The Perfect Way knows no difficulties
Except that it refuses to make preference:
Only when freed from hate and love,
It reveals itself fully and without disguise.
A tenth of an inch’s difference,
And heaven and earth are set apart:
If you want to see it manifest,
Take no thought either for or against it.
To set up what you like against what you dislike—
This is the disease of the mind:
When the deep meaning [of the Way] is not understood
Peace of mind is disturbed and nothing is gained.
[The Way is] perfect like unto vast space,
With nothing wanting, nothing superfluous:
It is indeed due to making choice
That its suchness is lost sight of.
Pursue not the outer entanglements,
Dwell not in the inner void;
When the mind rests serene in the oneness of things,
The dualism vanishes by itself.
And when oneness is not thoroughly understood,
In two ways loss is sustained—
The denial of reality may lead to its absolute negation,
While the upholding of the void may result in contradicting itself.
Wordiness and intellection—
The more with them the further astray we go;
Away therefore with wordiness and intellection,
And there is no place where we cannot pass freely.[f98]
When we return to the root, we gain the meaning;
When we pursue the external objects, we lose the reason.
The moment we are enlightened within,
We go beyond the voidness of a world confronting us.
Transformations going on in an empty world which confronts us,
Appear real all because of Ignorance:
Try not to seek after the true,
Only cease to cherish opinions.
Tarry not with dualism,
Carefully avoid pursuing it;
As soon as you have right and wrong,
Confusion ensues, the mind is lost.
The two exist because of the one,
But hold not even to this one;
When the one mind is not disturbed,
The ten thousand things offer no offence.
When no offence is offered by them, they are as if not existing;
When the mind is not disturbed, it is as if there is no mind.
The subject is quieted as the object ceases,
The object ceases as the subject is quieted.
The object is an object for the subject,
The subject is a subject for an object:
Know that the relativity of the two
Rests ultimately on the oneness of the void.
In the oneness of the void the two are one,
And each of the two contains in itself all the ten thousand things:
When no discrimination is made between this and that.
How can a one-sided and prejudiced view arise?
The Great Way is calm and large-minded,
Nothing is easy, nothing is hard:
Small views are irresolute,
The more in haste the tardier they go.
Clinging never keeps itself within bounds,
It is sure to go in the wrong way:
Let go loose, and things are as they may be,
While the essence neither departs nor abides.
Obey the nature of things, and you are in concord with the Way,
Calm and easy and free from annoyance;
But when your thoughts are tied, you turn away from the truth,
They grow heavier and duller and are not at all sound.
When they are not sound, the soul is troubled;
What is the use of being partial and one-sided then?
If you want to walk the course of the One Vehicle,
Be not prejudiced against the six sense-objects.
When you are not prejudiced against the six sense-objects,
You in turn identify yourself with Enlightenment;
The wise are non-active,
While the ignorant bind themselves up;
While in the Dharma itself there is no individuation,
They ignorantly attach themselves to particular objects.
It is their own minds that create illusions—
Is it not the greatest of self-contradictions?
Ignorance begets the dualism of rest and unrest,
The enlightened have no likes and dislikes:
All forms of dualism
Are ignorantly contrived by the mind itself.
They are like unto visions and flowers in the air:
Why should we trouble ourselves to take hold of them?
Gain and loss, right and wrong—
Away with them once for all!
If an eye never falls asleep,
All dreams will by themselves cease:
If the mind retains its oneness,
The ten thousand things are of one suchness.
When the deep mystery of one suchness is fathomed,
All of a sudden we forget the external entanglements:
When the ten thousand things are viewed in their oneness,
We return to the origin and remain what we are.
Forget the wherefore of things,
And we attain to a state beyond analogy:
Movement stopped is no movement,
And rest set in motion is no rest.
When dualism does no more obtain,
Even oneness itself remains not as such.
The ultimate end of things where they cannot go any further,
Is not bound by rules and measures:
The mind in harmony [with the Way] is the principle of identity
In which we find all doings in a quiescent state;
Irresolutions are completely done away with,
And the right faith is restored to its native straightness;
Nothing is retained now,
Nothing is to be memorised,
All is void, lucid, and self-illuminating,
There is no stain, no exertion, no wasting of energy—
This is where thinking never attains,
This is where the imagination fails to measure.
In the higher realm of True Suchness
There is neither “other” nor “self”:
When a direct identification is asked for,
We can only say, “Not two.”[f99]
In being not two all is the same,
All that is is comprehended in it:
The wise in the ten quarters,
They all enter into this absolute faith.
This absolute faith is beyond quickening [time] and
extension [space].
One instant is ten thousand years;
No matter how things are conditioned whether with “to be” or
“not to be,”
It is manifest everywhere before you.
The infinitely small is as large as large can be,
When external conditions are forgotten;
The infinitely large is as small as small can be,
When objective limits are put out of sight.
What is is the same with what is not,
What is not is the same with what is:
Where this state of things fails to obtain,
Be sure not to tarry.
One in all,
All in one—
If only this is realised,
No more worry about your not being perfect!
The believing mind is not divided,
And undivided is the believing mind—
This is where words fail,
For it is not of the past, future, or present.
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.