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-yang_[f95]
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: