This is probably the most famous and popular of the early texts of the Ch'an or Zen school, written sometime in the 8th or early 9th century (Yampolsky 1967: 89). This school traces its origins to Bodhidharma, who is supposed to have brought Ch'an teaching to China around 500 a.d. According to legend (untrustworthy according to modern scholars), he is counted as the first "patriarch" (Zen "pope"), and there are three others that preceded Hung-jen, the "fifth patriarch" mentioned in this writing. This sutra begins by telling the story of how a man named Hui-neng became the sixth patriarch.
It is important to remember that this is probably not a factual account, but a legend developed by the followers of Hui-neng idealizing their hero. Like most ancient religious writing, t doesn't give us a reliable historical account of what actually happened, but good historical information about the beliefs and attitudes of the disciples of Hui-neng who wrote it.
My father was originally an official at Fan-yang. He was [later] dismissed from his post and banished as a commoner to Hsin-chou in Ling-nan. While I was still a child, my father died and my old mother and a solitary child, moved to Nan-hai. We suffered extreme poverty and there I sold firewood in the market place. By chance a certain man bought some firewood and then took me with him to the lodging house for officials. He took the firewood and left. Having received my money and turning towards the front gate, I happened to see another man who was reciting the Diamond Sutra. Upon hearing it my mind became clear and I was awakened.
I asked him: 'Where do you come from that you have brought this sutra with you?' He answered: '...[from] the Fifth Patriarch, Hung jen, at the East Mountain.... Then I took leave of my mother and went to Feng-mu shan in Huang-mei and made obeisance to the Fifth Patriarch, the priest Hung-jen.
The priest Hung-jen asked me: 'Where are you from that you come to this mountain to make obeisance to me? Just what is it that you are looking for from me?' I replied "I am from Ling-nan, a commoner from Hsin-chou. I have come this long distance only to make obeisance to you. I am seeking no particular thing, but only the Buddhadharma.'
The Master then reproved me, saying: 'If you're from Ling-nan then you're a barbarian. How can you become a Buddha?'
[Note: "Ling-nan" was an ancient Chinese designation for the Southern area now comprising South China and North Vietnam, which was a Chinese province at this time. So Hui-Neng may have been Vietnamese. Many Han Chinese living in the more Northerly Chinese heartland looked on the ethnic groups in this entire Southern region as uncivilized "barbarians." Next, the "barbarian" Hui-Neng proceeds to lecture the Fifth Patriarch on this prejudice which he considers to be contrary to Buddhist teaching. ML]
I replied: 'Although people from the south and people from the north differ, there is no north and south in Buddha nature. Although my barbarian's body and your body are not the same, what difference is there in our Buddha nature?'
The Master wished to continue his discussion with me; however seeing that there were other people nearby, he said no more. Then he sent me to work with the assembly. Later a lay disciple had me go to the threshing room where I spent over eight months treading the pestle.
Unexpectedly one day the Fifth Patriarch called his disciples to come, and when they had assembled, he said: '... You disciples make offerings all day long and seek only the field of blessings; but you do not seek to escape from the bitter sea of birth and death... All of you return to your rooms and look into yourselves. Men of wisdom will of themselves grasp the original nature of their Prajna intuition. Each of you write a verse and bring it to me. I will read your verses, and if there is one who is awakened to the main meaning, I will... make him the Sixth Patriarch'...
[There was] a head monk [called] Shen-hsiu. .. At midnight, without letting anyone see him, he went to write his mind-verse on the central section of the south corridor wall... The verse read:
The body is the Bodhi [Enlightenment] tree,
The mind is like a clear mirror.
At all times we must strive to polish it,
And must not let the dust collect.
After he had finished writing this verse, the head monk Shen-hsiu returned to his room and lay down. No one had seen him. At dawn the Fifth Patriarch... saw this verse and, having read it, said 'It would be best to leave his verse here and to have the deluded ones recite it. Those who practice by it will gain great benefit....'
The Fifth Patriarch said: 'This verse you wrote shows that you still have not reached true understanding. You have merely arrived at the front of the gate but have yet to be able to enter it. If common people practice according to your verse they will not fall. But in seeking the ultimate enlightenment one will not succeed with such an understanding. You must enter the gate and see your own original nature. Go and think about it for a day or two and then make another verse and present it to me.' The head monk Shen-hsiu left, but after several days he was still unable to write a verse.
One day an servant passed by the threshing room reciting this verse. As soon as I heard it I knew that the person who had written it had yet to know his own nature and to discern the main meaning, I asked the boy: 'What's the name of the verse you were reciting just now?' The boy answered me, saying: 'Don't you know? The Master...told his disciples each to write a verse... There is a head monk by the name of Shen-hsiu who happened to write a verse on formlessness on the walls of the south corridor...'
I said: 'I've been treading the pestle for more than eight months, but haven't been to the hall yet. I beg you to take me to the south corridor so that I can see this verse... The boy took me to the south corridor... Because I was uneducated I asked someone to read it to me. As soon as I had heard it I understood the main meaning. I made a verse and asked someone who was able to write to put it on the wall of the west corridor, so that I might offer my own original mind... My verse said:
Bodhi [Enlightenment] originally has no tree,
The mirror also has no stand.
Buddha nature is always clean and pure,
Where is there room for dust?
The followers in the temple were all amazed when they heard my verse... The Fifth Patriarch realized that I had a splendid understanding of the main meaning... Then he transmitted to me the Dharma of Sudden Enlightenment and the robe, saying: 'I make you the Sixth Patriarch. The robe is the proof and is to be handed down from generation to generation. My Dharma must be transmitted from mind to mind. You must make people awaken to themselves.' (Yampolsky 1967: 126-33)
[Note: The author(s) of this piece is basically picturing Shen-hsiu as making "the Hinayana mistake." When he speaks of the necessity of "not letting dust collect" on our minds, he assumes that there is something that can happen in our minds (distress, disturbances, etc.) that have power-in-themselves (sva-bhava) to prevent Enlightenment. Hui-neng's rhetorical question "Where is there room for dust?" corrects this by asserting the Emptiness doctrine -- all such apparent obstacles are sunya, lacking power to prevent Enlightenment. And since all apparent obstacles are not real obstacles, Enlightenment is everyone's only real reality. "Buddha Nature (which everyone always has) is always clean and pure." This is the same doctrine taught in Awakening Faith in the Mahayana, where "Dharmakaya" is another name for what is called here "Buddha Nature." ML.]
The deluded man... adheres to the samadhi of oneness, [and thinks] that straightforward mind is sitting without moving, and casting aside delusions without letting anything arise in the mind. This he considers to be the samadhi of oneness. This kind of practice is... the cause of an obstruction to the Tao. Tao must be something that circulates freely; why should he impede it? If the mind does not abide in things the Tao circulates freely; if the mind abides in things, it becomes entangled.
Good friends, some people teach men to sit viewing the mind and viewing purity, not moving and not activating the mind, and to this they devote their efforts. Deluded people do not realize that this is wrong; they cling to this doctrine, and become confused. (Yampolsky: 136-37)
Good friends, in this teaching... sitting in meditation does not concern the mind nor does it concern purity; we do not talk of steadfastness. If someone speaks of 'viewing the mind,' [then I would say] that the 'mind' is of itself delusion, and as delusions are just like fantasies, there is nothing to be seen. If someone speaks of 'viewing purity,' [then I would say] that man's nature is of itself pure, but because of false thoughts True Reality is obscured. If you exclude delusions then the original nature reveals its purity. If you activate your mind to view purity without realizing that your own nature is originally pure, delusions of purity will be produced. Since this delusion has no place to exist, then you know that whatever you see is nothing but delusion.
Purity has no form, but, nonetheless, some people try to postulate the form of purity and consider this to be Ch'an practice. People who hold this view obstruct their own original natures and end up by being bound by purity.
Therefore, both 'viewing the mind' and 'viewing purity' will cause an obstruction to Tao. (Yampolsky: 137-40)
[Note: To try to "view purity" is to try to directly observe the mind's purity, making it a "perceptual object." The goal in Mahayana Buddhism is not to experience or perceive a pure mind, but to be a pure mind, able to see everything it directly perceives (all perceptual objects) as sunya. ML]
(Bodhidharma is the legendary founder of the Ch'an tradition, supposedly bringing this tradition from India around 500 a.d. The writing excerpted here is generally thought to date from the 7th or 8th century. It shows the Zen Buddhist criticism of other Buddhists who worship the Buddha as a god.)
Our nature is the mind. And the mind is our nature. This nature is the same as the mind of all Buddhas. Buddhas of the past and future only transmit this mind. Beyond this mind there's no Buddha anywhere. But deluded people don't realize that their own mind is the Buddha. They keep searching outside. They never stop invoking Buddhas or worshipping Buddhas and wondering Where is the Buddha? Don't indulge in such illusions. Just know your mind. Beyond your mind there's no other Buddha. The sutras say, "Everything that has Form is an illusion." They also say, "Wherever you are, there's a Buddha." Your mind is the Buddha. Don't use a Buddha to worship a Buddha...
The true Tao is sublime. It can't be expressed in language. Of what use are scriptures? But someone who sees his own nature finds the Tao, even if he can't read a word. Someone who sees his nature is a Buddha. And since a Buddha's body is intrinsically pure and unsullied, and everything he says is an expression of his mind, being basically empty, a Buddha can't be found in words or anywhere in the Twelvefold Canon [of scriptures]. The Tao is basically perfect. It doesn't require perfecting. The Tao has no form or sound. It's subtle and hard to perceive. It's like when you drink water: you know how hot or cold it is, but you can't tell others. Of that which only a Tathagata knows men and gods remain unaware. The awareness of mortals falls short. As long as they're attached to appearances, they're unaware that their minds are empty. And by mistakenly clinging to the appearance of things they lose the Tao. (Red Pine: 29-31)
(Ta-hui was a Chinese Ch'an teacher who lived from 1088 to 1163. The letters excerpted here were written to government officials who tried to put Ch'an teachings into practice in their everyday lives. In Mandarin Chinese, Ta-hui's name is pronounced dah-huay.)
Having read your letter carefully, I have come to know that you are unremitting in your conduct, that you are not carried away by the press of official duties, that in the midst of swift flowing streams you vigorously examine yourself...
Right in the midst of the hubbub, you mustn't forget the business of the bamboo chair and reed cushion [meditation]. Usually [to meditate] you set your mind on a still concentration point, but you must be able to use it right in the midst of the hubbub. If you have no strength amidst commotion, after all it's as if you never made any effort in stillness.
I have heard that there was some complicated situation in the past and now you are experiencing the sadness of the outcome; alone, you do not dare to hear your fate. If you arouse this thought, then it will obstruct the Path. An ancient worthy said, "If you can recognize the inherent nature while going along with the flow, there is neither joy nor sorrow..."
If you consider quietude right and commotion wrong, then this is... seeking nirvana, the peace of extinction, apart from birth and death.
When you like the quiet and hate the hubbub, this is just the time to apply effort... That power surpasses the [meditation] seat and cushion by a million billion times. (Cleary 1977: 27-28)
Once you have achieved peaceful stillness of body and mind, you must make earnest effort. Do not immediately settle down in peaceful stillness--in The Teachings this is called "The Deep Pit of Liberation," much to be feared.
You must make yourself turn freely, like a gourd floating on the water, independent and free, not subject to restraints, entering purity and impurity without being obstructed or sinking down... If you just manage to cradle the uncrying child in your arms, what's the use? (Cleary 1977: 29)
(Selected and translated by Lucien Stryk)
Enlightenment is not a quality of mind that a person can be directly aware of through introspection. A person cannot close her eyes, look within, and perceive the Enlightened character of her mind. An Enlightened state manifests itself only indirectly, by the way the world looks from the perspective of an Enlightened mind. Enlightenment is not to have an "Empty" mind, but to have a mind able to see everything else it sees as Sunya/Empty. And, contrary to what is conveyed by the English word "empty," seeing the world as Sunya does not mean seeing it as meaningless, but as filled with more intense meaning in every small detail (since one is not contrasting desirable or "important" things with undesirable or "unimportant" things).
According to a Japanese Zen saying quoted by Shunryu Suzuki, "True Emptiness, Wondrous Being" -- a true realization of the Sunya doctrine would make everything in the world appear more wonderful. The poems given below can be looked on as an illustration of this saying. They show a certain kind of poetry characteristic of Zen Buddhism. This is not like other "mystical poetry" in which the poet tries to directly describe religious, mystical experiences. This poetry, rather, describes how the world looks to the Enlightened person. The following Japanese Zen poems often begin with some reference to Buddhist doctrines or practice, but end by drawing attention to something apparently very ordinary or insignificant, like "my every step stirs up a little breeze," or "how fresh the sight of gulls across the sand.
Dogen (1200-1253)
The Western Patriarch's doctrine is transplanted!
I fish by moonlight, till on cloudy days,
Clean, clean! Not a worldly mote falls with the snow
As, cross-legged in this mountain hut, I sit the evening through.
Dogen
Coming, going, the waterfowl
Leaves not a trace,
Nor does it need a guide.
Muso (1275-1351)
Vainly I dug for a perfect sky,
Piling a barrier all around.
Then one black night, lifting a heavy
Tile, I crushed the skeletal void!
Daito (1282-1337)
At last I've broken Unmon's barrier!
There's exit everywhere—east, west, north, south.
In at morning, out at evening; neither host nor guest.
My every step stirs up a little breeze.
Jakushitsu (1290-1367)
Refreshing, the wind against the waterfall
As the moon hangs, a lantern, on the peak
And the bamboo window glows. In old age mountains
Are more beautiful than ever. My resolve:
That these bones be purified by rocks.
Shutaku (1308-1388)
For all these years, my certain Zen:
Neither I nor the world exist.
The sutras neat within the box,
My cane hooked upon the wall,
I lie at peace in moonlight
Or, hearing water splashing on the rock,
Sit up: none can purchase pleasure such as this:
Spangled across the step-moss, a million coins!
Kodo (1370-1433)
Serving the Shogun in the capital,
Stained by worldly dust, I found no peace.
Now, straw hat pulled down, I follow the river:
How fresh the sight of gulls across the sand!
Kokai (1403-1469)
Taking hold, one's astray in nothingness;
Letting go, the Origin's regained.
Since the music stopped, no shadow's touched
My door: again the village moon's above the river.
Saisho ( -1506)
Earth, mountains, rivers—hidden in this nothingness.
In this nothingness—earth, mountains, rivers revealed.
Spring flowers, winter snows:
There's no being nor non-being, nor denial itself.
Yuishun ( -1544)
Why, it's but the motion of eyes and brows
And here I've been seeking it far and wide.
Awakened at last, I find the moon
Above the pines, the river surging high.
Takuan (1573-1645)
Though night after night
The moon is stream-reflected,
Try to find where it has touched,
Point even to a shadow.
Daigu (1580-1669)
Here none think of wealth or fame,
All talk of right and wrong is quelled:
In autumn I rake the leaf-banked stream
In spring attend the nightingale.
Bunan (1602-1676)
The moon's the same old moon,
The flowers exactly as they were,
Yet I've become the thingness
Of all the things I see!
***
When you're both alive and dead,
Thoroughly dead to yourself,
How superb the smallest pleasure!
Manzan (1635-1714)
One minute of sitting, one inch of Buddha.
Like lightning all thoughts come and pass.
Just once look into your mind-depths:
Nothing else has ever been.
Sengai (1750-1837)
Under the cloudy cliff, near the temple door,
Between dusky spring plants on the pond,
A frog jumps in the water, plop!
Startled, the poet drops his brush.
Ryokan (1757-1831)
Without a jot of ambition left
I let my nature flow where it will.
There are ten days of rice in my bag
And, by the hearth, a bundle of firewood.
Who prattles of illusion or nirvana?
Forgetting the equal dusts of name and fortune,
Listening to the night rain on the roof of my hut,
I sit at ease, both legs stretched out.
Sodo (1841-1920)
The question clear, the answer deep,
Each particle, each instant a reality,
A bird call shrills through mountain dawn:
Look where the old master sits, a rock, in Zen.
Wallace Stevens was born in 1879 and died in 1955. He lived in Connecticut, where he was an executive for the Hartford Insurance Company, in addition to writing very philosophical poetry. Poetry was for him an alternative to traditional philosophy or religion as a way of getting at the truth. I don’t believe he studied Zen Buddhism very deeply, but, by coincidence, some of his poetry seems to come close to expressing the Zen Buddhist feeling for the world. I include this readings for those that find Steven’s poetry understandable and interesting, and helpful in understanding the aesthetic appreciation of the world that is mirrored also in Zen poetry.
One of the things evident in Stevens' poetry is a turn from Romanticism to a more spare bare-bones kind of poetry. Romanticism had tended to give meaning to reality by dressing it up with flowery metaphors; this was thought to show a "refined'' sensibility that lifts one above the ordinary. But it began to look increasingly artificial, especially in democratic America, and poets like Stevens began to try to create a new kind of poetry that would find meaning in ordinariness. This is what makes his poetry close in spirit to Zen Buddhism, and may give us an entry and a starting point for trying to understand Zen. Stevens often writes poems about this new kind of poetry, and this is might offer us additional help in trying to conceptualize what is happening.
*
Zen emphasizes the Mahayana Buddhist idea that "things are empty''. This could be taken to mean that the world is without meaning. Certainly something like this is intended, since much of the meaning we perceive things to have is meaning-for-me, i.e. the meaning they have in furthering/impeding my ambitions, confirming/ threatening my self-image, etc. This is the kind of meaning that traditional Buddhism wants to remove from the world, when it asserts that "things are empty of self and what belongs to the self''.
On the other hand, it does not seem to be accurate to say that Zen Buddhism wants to remove all meaning from the world. If this were true, it would not make sense for Zen Buddhists to write poetry, and to regard poetry as one of the best expressions of the way an "enlightened'' person sees the world. Also, it would be difficult to understand how enlightenment could be regarded as a great achievement, if it really led to seeing the world as "meaningless'', as we ordinarily understand that term.
The solution I suggest to this problem is to take a certain kind of common experience as a close analogy to the kind of experience Zen Buddhists associate with enlightenment. The experience I have in mind is the kind in which "everything comes together'' in our experience of a particular situation, comes together in such a way that otherwise ordinary things are taken for the moment out of their ordinariness and seem endowed with a special beauty or meaning. This sometimes happens when we have been out in nature for awhile, in a quiet moment with someone we are very close to, when we are involved in some special event, etc. Often such instances remain alive in our memory for a long time, in a memory-picture in which each particular seems very vivid. One thing unique about these experiences is that they most often seem unrepeatable. Though we might want to, it is difficult to take something away from such experiences that can become an ongoing center for our lives. They seem to happen by themselves. The one thing that their happening seems to require is that we not approach new situations with a preconceived conception of a specific kind of experience we would like to have. They require an openness to allow our experience to be shaped by the situation itself and by whatever mood we happen to be in at the moment.
If we took this as the closest thing in ordinary experience to what Zen Buddhists are trying to achieve, then "things are empty'' would mean that they are empty of any fixed and repeatable meaning. This would not empty the world of meaning entirely, but would mean rather that we would find in each particular "ordinary'' moment a beauty and meaning that is potentially unique to that particular moment. The world itself as a whole would then become a generally more meaningful place, rather than being divided up as it usually is into many ordinary "boring'' moments and a few special "intense'' moments.
"The Latest Freed Man'', is freed from "old descriptions of the world," and from "doctrines" about the world, in order to see the world afresh. Then the smallest and most ordinary things can appear full of meaning. From True Emptiness, Wondrous Being Appears.
The Latest Freed Man
Tired of the old descriptions of the world,
The latest freed man rose at six and sat
On the edge of his bed. He said
"I suppose there is
A doctrine to this landscape. Yet, having just
Escaped from the truth, the morning is color and mist,
Which is enough: the moment's rain and sea,
The moment's sun...,
Overtaking the doctrine of the landscape....
And so the freed man said.
It was how the sun came shining into his room:
To be without a description of to be,
For a moment on rising, at the edge of the bed, to be...
It was being without description...
It was the importance of the trees outdoors,
The freshness of the oak-leaves, not so much
That they were oak-leaves, as the way they looked.
It was everything being more real...
It was everything bulging and blazing and big in itself,
The blue of the rug, the portrait of Vidal...
(PEM 165)
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"On the Road Home'' says that each particular thing has its own truth and meaning, but this is not determined by some larger Truth. It describes a person who saw things this way, and "It was at that time, that the silence was largest/ And longest, the night was roundest,/ The fragrance of the autumn warmest,/ Closest and strongest.'' From True Emptiness, Wondrous Being Appears.
On the Road Home
It was when I said,
"There is no such thing as the truth,''
That the grapes seemed fatter.
The fox ran out of his hole.
You... You said,
"There are many truths,
But they are not parts of a truth.''
Then the tree, at night, began to change,
Smoking through green and smoking blue...
It was when I said,
"Words are not forms of a single word.
In the sum of the parts, there are only the parts''...
It was at that time, that the silence was largest
And longest, the night was roundest,
The fragrance of the autumn warmest,
Closest and strongest. (PEM 164)
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In "The Sense of the Sleight-of-Hand Man'', Stevens speaks of special moments as "grand flights...tootings at the weddings of the soul'', which "occur as they occur''. He then describes several scenes that had special meaning for him, though they do not seem so extraordinary in themselves. These kinds of experiences can only be had by an "ignorant'' person, i.e. a person who is open to fresh and unique experiences, in contrast to the person who tries to interpret the experiences with her accumulated "knowledge''.
The Sense of the Sleight-of-Hand Man
One's grand flights, one's Sunday baths,
One's tootings at the weddings of the soul
Occur as they occur...
Could you have said the bluejay suddenly
Would swoop to earth?...
To think of a dove with an eye of grenadine
And pines that are cornets, so it occurs,
And a little island full of geese and stars:
It may be that the ignorant man, alone,
Has any chance to mate his life with life
That is the sensual, pearly spouse, the life
That is fluent in even the wintriest bronze. (from Palm at the End of the Mind [New York: Knopf. 1971, p.168)