Zen's Chinese Heritage: The Masters and Their Teachings (3 page)

Among the many individuals who offered assistance, I first thank my lifelong friend Jeffrey Hayden and his teacher, Master Shei, for their ongoing help and encouragement. Thomas Cleary offered early assistance with the addresses of strategic bookstores in Taiwan. Next, I can’t overstate the contribution rendered by the talented Buddhist scholar Holger Hoke and his wife Meihua in Beijing. They have, for years, scoured bookstores in mainland China and Taiwan, sending me scores of obscure and otherwise undiscovered books written on Zen, then refusing compensation even for the books themselves. Many of those books have been valuable resources. May all beings have friends of such generosity. I especially acknowledge and thank my friend Kazuaki Tanahashi for his suggestion for the title of this book, and for his critical help with the volume’s layout and structure. Robert Aitken Rōshi offered wisdom and concrete criticisms that greatly improved the draft manuscript. I humbly thank him for both his direct help and for the entire body of his ongoing and beneficial works. Charlie Pokorney, Charlie Henkel, Susan O’Connell, and other friends at San Francisco Zen Center reviewed the draft manuscript during a winter at Tassajara and provided useful suggestions and editing help. I gratefully acknowledge their assistance. John Daido Loori, the great Zen teacher and abbot of Zen Mountain Monastery at Mt. Tremper, has offered wonderful help and encouragement, as has my friend, the talented Buddhist teacher and writer Taigen Dan Leighton. Particular thanks are extended to my editor, Marsha Calhoun, who patiently corrected my mistakes and made helpful suggestions on style. Appreciation is extended to the many participants of Tenshin Reb Anderson’s Monday night kōan class at Green Gulch Farm, who have all worked to help me better understand and appreciate the Zen ancients. I offer thanks to my wife, Lisa, and my daughters, Ceann and Sacha, who for many years have endured my work at the computer with scarcely a word of complaint. And finally, my gratitude is extended to my teacher, Tenshin Reb Anderson, whose wisdom has informed any positive contribution this book offers its readers. The book’s errors and shortcomings are attributable to me alone.

This book draws from modern Chinese scholarship in mainland China. This may seem unusual, since mainland scholarship through many parts of the twentieth century has withered in the tepid Chinese political climate. The last ten years, however, have seen a new blossoming of Zen scholarship in mainland China, which, while recognizing the work of scholars in Japan and Taiwan, breaks new ground itself. The nineties have produced a great number of new Zen histories and translations of old texts into modern Chinese. In general, I find that the modern Chinese books on Zen accept traditional explanations of events more readily than Western scholars have done. However, mainland sources do not accept events uncritically. Indeed, they back up their views with extensive citations from generally reliable historical sources.

“Zen” is the Japanese pronunciation of the Chinese word “Chan.” The two terms are interchangeable. The latter term is generally used in the context of Chinese culture. Because the Zen tradition was made known to Westerners largely through the works of Japanese scholars and religious figures such as Daisetz Suzuki, the term Zen is widely recognized in the West. For this reason, the word Zen is used in this book instead of Chan.

The inspiration for this book came from the public kōan class offered at San Francisco Zen Center’s Green Dragon Temple at Green Gulch Farm. For many years, Tenshin Reb Anderson has offered a “Monday night class” on Thomas Cleary’s translation of the
Book of Serenity
for the benefit of his students and other serious participants. In the manner of the Zen ancients, Tenshin has raised the ancient cases for public viewing. This is a style of Zen practice whereby students may realize their own personal understandings, and then set them forth for others to see, to taste, and to test.

New shoots grow in Zen’s ancient garden. Here at Jia Shan Monastery in Hunan Province, the great work of rebuilding the tangible remnants of Zen history proceeds. New halls have been constructed on the ancient monastery’s foundations. The buildings sit grandly in the withering heat of a late summer day. Nearby, at the foot of the Blue Cliff, farmers draw water from cisterns newly built upon the ancient spring.

Andy Ferguson
Mt. Jia (Jia Shan) Monastery,
Hunan Province, China
September 1999

Technical Note

NAMES

IN OLD CHINA the Zen public sometimes referred to Zen masters by their “mountain” or geographic names. “Mountain names” do not necessarily refer to actual mountains, but can refer to cities, temples, or other locations where an individual taught. For example, Zen master Guishan Lingyou taught on Mt. Gui (in Chinese, “Gui Shan”), and was subsequently referred to by that name. When used, mountain names are typically the first word of a name. For clarity, this book compounds the geographic name into one word when refering to a person and not a place. For example, the term “Guishan” refers to an individual, whereas “Gui Shan” refers to a geographic location. To avoid confusion, the book uses English terms such as “Mt. Gui” whenever possible.

Mountain names cause confusion when more than one well-known teacher comes from a single geographic location. For example, Guishan Da’an was another teacher from Mt. Gui. In such cases this book will often use the Dharma name (here, Da’an) instead of the geographic name (Guishan) of the teacher. Various other names were commonly applied to Zen masters, including nicknames and posthumous names. While mountain and Dharma names predominate in the original Chinese texts, any and all possible names were (sometimes ambiguously) used historically. The reader can take some comfort in the fact that names, lacking a clear convention, were sometimes confusing to writers in old China as well.

While the text uses pinyin romanization throughout, I have not used pinyin for words already familiar to the English reading public, such as Kwan Yin, Taoism, and the Yang-tse River.

PRONUNCIATION GUIDE FOR THE PINYIN CHINESE ROMANIZATION SYSTEM

Vowels:

1. “ao” is pronounced “ow.” For example, hao = “how.”

2. “ou” is pronounced “oe.” For example, dou = “doe” (as in female deer).

3. “a” is pronounced “ah.” For example, hang = “hong” (rhymes with the English word “song”).

4. “o” is pronounced similar to the English sound “oo” in the word “book.” For example, song = “soong.”

5. “ui” is pronounced “uay.” For example, hui = “huay.”

6. “e” is pronounced “uh.” For example, neng = “nung” (rhymes with English “hung”).

7. There is variation in pronunciation for words ending in “i.” When “i” follows compound consonants such as “sh,” it is pronounced as though followed by an “r.” Thus shi = “sure,” zhi = “zher,” and chi = “cher.” However, when “i” follows a single consonant such as “l,” “q,” or “n,” no “r” sound is added. Thus li = “lee,” qi = “chee,” and ni = “nee.”

Consonants:

1. “x” is pronounced similar to the English letter “s.” For example, xuan = “swan,” xi = “see,” xin = “sin.”

2. “q” is pronounced “ch.” For example, qi = “chee,” qian = “chian.”

3. “zh” is pronounced like the English letter “j.” For example, zhi = “jer,” zhang = “jong,” zhen = “jen.”

4. “c” is pronounced similar to the English letters “ts.” For example, cui = “tsway.”

Introduction

THIS BOOK, by and large, lets the Zen tradition speak for itself. Some readers will still think I’ve added too much, others, too little. My approach does not provide extensive background information about the ages when these masters lived, nor does it reveal the doubts that modern scholarship casts on certain aspects of the Zen tradition. For example, scholarship disputes some crucial connections in the traditional genealogies of Chinese Zen masters. Modern scholarship even questions the existence of some of the Zen teachers included in this book. I am not at all unmindful of these facts, but I propose that understanding how the tradition views itself must be the basis for all later criticism. The traditional view is not yet sufficiently appreciated by Western readers.

This book draws from modern Chinese scholarship in mainland China. This may seem unusual, since mainland scholarship through many parts of the twentieth century withered in the tepid Chinese political climate. Recent decades, however, have seen a new blossoming of Zen scholarship in mainland China that, while recognizing Japan and Taiwan’s work in this field, breaks new ground itself. In general, I find that the modern Chinese books on Zen accept traditional explanations of events more readily than Western scholars have done. However, mainland sources do not accept events uncritically. Indeed, they back up their views with extensive citations from generally reliable historical sources. Zen scholarship is informed by a new group of scholars that enjoy the advantage of doing Zen research in their native tongue.

For these and other reasons, this book conveys some traditional explanations of Zen history more readily than most scholars will accept as prudent. In an age where deconstructionism is a guardian at hell’s gate, this cannot be avoided.

It is useful to break the many centuries covered in this book into three periods that roughly reflect the evolution of Zen literature in China. Different types of Zen writings predominate in each period, and thus provide a (somewhat arbitrary) method for making historical distinctions. These three periods, in order, may be called the Legendary, Classical, and Literary periods of Zen history.

The Legendary period, stretching from Bodhidharma’s arrival in China during the late fifth century until the middle of the Tang dynasty, around 765 C.E., has left us only a sketchy literary record. Modern scholars dismiss many of that era’s Zen stories as apocryphal, or at best of dubious origin. Myth, magic, and facts are tightly fused in Zen’s early history. The writings handed down to us were recorded long after the events they describe. These are often stories “about” the Zen ancients rather than what was said “by” them. The writings and legends of the First Ancestor, Bodhidharma, fit into this framework. Legends of this Indian sage helped create Zen’s mythical ethos, a vital component at the source of the religion. Scholars often do not accept that writings attributed to Bodhidharma were actually written by him, or indeed that Bodhidharma even existed. Luckily, the entertaining legends surrounding Bodhidharma’s life are not diminished by the lack of certain evidence about him. Moreover, some stories about Zen’s earliest historical period seem to fit well with known historical facts. The gaps in Zen’s early record coincide with periods of known suppression of Buddhism by the government or with times of civil unrest and destruction. In such circumstances, it is not surprising that, without a consistent written record, Zen’s early history was embellished.

China’s true age of enlightenment occurred in the Classical period, stretching roughly from the years 765 to 950 C.E. In this era, contemporary Zen records exist to describe famous Zen events. From about the time of Zen masters Mazu Daoyi and Shitou Xiqian, Zen students in China commonly recorded their teachers’ words and collected them into books called
yulu
(“recorded words” or “discourses”), many of which have survived. Also, the tradition of the
yunshui
, literally “clouds and waters”—itinerant monks on pilgrimage—was now in full force. Traveling monks spread and exchanged news of enlightened teachers throughout the country. Famous Zen teachers of that era were widely recognized and subjected to public and royal adulation. Great Zen masters created public sensations when they traveled from one place to another. Zen now reached all levels of society, as emperors and street peddlers became eager students. The unique teaching styles of memorable Zen personalities adorned the culture of Chinese society as well as a parallel Zen religious culture. Zen possessed a verdant oral, and a developing literary, tradition. The main Zen literary works of the Classical period served and sustained the oral tradition. But as time passed, successive generations of teachers appended their comments to written accounts of older stories, and thus the origins of the flourishing Zen literary culture that occurred in later centuries took root. Several examples of these appended comments have been included in this volume.

The Zen lecture, a main vehicle of the oral tradition, is introduced in Chinese Zen literature by the phrase
shang tang
(literally, “ascend the hall”), meaning that the Zen master went into the Dharma hall, or ascended the Dharma seat. In this book, the phrase “entered the hall and addressed the monks” often sets off this activity. The lectures often included stories about an ancient teacher’s dialogue with a student. The dialogues typically revealed some former teacher’s special style and the particular circumstances surrounding a student’s enlightenment.

The recorded words of the Classical period Zen masters reveal their brilliant spiritual clarity. The masters described each other’s ability to “take lives” or “trample people to death.” Another description is of the ability to “cut out the tongues of everyone on earth.” Such metaphors convey these individuals’ awesome posture and presence, and their ability to awaken others to Buddha’s truth, causing them to “lose their [previous understanding of] life.” The recorded prose and poetry of the classical teachers is beautifully stark and austere, hardly precedented in tone and depth.

The Classical period was also the era of “Dharma combat,” an event where great teachers met and tested each other in a sort of spiritual jousting match. Emperors sought out the greatest teachers and became their students, often bestowing titles and honors upon them (honors usually avoided or declined by their reluctant recipients).

The final division set forth in this book, the Literary period of Zen, stretched from about the year 950 to 1250 C.E. From around the time of the Fayan Zen school (circa 950), and with the Linji school teacher Fenyang Shanzhao (947–1024), Zen stories, known as
gongan
(Jpn.,
koan
), were formally posed by Zen teachers to their students in the course of their training. This was not, however, the first use of such stories. Chinese Zen had always offered famous stories about earlier masters as an organic part of its tradition. Moreover, the term gongan itself goes back at least to Baizhang Huaihai in the late eighth century. But now, as stories of the classical masters came in some sense to exemplify the essence of the tradition, these stories naturally assumed a more formal role in Zen practice and teaching (the word
gongan
means “public case” and relates Zen events well-known to the Zen “public”).