrine in 1237, ascribes it to Nansen Fu-gwan[4.21]; probably the formula originated in those days when Baso (Ma-tsu), Hyakjo (Pai-chang), Obaku (Huang-po), Sekito (Shih-tou) and Yakusan (Yüeh-shan)[4.22] were flourishing in the “West of the River” and in the “South of the Lake.” Since then they have been regarded as characteristically Zen, and it was Dharma that breathed this spirit into the minds of the Chinese Buddhists. The latter had more or less been given up, on the one hand, to philosophising, and, on the other hand, to practising contemplation. They were not acquainted with the direct method of Zen which was to see straightway into the truth of Enlightenment and attain Buddhahood without going through so many stages of preparation prescribed by the scholars.

Our knowledge of the life of Bodhi-Dharma comes from two sources, the one which the earliest record we have of him is by Tao-hsüan[4.23] in his Biographies of the High Priests which was compiled early in the T‘ang dynasty, A.D. 645. The author was the founder of a Vinaya sect in China and a learned scholar, who however was living before the movement of the new school to be known as Zen came into maturity under Hui-nêng, the sixth patriarch, who was nine years old when Tao-hsüan wrote his Biographies. The other source is the Records of the Transmission of the Lamp, A.D. 1004, compiled by Tao-yüan[4.24] early in the Sung dynasty. This was written by a Zen monk after Zen had received full recognition as a special branch of Buddhism, and contains sayings and doings of its masters. The author often refers to some earlier Zen histories as his authorities which are however lost now being known by the titles only.

It is quite natural that these two accounts of the life of Bodhi-Dharma should vary at several points. The first was written when Zen was not yet fully established as a school, and the second by one of the Zen masters. In the first, Dharma, the founder of Zen, is treated as one of the many other Buddhist priests eminent in various fields as translators, commentators, scholars, Vinaya-followers, masters of meditation, possessors of miraculous virtues, etc., and Dharma could not naturally occupy in such a history any very prominent position distinguishing himself from the other “high priests.” He is described merely as one of those “masters of meditation” whose conception of dhyana did not differ from the old traditional one as was practised by the Hinayana followers. Tao-hsüan did not understand the message of Dharma in its full signification, though he could read in it something not quite of the so-called “practice of meditation.” And therefore it is sometimes argued by scholars that there is not much of Zen in Tao-hsüan’s account of Dharma worthy of its first Chinese promulgator and that therefore Dharma could not be so regarded as is claimed by the followers of the Zen school of Buddhism. But this is not doing justice to Zen, nor to Tao-hsüan who never thought of writing a Zen history before Zen came to be known as such. Tao-hsüan could not be a prophetic historian. While the biographical history of Tao-yüan contains much that is to be discredited as regards the life of Bodhi-Dharma, especially as regards that part of his life before he came to China, we have reason to believe that the greater part of Tao-yüan’s account of Dharma’s doings after his arrival in China is historical. In this latter respect, Tao-hsüan must be taken as complementing Tao-yüan. It is not quite in accord with the spirit of fair critical judgment to be partial to one authority at the expense of the other without duly weighing all the historically known circumstances that contributed to the making of these histories.

According to Tao-hsüan, Bodhi-Dharma left many writings or sayings which were apparently still in circulation at the time of the author of the Biographies of the High Priests, but the only authentic writing of the Zen founder’s at present in our possession is a very short one which is preserved in Tao-hsüan’s Biographies as well as in Tao-yüan’s Records. There are some other essays ascribed to Dharma,f80 but most of which, though deeply imbibing the spirit of Zen, are spurious except one which I am inclined to think to be genuinely his. It is entitled “On the Pacification of the Soul.”[4.26] Together with the first one which is generally known under the title, “Meditation on Four Acts,”[4.27] we have just two pieces of writings handed down as Dharma’s. Though I do not think that “The Meditation on Four Acts” could be the best possible specimen of writing to be bequeathed by the founder of Zen, which will admit us straightway into the very essence of Zen, I will give here an English translation of it as the most reliable essay of Bodhi-Dharma, the first patriarch of Zen in China.

There are two versions as I said before of this writing, the one in the Biographies and the other in the Records, and they do not quite agree with each other in some points. The main drift is the same, but in detail they vary. The question now is, which is the more original one? Chronologically, the Biographies were compiled earlier than the Records, but the latter presupposes some earlier writings which were utilised for its compilation. We have no means to ascertain the reliability of the documents thus made use of, and then the authority of the Biographies is not absolute. Therefore, the only profitable method of judging the respective merit of the two versions is to compare them from the literary point of view and see what light such comparison will shed on the nature of each. The result I have reached is that the author of the Biographies used the one preserved in the Records, which is more faithful to the original if there were any such besides this very version. The reason for this conclusion is that Dharma’s writing appears much improved after the editing of Tao-hsüan, the author of the Biographies; for he had to edit it for his own purposes. Thus edited,f81[4.28] Dharma’s writing is now in a better style, that is, more concise, more to the point, and more refined. For this reason the following translation[4.29] is made from Tao-yüan’s Records in which the author had every reason to reproduce the original as it stood.

“[Bodhi-Dharma], the Teacher of the Law, was the third son of a great Brahman king in South India, of the Western Lands. He was a man of wonderful intelligence, bright and far-reaching; he thoroughly understood everything that he ever learned. As his ambition was to master the doctrine of the Mahayana, he abandoned the white dress of a layman and put on the black robe of monkhood, wishing to cultivate the seeds of holiness. He practised contemplation and tranquillisation, he knew well what was the true significance of worldly affairs. Inside and outside, he was transpicuous; his virtues were more than a model to the world. He was grieved very much over the decline of the orthodox teaching of the Buddha in the remoter parts of the earth. He finally made up his mind to cross over land and sea and come to China and preach his doctrine in the kingdom of Wei. Those that were spiritually inclined gathered about him full of devotion, while those that could not rise above their own one-sided views talked about him slanderingly.

“At the time there were only two monks called Tao-yih and Hui-k‘ê, who while yet young had a strong will and desire to learn higher things. Thinking it a great opportunity of their lives to have such a teacher of the Law in their own land, they put themselves under his instruction for several years. Most reverently they followed him, asked questions to be enlightened, and observed his directions well. The Teacher of the Law was moved by their spirit of sincerity and disciplined them in the true path, telling them, ‘This is the way to obtain peace of mind,’ and ‘This is the way to behave in the world,’ ‘This is the way to live harmoniously with your surroundings,’ and ‘This is the upāya (means).’ These being the Mahayana ways to keep the mind tranquil, one has to be on guard against their wrongful applications. By this mental pacification Pi-kuanf82 is meant; by this behaviour, the Four Acts; by this harmony with things, the protection from slander and ill-disposition; and by this Upāya, detachment.

“Thus If83 have briefly stated the story of what follows.

“There are many ways to enter the Path, but briefly speaking they are of two sorts only. The one is ‘Entrance by Reason’ and the other ‘Entrance by Conduct.’ By ‘Entrance by Reason’ we mean the realisation of the spirit of Buddhism by the aid of the scriptural teaching. We then come to have a deep faith in the True Nature which is one and the same in all sentient beings. The reason why it does not manifest itself is due to the overwrapping of external objects and false thoughts. When one, abandoning the false and embracing the true, and in simpleness of thought abides in Pi-kuan 壁觀, one finds that there is neither selfhood nor otherness, that the masses and the worthies are of one essence, and firmly holds on to this belief and never moves away therefrom. He will not then be guided by any literary instructions, for he is in silent communion with the principle itself, free from conceptual discrimination, for he is serene and not-acting. This is called ‘Entrance by Reason.’

“By ‘Entrance by Conduct’ is meant the Four Acts in which all other acts are included. What are the four? 1. How to requite hatred; 2. To be obedient to karma; 3. Not to seek after anything; and 4. To be in accord with the Dharma.

“1. What is meant by ‘How to requite hatred’? Those who discipline themselves in the Path should think thus when they have to struggle with adverse conditions: During the innumerable past ages I have wandered through multiplicity of existences, all the while giving myself to unimportant details of life at the expense of essentials, and thus creating infinite occasions for hate, ill-will, and wrong-doing. While no violations have been committed in this life, the fruits of evil deeds in the past are to be gathered now. Neither gods nor men can foretell what is coming upon me. I will submit myself willingly and patiently to all the ills that befall me, and I will never bemoan or complain. In the Sutra it is said not to worry over ills that may happen to you. Why? Because through intelligence one can survey [the whole chain of causation]. When this thought arises, one is in concord with the principle because he makes the best use of hatred and turns it into the service in his advance towards the Path. This is called the ‘way to requite hatred.’

“2. By ‘being obedient to karma’ is meant this: There is no self (ātman) in whatever beings that are produced by the interplay of karmaic conditions; pain and pleasure we suffer are also the results of our previous action. If I am rewarded with fortune, honour, etc., this is the outcome of my past deeds which by reason of causation affect my present life. When the force of karma is exhausted, the result I am enjoying now will disappear; what is then the use of being joyful over it? Gain or loss, let us accept karma as it brings us the one or the other, the spirit itself knows neither increase nor decrease. The wind of gladness does not move it as it is silently in harmony with the Path. Therefore this is called ‘being obedient to karma.’

“3. By ‘not seeking after anything’ is meant this: Men of the world, in eternal confusion, are attached everywhere to one thing or another, which is called seeking. The wise however understand the truth and are not like the vulgar. Their minds abide serenely in the uncreated while the body turns about in accordance with the laws of causation. All things are empty and there is nothing desirable and to be sought after. Wherever there is the merit of brightness there follows the demerit of darkness. This triple world where one stays too long is like a house on fire; all that has a body suffers, and who would ever know what is rest? Because the wise are thoroughly acquainted with this truth, they get never attached to anything that becomes, their thoughts are quieted, they never seek. Says the Sutra: Wherever there is seeking, there you have sufferings; when seeking ceases, you are blessed. Thus we know that not to seek is verily the way to the truth. Therefore I preach to you not ‘to seek after anything.’

“4. By ‘being in accord with the Dharma’ is meant that the reason in its essence is pure which we call the Dharma, and that this reason is the principle of emptiness in all that is manifested, as it is above defilements and attachments, and as there is no Self or Other in it. Says the Sutra: In the Dharma there are no sentient beings, because it is free from the stains of being; in the Dharma there is no Self because it is free from the stain of selfhood. When the wise understand this truth and believe in it, their conduct will be ‘in accordance with the Dharma.’

“As the Dharma in essence has no desire to possess, the wise are ever ready to practise charity with their body, life, property, and they never begrudge, they never know what an ill grace means. As they have a perfect understanding of the threefold nature of emptiness, they are above partiality and attachment. Only because of their will to cleanse all beings of their stains, they come among them as of them, but they are not attached to the form. This is known as the inner aspect of their life. They however know also how to benefit others, and again how to glorify the path of enlightenment. As with the virtue of charity, so with the other five virtues [in the Prajñāpāramitā]. That the wise practise the six virtues of perfection is to get rid of confused thoughts, and yet they are not conscious of their doings. This is called ‘being in accord with the Dharma.’”

The doctrine of the Two Entrances is evidently taken from the Vajrasamādhi-sūtraf84; and that of the Four Acts is an amplification of the second form of Entrance as is expounded in the Sutra. A comparison with the passage[4.29a] from it will make this point clear at once:

“Said the Buddha: The two entrances are ‘Entrance by Reason’ and ‘Entrance by Conduct.’ ‘Entrance by Reason’ means to have a deep faith in that all sentient beings are identical in essence with the true nature which is neither unity nor multiplicity; only it is beclouded by external objects. The nature in itself neither departs nor comes. When a man in singleness of thought abides in chüeh-kuan 覺觀, he will clearly see into the Buddha-nature, of which we cannot say whether it exists or exists not, and in which there is neither selfhood nor otherness. He will also find that the nature is the same both in the masses and in the worthies. He thus firmly holds the ground of the diamond-heart and never moves away therefrom; he is serene and not-doing, and free from conceptual discrimination. This is called ‘Entrance by Reason.’

“‘Entrance by Conduct’ means not to be unsteady and reclining in mind and not to be in its shadows changing like a stream. Wherever you are, let your thought be serene and not to be seeking after anything. Let it be like unto the great earth unmoved even in a raging storm. Giving up all thoughts of egoism in your heart, save all beings and let them cross over to the other shore. There are no births, no signs, no clinging, no abandoning; in the mind of a Bodhisattva, there is no going-out, no coming-in. When this mind which neither goes out nor comes in enters into that which is never entered into, it is called entering. This is the way the Bodhisattva enters into the Dharma. The Dharma is not empty in form, and the Dharma of non-emptiness is not to be put aside as non-entity. Why? The Dharma that is not non-entity is filled with virtues. It is neither mind nor shadows, it is pure in its suchness.”

In comparing these two texts the reader will be impressed with the most important and most striking change Bodhi-Dharma made in his quotation, which is the substituting of pi-kuan for chüeh-kuan. Pi ordinarily means “wall” or “precipice,” and is often found in combination with li, “standing,” in such phrases as pi li wan jên 壁立萬仞, to describe an unscalable wall, or figuratively to represent the attitude, for instance, of Acala-Vidyārāja standing straight up. What was the reason of Dharma’s changing chüeh, “to awaken,” or “to be enlightened” into a word which apparently has no organic relation to the following kuan, “to perceive,” or “to contemplate”? The novel combination is a very important one, for it alters the sense of the whole context in which it occurs. Tao-hsüan, the author of the Biographies, refers to Dharma’s tai ch‘êng pi kuan, Mahayanistic wall-contemplation, in his commentary notes to Zen, as the most meritorious work Dharma achieved in China.f85 For this reason he is often spoken of as the pi-kuan Brahman, that is, wall-contemplating Brahman, and in Japan the monks belonging to the Soto school of Zen are supposed to follow the example of the founder of their religion when they keep up the practice of sitting facing the wall while meditating. But this is evidently a superficial interpretation of the phrase pi-kuan; for how could mere wall-gazing start a revolutionary movement in the Buddhist world as is implied in Tao-hsüan’s life of Dharma?f86 How could such an innocent practise provoke a terrible opposition among scholars of those days? To my view, pi-kuan has a far deeper meaning, and must be understood in the light of the following passage in the Records, which is quoted from a work known as the Pieh Chi[4.30] meaning some special document of prior existence:

“The master first stayed in the Shōrinji (Shao-lin-szŭ) monastery for nine years, and when he taught the second patriarch, it was only in the following way: ‘Externally keep yourself away from all relationships, and, internally, have no pantings (or hankerings, 喘 ch‘uan) in your heart;f87 when your mind is like unto a straight-standing wall you may enter into the Path.’ Hui-k‘ê tried variously to explain [or to discourse on] the reason of mind, but failed to realise the truth itself. The master simply said, ‘No! No!’ and never proposed to explain to his disciple what was the mind-essence in its thought-less state, [that is, in its pure being]. [Later] said Hui-k‘ê, ‘I know now how to keep myself away from all relationships.’ ‘You make it a total annihilation, do you not?’ queried the master. ‘No, master,’ replied Hui-k‘ê, ‘I do not make it a total annihilation.’ ‘How do you testify your statement?’ ‘For I know it always in a most intelligible manner, but to express it in words—that is impossible.’ Thereupon, said the master, ‘That is the mind-essence itself transmitted by all the Buddhas. Harbour no doubts about it.’”

In fact, this passage sums up the special message contained in Dharma’s teaching, and in it we may get an adequate answer as to the exact meaning of pi-kuan. The term must have been a novel one in his day, and the originality of his views really lay in the creative sense of the one word “pi” It was so concrete, so graphic, and there was nothing abstract and conceptual about it. Hence Tao-hsüan’s special reference to Dharma’s teaching as the Tai-chêng pi-kuan. (Mahayanistic wall-contemplation). While there was nothing specifically Zen in his doctrine of “Two Entrances and Four Acts,” the teaching of Pi-kuan, wall-contemplation, was what made Bodhi-Dharma the first patriarch of Zen Buddhism in China.

The author of the Rightful Transmission of the Śākya Doctrine interprets pi-kwan as meaning the state of mind where “no external dusts get in.”[4.31] This may be all right, but we are not told where he finds the authority for this way of understanding. Had he in mind Dharma’s remark to Hui-k‘ê as recorded in the document known as Pieh-chi? In any event the underlying meaning of the “wall-contemplation” must be found in the subjective condition of a Zen master, which is highly concentrated and rigidly exclusive of all ideas and sensuous images. To understand the phrase, “pi-kwan” as simply meaning “wall-gazing” will be sheer absurdity. If the specific message of Dharma as the founder of Zen in China is to be sought anywhere in the writings of his, which are still in existence, it must be in this “Mahayanistic wall-contemplation.”

Besides this writing which is the only one left by Dharma in our possession at present, we have the Laṅkāvatāra-sūtra, Vajrasamādhi-sūtra, and Vajracchedikā-sūtra, through which we can also have a glimpse into the central teaching of Bodhi-Dharma. Zen, unlike other schools of Buddhism, has no particular Sutras to be called the “foundation canon” on which its followers would base the principal tenets of their school; but Dharma recommended the Laṅkāvatāra to his first disciple Hui-k‘ê (Yeka), as containing the teaching most intimately related to Zen, and after him this scriptural writing came to be studied chiefly by Zen scholars.f88 As to the importance of the Vajrasamādhi as expounding the philosophy of Zen, we can easily understand it from Dharma’s own reference to the Sutra in his writing as was already pointed out. With regard to the Vajracchedikā-sūtra, most people think of it as having nothing to do with Zen prior to the fifth patriarch, Hung-jên (Gunin); for it was he who for the first time introduced it among his own disciples, while Dharma himself made no allusion whatever to this, one of the most popular Buddhist texts in China. But according to Hui-nêng’s Preface to the Vajracchedikā, which is still preserved, “ever since the coming-west of Dharma he wanted to propagate the meaning of this Sutra and lead people to understand the Reason and to see into the Nature.” If this were actually the case, Dharma, to say the least, must have had some knowledge of this Sutra from the very beginning of his career in China, and the connection in a way between this and Zen must have been more fundamental than that between the Laṅkāvatāra and Zen. The prevalent notion then that the Vajracchedikā came only in vogue after Hung-jên and Hui-nêng must be revised. Whatever this may be, the Laṅkāvatāra is too difficult a material for popular consumption, and it was natural that this Sutra came to be gradually superseded by the Vajracchedikā as Zen gained more and more in power and influence. As one of the Sutras belonging to the Prajñāpāramitā class of Buddhist literature, the teaching of the Vajracchedikā was comparatively simple and had something much akin to the Laotzŭan ideas of emptiness and non-doing. It was not hard for the average Chinese to follow its philosophy of Śūnyatā, in fact this agreed well with a certain aspect of Chinese thought.f89

However, with Zen followers all literature was like a finger pointing at the moon, and there was not much in itself that will actually lead one to the seeing of one’s own inner nature; for this seeing was a realisation which must be attained by one’s own personal efforts apart from the mere understanding of letters. All Buddhist Sutras including the Laṅkāvatāra, Vajrasamādhi, and Vajracchedikā could not be of much help to the real earnest seekers of the truth, so long as his idea is to grasp the naked facts with his own ungloved hands. This was possible only when his own inner consciousness opened by itself, from within, through his whole-souled efforts. Literature is helpful only when it indicates the way, it is not the thing itself.

The earlier part of Bodhi-Dharma’s life while in India as is narrated in the Records may be discredited as containing a large dose of fiction, but the latter part of it cannot so easily be disposed of. This is where it supplements the story in Tao-hsüan’s Biographies, which was written by a good historian but by one who did not know anything about the future development of Zen. According to the Records then, the first great personage Dharma had an interview with when he came to China was the king of Liang, the greatest Buddhist patron of the time. And the interview took place in the following manner:

The Emperor Wu of Liang asked Dharma:

“Ever since the beginning of my reign I have built so many temples, copied so many sacred books, and supported so many monks; what do you think my merit might be?”

“No merit whatever, sire!” Dharma bluntly replied.

“Why?” demanded the Emperor astonished.

“All these are inferior deeds,” thus began Dharma’s significant reply, “which would cause their author to be born in the heavens or on this earth again. They still show the traces of worldliness, they are like shadows following objects. Though they appear actually existing, they are no more than mere non-entities. As to a true meritorious deed, it is full of pure wisdom and is perfect and mysterious, and its real nature is beyond the grasp of human intelligence. Such as this is not to be sought after by any worldly achievement.”

The Emperor Wu thereupon asked Bodhi-Dharma again,[4.32] “What is the first principle of the holy doctrine?”

“Vast emptiness, and there is nothing in it to be called holy, sire!” answered Dharma.

“Who is then that is now confronting me?”

“I know not, sire!”

The answer was simple enough, and clear enough too, but the pious and learned Buddhist Emperor failed to grasp the spirit pervading the whole attitude of Dharma.

Seeing that there was no further help to be given to the Emperor, Dharma left his dominion and retired into a monastery in the state of Wei, where he sat quietly practising the “wall-contemplation,” it is said, for nine long years, until he came to be known as the Pi-kuan Brahman.f90

One day a monk Shên-kuang[4.33] visited him and most earnestly implored him to be enlightened in the truth of Zen, but Dharma paid no attention. Shên-kuang was not to be disappointed, for he knew that all the great spiritual leaders of the past had gone through with many a heart-rending trial in order to attain the final object of their aspiration. One evening he stood in the midst of the snow waiting for Dharma to notice him when at last the fast-falling snow buried him almost as deep as his knees.

Finally, the master turned back and said, “What do you wish me to do for you?” Said Kuang, “I am come to receive your invaluable instructions; pray open your gate of mercy, and extend your hand of salvation to this poor suffering mortal.” “The incomparable doctrine of Buddhism,” replied Dharma, “can be comprehended only after a long hard discipline and by enduring what is most difficult to endure, and by practising what is most difficult to practise. Men of inferior virtue and wisdom are not allowed to understand anything about it. All the labours of such ones will come to naught.”

Kuang at last cut off his left arm with the swordf91 he was carrying, and presented it before the teacher as a token of his sincerity in the desire to be instructed in the doctrine of all the Buddhas. Said Dharma, “This is not to be sought through another.”

“My soul is not yet pacified. Pray, master, pacify it.”

“Bring your soul here, and I will have it pacified.”

Kuang hesitated for a moment but finally said, “I have sought it these many years and am still unable to get hold of it!”

“There! it is pacified once for all.” This was Dharma’s sentence.f92

Dharma then told him to change his name into Hui-k‘ê.

Nine years passed,[4.34] and Dharma wished to return to his native country. He called in all his disciples before him, and said, “The time is come for me to depart, and I want to see what your attainments are.”

“According to my view,” said Tao-fu, “the truth is above both affirmation and negation, for this is the way it moveth.”

Dharma said, “You have got my skin.”

Next came in the nun, Tsung-ch‘ih, and said, “As I understand it, it is like Ānanda’s viewing the Buddha-land of Akshobhya: it is seen once and never again.”

Dharma said, “You have got my flesh.”

Tao-yü was another disciple who presented his view, saying, “Empty are the four elements and non-existent the five skandhas. According to my view, there is not a thing to be grasped as real.”

Dharma said, “You have got my bone.”

Finally, Hui-k‘ê, that is, Shên-kuang, reverently bowing to the master, kept standing in his seat and said nothing.

Dharma then announced, “You have my marrow.”f93

Mystery envelops the end of Bodhi-Dharma’s life in China, we do not know how, when, and where he passed away from this earth. Some say that he was poisoned by his rivals, others say that he went back to India crossing the desert, and still others report that he came over to Japan. In one thing they all agree which is this: he was quite old, being, according to Tao-hsüan, over one hundred and fifty years at his death.

III

After Bodhi-Dharma, Hui-k‘ê (486–593)[4.35] was the chief exponent of Zen Buddhism. He was already a learned scholar before he came to his teacher for instruction, not only in the Chinese classics but in Buddhist lore. No amount of learning however satisfied him; indeed he seems to have had a sort of enlightenment in his way, which he wanted to be testified to by Dharma. After he left the master, he did not at once begin his preaching hiding himself among the lower strata of society. He evidently shunned being looked up to as a high priest of great wisdom and understanding. However, he did not neglect quietly preaching the Law whenever he had an occasion. He was simply quiet and unassuming, refusing to show himself off. But one day when he was discoursing about the Law before a temple gate, there was another sermon going on inside the temple by a resident priest, learned and honoured. The audience however left the reverend lecturer inside and gathered around the street-monk probably clad in rags and with no outward signs of ecclesiastical dignity. The high priest got angry over the situation. He accused the beggar-monk to the authorities as promulgating a false doctrine, whereupon Hui-k‘ê was arrested and put to death. He did not specially plead innocent but composedly submitted, saying that he had according to the law of karma an old debt to pay up. This took place in A.D. 593, and he was one hundred and seven years old when he was killed.

According to Tao-hsüan, Hui-k‘ê’s eloquence flew directly from his heart, not encrusted with learning or scholarly discourse. While he was preaching in an important city on the meaning of Zen, those who could not rise above “the letter that killeth” took his teaching for heresy, as the words of a devil devoid of sense. Especially among them a master of meditation called Tao-hüan[4.36] who had about one thousand followers about him, at once assumed an offensive attitude towards Hui-k‘ê. He sent one of his disciples to the Zen exponent, perhaps to find out what kind of man he really was. As soon as the disciple learned what was the teaching of the so-called heretic, he was so deeply impressed by this man that he was converted into a Zen advocate. Tao-hüan despatched another of his followers to call the first one back, but he followed the example of the predecessor. Several other messengers were sent one after another, but the result was altogether discouraging. Later when Tao-hüan happened to meet his first messenger, he asked; “How was it that I had to send for you so many times? Did I not open your eye after taking pains so much on my part?” The former disciple however mystically answered; “My eye has been right from the first, and it was through you that it came to squint.” This stirred the master’s ire, and it was through his machination, writes Tao-hsüan, that Hui-k‘ê had to suffer official persecution.

This story taken from Tao-hsüan’s Biographies varies from that in the Tao-yüan’s Records, but they both agree in making Hui-k‘ê a martyr at the hands of his enemy. There is no doubt that in the Zen teaching of Bodhi-Dharma and his first Chinese disciple, Hui-k‘ê, there was something that was unintelligible to most of the Buddhists of the time who had been trained either in the abstract metaphysics or in the tranquillising exercises, or in the mere morality, of Buddhism. The exponents of Zen then must have emphasised the truth to be awakened in one’s inner consciousness, even at the expense of the canonical teaching as is variously elucidated in the Sutras and Śastras, many of which in translations had already been in circulation. This must have excited the conservatists and literalists.

Like Bodhi-Dharma, Hui-k‘ê did not leave any literary writing though we know from their biographies that both had their sermons collected and in the case of Hui-k‘ê “classified,”f94[4.37] whatever this may mean. The following extracts preserved however may throw light on the teaching of Hui-k‘ê. A lay-disciple called Hsiang wrote a letter to Hui-k‘ê:[4.38] “Shadow follows a body and echo rises from a sound. He who in pursuit of the shadow tires out the body, does not know that the body produces the shadow; and he who attempts to stop an echo by raising his voice, does not understand that the voice is the cause of the echo. [In a similar way] he who seeks Nirvana by cutting desires and passions is to be likened to one who seeks a shadow apart from its original body; and he who aspires to Buddhahood thinking it to be independent of the nature of sentient beings is to be likened to one who tries to listen to an echo by deadening its original sound. Therefore, the ignorant and the enlightened are walking in one passageway; the vulgar and the wise are not to be differentiated from each other. Where there are no names, we create names, and because of these names judgments are formed. Where there is no theorising, we theorise, and because of this theorising, disputes arise. They are all phantom creations and not realities, and who knows who is right and who is wrong? They are all empty, no substantialities have they, and who knows what is and what is not? So we realise that our gain is not real gain and our loss not real loss. This is my view and may I be enlightened if I am at fault?”

To this Hui-k‘ê answered: “You have truly comprehended the Dharma as it is; the deepest truth lies in the principle of identity. It is due to one’s ignorance that the mani-jewel is taken for a piece of brick, but lo! when one is suddenly awakened to self-enlightenment, it is realised that one is in possession of the real jewel. The ignorant and the enlightened are of one essence, they are not really to be separated. We should know that all things are such as they are. Those who entertain a dualistic view of the world are to be pitied, and I write this letter for them. When we know that between this body and the Buddha there is nothing to separate one from the other, what is the use of seeking after Nirvana [as something external to ourselves]?”

Next to Hui-k‘ê came Sêng-ts‘an (died 606),[4.39] who succeeded as the third patriarch. The interview between master and disciple took place in this manner: A layman of forty troubled with fêng-yangf95 according to the Records, came to Hui-k‘ê and asked;

“I am suffering from fêng-yang; pray cleanse me of my sins.”

“Bring your sins here,” said Hui-k‘ê, “and I will cleanse you of them.”

The lay-disciple was silent for a while but finally said, “As I seek my sins, I find them unattainable.”

“I have then finished cleansing you altogether. You should thenceforth take refuge in the Buddha, Dharma, and Saṁgha (Brotherhood), and abide therein.”

“As I stand before you, O master,” asked Sêng-ts‘an, “I know that you belong to the Brotherhood, but pray tell me what are the Buddha and the Dharma.”

Replied the master, “Mind is the Buddha, Mind is the Dharma; and the Buddha and the Dharma are not two. The same is to be said of the Brotherhood (saṁgha).”

This satisfied the disciple who now said, “To-day for the first time I realise that sins are neither within nor without nor in the middle; just as Mind is, so is the Buddha, so is the Dharma; they are not two.”f96

He was then ordained by Hui-k‘ê as a Buddhist monk, and after this he fled from the world altogether, and nothing much of his life is known. This was partly due to the persecution of Buddhism carried on by the Emperor of the Chou dynasty. It was in the twelfth year of K‘ai-huan, of the Sui dynasty (A.D. 592), that he found a disciple worthy to be his successor. His name was Tao-hsin.[4.40] He asked the master,

“Pray show me the way to deliverance.”

“Who has ever put you in bondage?”

“Nobody.”

“If so,” said the Master, “why should you ask for deliverance?”

This put the young novice on the way to final enlightenment, which he attained after many years’ study under the master. When Sêng-ts‘an thought that the time was ripe to consecrate him as his successor in the faith, he handed him as the token of the rightful transmission of the Law the robe which had come down from Bodhi-Dharma, the first patriarch of Zen in China. He died in A.D. 606. While much of his life is obscure, his thought is gleaned from a metrical composition known as Hsin-hsin-ming, or “Inscribed on the Believing Mind,” which is one of the most valuable contributions by the masters to the interpretation of Zen teaching. Here follows a somewhat liberal translation of the poem:

Inscribed on the Believing Mind.f97[4.41]

Under Tao-hsin (580–651), the fourth patriarch, Zen was divided into two branches. The one known as Godzuzen (Niu-t‘ou Chan),[4.42] did not live long after the passing of its founder, Fa-jung,[4.43] who lived at Mount Niu-t‘ou, and is considered not belonging to the orthodox line of Zen. The other branch was headed by Hung-jên[4.44] who is regarded by historians as the fifth patriarch, and it is his school that has survived. He came to the master when he was still a mere boy, and what pleased his master at their interview was the way he answered. When Tao-hsin asked[4.45] what was his family name 姓 ( hsing), he said,

“I have a nature 性 (hsing), and it is not an ordinary one.”

“What is that?”

“It is the Buddha-nature (fo-hsing).”

“Then you have no name?”

“No, master,” said the boy, “for it is empty in its nature.” Here is a play of words; the character denoting “family name” and that for “nature” are both pronounced hsing. When Tao-hsin was referring to the “family name” the young follower took it for “nature” purposely, whereby to express his view by a figure of speech.

Tao-hsin’s interview with Fa-jung, the founder of the Niu-t‘ou school of Zen, was significant, showing where their views differed and how the one came to be converted into the orthodox understanding of Zen. It was during the Chên-kuan era of the T‘ang dynasty that Tao-hsin, learning of the presence of an extraordinary saintly man in Niu-t’ou mountains, decided to see who he could be. When Tao-hsin came to a Buddhist temple in the mountains, he inquired after the man and was informed of a lonely anchorite who would never rise from his seat nor salute people even when they were approaching him. When Tao-hsin proceeded further into the mountains, he saw him as he was told sitting quietly and paying no attention to the presence of a stranger. He then asked the hermit what he was doing here. “I am contemplating on Mind,” was the reply. Tao-hsin then demanded, “What is he that is contemplating? What is Mind that is contemplated?” Fa-jung was not prepared to answer such questions. Thinking that the visitor was a man of deep understanding, he rose from the seat and saluting him asked who he was. When he found that the visitor was no other personage than Tao-hsin himself whose reputation he was not ignorant of, he thanked him for the visit. They were now about to enter a little hut near by where they might talk about religion, when Tao-hsin saw some wild animals such as tigers and wolves wandering about the place, and he threw up his hands as if he were greatly frightened. Fa-jung remarked, “I see this is still with you.” The fourth patriarch responded at once, “What do you see yet?” No answer came from the hermit. After a while the patriarch traced the character “Buddha” (fo) on the stone on which Fa-jung was in the habit of sitting in meditation. Seeing it, the latter looked as if shocked. Said the patriarch “I see this is still with you.” But Fa-jung failed to see the meaning of this remark and earnestly implored to be instructed in the ultimate teaching of Buddhism. This was done, and Fa-jung became the founder of the Niu-t‘ou school of Zen Buddhism.

Tao-hsin died at the age of seventy-two, A.D. 651.

Hung-jên, 605–675, the fifth patriarch, came from the same province as his predecessor, Ch‘i Chou, now in the district of Fu-pei. His temple was situated in Wang-mei Shan (Yellow Plum Mountain), where he preached and gave lessons in Zen to his five hundred pupils. He is claimed by some to have been the first Zen master who attempted to interpret the message of Zen according to the doctrine of the Vajracchedikā-sūtra. Though I cannot quite agree with this view for the reason already referred to elsewhere, we can consider the fifth patriarch the beginning of a turning in the history of Zen, which opened up to a full view under the sixth patriarch, Hui-nêng. Until now, the Zen followers had kept quiet, though working steadily, without arresting public attention; the masters had retired either into the mountains or in the hurly-burly of the world where nobody could tell anything about their doings. But the time had at last come for a full proclamation of Zen, and Hung-jên was the first who appeared in the field preparing the way for his successor, Hui-nêng.

Besides this orthodox line of patriarchs, there were some sporadic expositors of Zen throughout the sixth and the seventh century. Several of them are mentioned, but there must have been many more such who were either altogether forgotten or not at all known to the world. The two best known are Pao-chih (died 514)[4.46] and Fu-hsi (died 569)[4.47]; and their lives are recorded in the Records as “adepts in Zen but not appearing in the world though well-known at the time.” This is a strange phrasing, and it is hard to know definitely what “not appearing in the world” means. Usually it applies to one who does not occupy any recognised position in an officially registered monastery. But of those that are classed under this heading, there is one at least to whom the designation does not properly apply; for Chi-i was a great high priest occupying an influential ecclesiastical post in the Sui dynasty. Whatever this was, those recorded here did not belong to the orthodox Zen school. The Tendai (T‘ien-tai) followers object to see two of their Fathers Hui-szŭ and Chi-i mentioned as “adepts in Zen but not appearing in the world though well-known at the time.” They think that these two are great names in the history of their school and ought not to be so indifferently referred to in the records of the Zen masters. But from the Zen point of view this classification is justifiable for the reason that the Tendai, except its metaphysics, is another current of Zen started independently of the line of Bodhi-Dharma, and if this were allowed to take a more practical course of development, it should surely have resulted in Zen as we have it now. But its metaphysical side came to be emphasised at the expense of the practical, and for this reason the Tendai philosophers were ever at war with the Zen, especially with the ultra-left wing which was inflexible in denouncing an appeal to ratiocination and literary discoursing and Sutra-learning. In my view the Tendai is a variation of Zen and its first promulgators may justly be classed as Zen masters though not of the pedigree to which belong Shih-t‘ou, Yüeh-shan, Ma-tsu, Lin-chi, etc.

While there were thus in the sixth and the seventh century some other lines of Zen about to develop, the one started by Bodhi-Dharma was uninterruptedly carried on by Hui-k‘ê, Shêng-t‘san, Tao-hsin, and Hung-jên, who proved to be the most fruitful and successful. The differentiation of two schools under the fifth patriarch, by Hui-nêng and Shên-hsiu, helped the further progress of pure Zen by eliminating unessential or rather undigested elements. That the school of Hui-nêng survived the other proves that his Zen was in perfect accord with Chinese psychology and modes of thinking. The Indian elements that had been found attached to the Zen of Bodhi-Dharma and his successors down to Hui-nêng, were something grafted and not native to Chinese genius. And therefore when Zen came to be fully established under Hui-nêng and his followers, it had nothing further to obstruct its free development until it became almost the only ruling power in the Chinese world of Buddhism. We must carefully watch how Hui-nêng came to be Hung-jên’s successor and where he differed from his rival school under Shên-hsiu.

IV

Hui-nêng (637–713)[4.48] came from Hsin-chou in the southern parts of China. His father died when he was yet young. He supported his mother by selling wood in town. When one day he came out of a house where he sold some fuel, he heard a man reciting a Buddhist Sutra. The words deeply touched his heart. Finding what Sutra it was and where it was possible to get it, a longing came over him to study it with the master. The Sutra was the Diamond Sutra (Vajracchedikā-sūtra ) and the master was the fifth patriarch residing at Yellow Plum in Chin-chou. Hui-nêng somehow managed to get money enough for the support of his aged mother while he was gone.

It took him about a month to reach Yellow Plum where he at once proceeded to see Hung-jên at the head of five hundred monks (sometimes said to be seven or even ten hundred). At the first interview asked the patriarch,

“Where do you come from? and what do you want here?”

“I am a farmer from Hsin-chou and wish to become a Buddha.”

“So you are a southerner,” said the patriarch, “but the southerners have no Buddha-nature; how could you expect to attain Buddhahood?”

This however did not discourage the bold seeker after the truth, for he at once responded: “There may be southerners and northerners, but as far as Buddha-nature goes, how could you make such a distinction in it?”

This pleased the master very much. Hui-nêng was given an office as rice-pounder for the Brotherhood. More than eight months, it is said, he was employed in this menial labour, when the fifth patriarch wished to select his spiritual successor among his many disciples. One day he made an announcement that any one who could prove his thorough comprehension of the religion would be given the patriarchal mantle and proclaimed as his legitimate heir. Shên-hsiu (died 706)[4.49] who was the most learned of all the disciples and thoroughly versed in the lore of his religion, and who was therefore considered by his brethren in the faith to be in possession of an unqualified right to the honour, composed a stanza expressing his view, and posted it on the outside wall of the meditation hall, which read:

All those who read these lines were greatly impressed, and secretly cherished the idea that the author of this gatha would surely be awarded the prize. But when they awoke the next morning, they were surprised to see another written alongside of it, which ran as follows:

The writer of these lines was an insignificant layman in the service of the monastery, who spent most of his time in pounding rice and splitting wood for the Brotherhood. He had such an unassuming air that nobody ever thought much of him, and therefore the entire community was now set astir to see this challenge made upon its recognised authority. But the fifth patriarch saw in this unpretentious monk a future leader of mankind, and decided to transfer to him the robe of his office. He had, however, some misgivings concerning the matter; for the majority of his disciples were not enlightened enough to see anything of deep religious intuition in the lines by the rice-pounder, Hui-nêng: and if he were publicly awarded the honour they might do him harm. So the fifth patriarch gave a secret sign to Hui-nêng to come to his room at midnight, when the rest of the Brotherhood was fast asleep. Then he gave him the robe as insignia of his authority and in acknowledgment of his unsurpassed spiritual attainment and with the assurance that the future of their faith would be brighter than ever. The patriarch then advised him that it would be wise for him to hide his own light under a bushel until the proper time arrived for his public appearance and active propaganda, and also that the robe which was handed down from Bodhi-Dharma as the sign of faith should no more be given up to Hui-nêng’s successors, because Zen was now fully recognised by the outside world in general and there was no more necessity to symbolise the faith by the transference of the robe. That night Hui-nêng left the monastery.

This narrative is taken from the literature left by the followers of the sixth patriarch and is naturally partial in his favour. If we had another record left by Shên-hsiu and his school, the account here reproduced may materially differ. In fact, we have at least one document telling Shên-hsiu’s relation to Hung-jên. It is the memorial inscription on his grave-stone written by Chang-shuo,[4.52] one of his lay-disciples. In this inscription Shên-hsiu is referred to as the one to whom the Dharma has been transmitted from his master, Hung-jên. Judging from this, the patriarchal authority of Hui-nêng was not an undisputed one at the time, or the orthodox order of succession was not settled until some time later when the school of Hui-nêng had been well established in authority over all the other schools of Zen that might have been existing then. Unfortunately, this memorial inscription does not give any further information concerning Hui-nêng’s relation to Hung-jên, but even from the above narrative we can gather certain facts of importance which will shed light on the history of Zen.

First, what necessity was there to make Hui-nêng an unlearned rustic in contrast with the erudition and wide information ascribed to Shên-hsiu? Or was Hui-nêng really such an ignoramus as could not read any thing written? But the Fa-pao-t‘an-ching,[4.53] a collection of his sermons, contains passages quoted from such Sutras as the Nirvāna, Vajracchedikā, Laṅkāvatāra, Saddharma-puṇḍarika, Vimalakīrti, Amitābha, and Bodhisattva-śīla-sutra. Does this not evince the fact that the author was not altogether unacquainted with Mahayana literature? Probably he was not a learned scholar as compared with Shên-hsiu, but in the narratives of his life we can trace some systematic effort to make him more unlettered than he actually was. What, let me ask, do we read in this attempt at the hand of the editors? In my opinion, this emphasising of the contrast between the two most eminent disciples of the fifth patriarch was at the same time the emphasising of the real character of Zen as independent of learning and intellectuality. If Zen is, as its followers claim, a “special transmission outside the scriptural teaching,” the understanding of it must be possible even for the unlettered and unphilosophising. The greatness of Hui-nêng as Zen master is all the more enhanced. This was in all likelihood the reason why the sixth patriarch was unreasonably and sometimes even dramatically made unlettered.

Secondly, why was not the patriarchal robe transferred beyond Hui-nêng? If Hung-jên advised him to keep it with him, what does the advice really imply? That the life of the possessor of the robe would be threatened, points to the fact that there was a dispute among the disciples of Hung-jên. Did they regard the robe as the symbol of patriarchal authority? But what advantages, material or spiritual, accrued from the ownership of it? Did the teaching of Bodhi-Dharma come now to be believed as the genuine transmission of the Buddha? And for that reason did the robe really cease to signify anything relative to the truth of Zen? If so, when Bodhi-Dharma first declared his special mission as teacher of Zen, was he looked upon as a heretic and persecuted accordingly? The legend that he was poisoned by his rival teachers from India seems to corroborate this. At all events, the question of the robe is deeply connected with the status of Zen teaching among the various schools of Buddhism at the time, and also with its firmer hold on the popular minds than ever before.

Thirdly, the secrecy observed in all the transactions between Hung-jên and Hui-nêng concerning the transmission of the Dharma naturally arrests our attention. To raise the rice-pounder who is not even an ordained monk to the rank of a patriarch, though only in name, to succeed a great master who stands at the head of several hundred disciples, seems to be a real cause for envy and jealousy and even for hatred. But if one were really enlightened enough to take charge of the important position of spiritual leadership, could not a combined effort of master and pupil withstand all the opposition? Perhaps, even enlightenment could not stand against human passions so irrational and elemental. I cannot however help imagining an attempt on the part of the biographers of Hui-nêng at the dramatisation of the whole scene. I am very likely mistaken, and there might have been some historical conditions of which we are now ignorant due to the lack of documents.

Three days after the flight of Hui-nêng from the Yellow-plum mountains, the news of what had happened in secret became noised abroad throughout the monastery, and a party of indignant monks headed by one named Ming, pursued the fugitive, Hui-nêng, who, in accordance with his master’s instructions, was silently leaving the Brotherhood. When he was overtaken by the pursuers while crossing a mountain-pass far from the monastery, he laid down his robe on a rock near by, and said to the monk, Ming: “This robe symbolises our patriarchal faith and is not to be carried away by force. Take this along with thee, however, if thou so desirest.”

Ming tried to lift it but it was as heavy as a mountain. He halted, hesitated, and trembled with awe. At last, he said, “I come here to obtain the faith and not the robe. O my brother monk, pray dispel my ignorance.”

Said the sixth patriarch, “If thou comest for the faith, stop all thy hankerings. Think not of good, think not of evil, but see what at this moment thy own original face doth look like, which thou hadst even prior to thy own birth.”[4.54]

Being thus demanded, Ming at once perceived the fundamental truth of things, which hitherto he had sought in things without. He now understood everything, as if he had taken a cupful of cold water and tasted it to his own satisfaction. Out of the immensity of his feeling, he was literally bathed in tears and perspirations, and most reverently approaching the patriarch he saluted him and asked; “Besides this hidden sense as is embodied in these significant words, is there anything which is secret?”

The patriarch answered, “In what I have shown to thee there is nothing hidden. If thou reflectest within thyself and recognisest thy own face, which was before the world, secrecy is in thyself.”

Whatever historical circumstances surrounded Hui-nêng in those remote days, it is certain that in this statement, “to see one’s own face even before one was born,” we find the first proclamation of the new message which was destined to unroll a long history of Zen and to make Hui-nêng really worthy of the patriarchal robe. We can see here what a new outlook Hui-nêng has succeeded in opening to the traditional Indian Zen. In him we do not recognise anything of Buddhism as far as phraseology goes, which means that he opened up his own way of presenting the truth of Zen after his original and creative experience. Prior to him, the Zen experience had some borrowings, either in wording or in method, to express itself. To say, “You are the Buddha,” or “You and the Buddha are one,” or “The Buddha is living in you,” is too stale, too flat, because too abstract and too conceptual. They contain deep truth but are not concrete nor vivifying enough to rouse our dormant souls from insensibility. They are filled up too much with abstractions and learned phraseology. Hui-nêng’s simple-mindedness not spoiled by learning and philosophising could grasp the truth at first hand. Hence his unusual freshness in the way he handled the problem. We may come to this again later.

V

Hung-jên died, A.D. 675, four yearsf100 after the Dharma was transmitted to Hui-nêng. He was seventy-four years old. But Hui-nêng never started his mission work until some years later, for in accordance with the advice of his master he lived a secluded life in the mountains. One day he thought that it was time for him to go out in the world. He was now thirty-nine years old, and it was in the first year of I-fêng (A.D. 676) during the T‘ang dynasty. He came to Fa-hsing temple in the province of Kuang, where a learned priest, Yin-tsung, was discoursing on the Nirvāna Sūtra. He saw some monks arguing on the flattering pennant; one of them said, “The pennant is an inanimate object and it is the wind that makes it flap.” Against this it was remarked by another monk that “Both wind and pennant are inanimate things, and the flapping is an impossibility.” A third one protested, “The flapping is due to a certain combination of cause and condition”; while a fourth one proposed a theory, saying, “After all there is no flapping pennant, but it is the wind that is moving by itself.” The discussion grew quite animated when Hui-nêng interrupted with the remark, “It is neither wind nor pennant but your own mind that flaps.” This at once put a stop to the heated argument. The priest-scholar, Yin-tsung, was greatly struck by the statement of Hui-nêng, so conclusive and authoritative. Finding out very soon who this Hui-nêng was, Yin-tsung asked him to enlighten him on the teaching of the master of Yellow Plum Mountain. The gist of Hui-nêng’s reply was as follows:

“My master had no special instruction to give, he simply insisted upon the need of our seeing into our own Nature through our own efforts, he had nothing to do with meditation, or with deliverance. For whatever that could be named leads to dualism, and Buddhism is not dualistic. To take hold of this non-duality of truth is the aim of Zen. The Buddha-Nature of which we are all in possession, and the seeing into which constitutes Zen, is indivisible into such oppositions as good and evil, eternal and temporal, material and spiritual. To see dualism in life is due to confusion of thought; the wise, the enlightened see into the reality of things unhampered by erroneous ideas.”

This was the beginning of Hui-nêng’s career as Zen master. His influence seems to have been immediate and far-reaching. He had many disciples numbering thousands. He did not however go around preaching and proselyting. His activities were confined in his own province in the south, and the Pao-lin monastery at Ts‘ao-ch‘i was his headquarters. When the Emperor Kao-tsung learned that Hui-nêng succeeded Hung-jên as one of Dharma’s spiritual descendants in the faith of Zen, he sent him one of his court officials with an imperial message, but Hui-nêng refused to come up to the capital, preferring his stay in the mountains. The messenger however wished to be instructed in the doctrine of Zen that he might convey it to his august master at Court. Said Hui-nêng in the main as follows:

“It is a mistake to think that sitting quietly in contemplation is essential to deliverance. The truth of Zen opens by itself from within and it has nothing to do with the practise of dhyana. For we read in the Vajracchedikā that those who try to see the Tathagata in one of his special attitudes, as sitting or lying, do not understand his spirit, and that the Tathagata is designated as Tathagata because he comes from nowhere and departs nowhere, and for that reason he is the Tathagata. His appearance has no whence, and his disappearance no whither, and this is Zen. In Zen therefore there is nothing to gain, nothing to understand; what shall we then do with sitting cross-legged and practising dhyana? Some may think that understanding is needed to enlighten the darkness of ignorance, but the truth of Zen is absolute in which there is no dualism, no conditionality. To speak of ignorance and enlightenment, or of Bodhi and Kleśa (wisdom and passions), as if they were two separate objects which cannot be merged in one, is not Mahayanistic. In the Mahayana every possible form of dualism is condemned as not expressing the ultimate truth. Everything is a manifestation of the Buddha-Nature which is not defiled in passions, nor purified in enlightenment. It is above all categories. If you want to see what is the nature of your being, free your mind from thought of relativity and you will see by yourself how serene it is and yet how full of life it is.”

While Hui-nêng was working for the cause of Zen in the south, Shên-hsiu representing another school was active in the north. Before he was converted into Buddhism, he was a learned Confucian and thus destined from the start to cut a different figure, compared with his brother-disciple, Hui-nêng. The Emperor Wu of the T‘ang dynasty was one of the devoted followers of Shên-hsiu, and naturally around him were gathered a large number of courtiers and government officers. When the Emperor Chung-tsung came to the throne, A.D. 685, he was all the more treated with reverence, and it was Chang-shuo, one of the state ministers, who inscribed a biographical sketch and eulogy on the memorial stone erected over his grave when he died. One of his sermons recorded reads: