Chan
 

 


 

Introduction

 
The movement known as Chan in China is better known to us by its Japanese name Zen  The name derives from dhyAna, the Sanskrit word for meditation whose Chinese transcription was chan-na (禅那) which was then abbreviated to just the first character. Zen is the Japanese pronunciation of that character. Meditation is not really a central interest for our study of Chinese philosophy but there are certain elements of the philosophy behind Chan which are revealed in its meditative practices so that we will be required to say something about them. These elements include, in particular, the Chan claims concerning epistemology and what it is possible to know and how it can come to be known. We will see that Chan takes to an extreme the tendencies towards irrationalism (or perhaps one should say anti-cognitivism) that we have already noted elsewhere – with the Neo-Taoist apophasis, for example, and their version of the via negativa to the Dao. Chan adds to this native tendency a claim that we all possess an innate perfect knowledge (but of what sort?) – a claim derived from some of the forms of Buddhism popular at the time. In this respect we may take Chan to be the culminating form of the syncretic tendencies of Chinese philosophy acting upon Taoism and Buddhism to create a novel synthesis, an original form of Buddhism distinct from anything which had existed in India.
 

Precursors 

 
The doctrines and attitudes and practices that are thought of as typical of the Chan school arose early but gradually after Buddhism had been introduced to China. In particular, the two early Chinese Buddhist scholars Sengzhao and Daosheng are considered to have laid the philosophical groundwork for the Chan school.

Sengzhao

The first of these precursors of Chan, Sēngzhào (僧肇) (384-416,) was, so it is said, originally a Taoist who upon reading an old translation of the Vimalakirti Sutra became an enthusiastic Buddhist, and eventually a disciple of Kumarajiva – whom we mentioned in the last lecture as one of the most productive of the earliest translators and interpreters of Buddhist documents. In Xi’an (which was then the capital Chang’an) Sengzhao assisted his master in the translation and interpretation of Indian texts but he also began to make his own contributions. These can be found in his Book of Zhao (, Zhao Lun,) a collection of essays, of which three are of primary significance in preparing the ground for Chan. It is particularly worth noticing that the arguments made in all three essays might be made in essentially the same way by a Neotaoist as easily as by a Buddhist.

1.       Objects Do Not Move (物不, wù bù qiān)

In the essay on mutability and immutability Sengzhao argued the paradoxical point that there is at once no change and no immutability; or equivalently, that everything is both changeful and immutable; or even better that changefulness and immutability are equally vacuous terms referring to nothing. To make this claim he observes that any entity that is in the past never becomes an entity in the present because it is always in the past. Everything is therefore absolutely immutable, frozen in the instant of its existence (whether present or past.) On the other hand, since the passage of time must necessarily involve the sequential being and non-being of all things absolutely, there is nothing but mutability. By way of a clarifying example he gives us the man who left his village as a youth and returns as an old monk. We observe here that everything about the man has changed so he is a different entity, but he is nevertheless still the same man (called Fanzhi) so he is the same entity, so what is the same and immutable is also different and mutable. Unfortunately, this is just the old problem of the preservation of identity through change that we recognise from such classic examples as the Ship of Theseus, and rather detracts from than advances the purely conceptual argument that it is supposed to illustrate.

2.       Unreal Emptiness (, bù zhēn kōng)

In the essay on Being and Not-being he argues that nothing purely exists or does not exist; in everything that exists there is the quality of non-existence and in everything that does not exist there is the quality of existence. Of everything, whether it exists or not, it may therefore be said that it both exists and does not exist. His argument is that if something purely exists and has no quality of non-existence, then it would always be so qualified and so could never fail to exist. In particular, its origination is not dependent on the operation of causes in the world – contrary to what the Buddha claimed about all existent things. Similarly, for anything that does not exist, if it has no quality of existence within it then it can never do other than not exist, with all the same unwelcome consequences as for necessary existence. This is a marvellously paradoxical result, but its conviction for modern audiences is undermined by the inadmissibility of the assumption upon which the argument is based: that existence – and non-existence too, for that matter – may be treated in the same way as property predicates like ‘tall’, ‘happy’, or ‘blue.’ This assumption is known to lead to all sorts of problems and is almost universally rejected now.

3.       Wisdom Has No Knowing (般若无知, bō rě wú zhī)

Finally, in the essay on wisdom he argued that that could not be considered as a kind of knowledge – or at least not any kind of propositional knowledge. Such knowledge, we observe, is knowledge of something – we cannot speak having that sort of knowledge without acknowledging that there is an object of knowledge. Such knowledge essentially involves an apprehension of the qualities of a known thing. If prajña (般若, bō rě), or sage-wisdom (, shèng zhī) as Sengzhao calls it, is an apprehension of the Absolute Truth, then, given that the Absolute Truth is that there is nothing to be apprehended, sage-wisdom cannot involve the apprehension of the qualities of some object, and therefore cannot count as knowledge in the normal sense. In fact sage-wisdom is more like knowledge by acquaintance of Non-being, or even an actual identification with that state, a kind of knowing how to be non-existent. Claims of this sort have an impact on the kinds of methods by which one might aspire to gain sage-wisdom: the thing’s particular nature recommends a certain method of achievement.

Daosheng

The second of the philosophical precursors of Chan, the monk Dàoshēng () (c. 360-434,) was also for a short time a student of Kumarajiva at Chang’an, but is more associated with Huiyuan in Lushan. He is best known for the defence of several theses which were eventually accepted and expanded by the Chan school.

1.       Sudden Enlightenment

Daosheng was not the first to suggest that enlightenment could be sudden. The monk Zhidun (支遁) (314–366) had previously argued that at the 7th stage of the Bodhisattva Path, when the candidate is prepared to reached nirvana without cessation of this life, enlightenment can come suddenly – but incompletely. Complete illumination might not come until the final stage, when it might be suddenly achieved. Daosheng extended this idea to the claim that enlightenment might be sudden and complete at any point. Unfortunately, Daosheng’s own works containing his arguments for this claim haven’t come down to us: we have to infer the arguments from the texts of other later authors whom we conclude were appealing to Daosheng’s ideas. Nevertheless, we can suppose that Daosheng pointed out that to become enlightened is to become one with Non-being (Wu) [You might remember Sengzhao making something like this claim in his essay on wisdom.] and that because Non-being has no parts but is a single thing (or non-thing) there can be no question of partial identification. To be identified at all is to be identified completely.

This was a particularly controversial claim and occasioned a great deal of debate. Some contrasted the Indian practitioners and the necessity for them of gradual enlightenment with the Chinese practitioners and their ability to short-circuit that process. The difficulty with accepting the possibility of sudden enlightenment is that it seems to set at nought all the effort that previous monks and bodhisattvas had made, and to call into question the worth of the protracted study and contemplation of the Buddhist literature. Those who did not accept the universal possibility of sudden enlightenment but believed rather in a process of gradual enlightenment held that the practitioner was able to gradually learn the various truths about the universe – like the four noble truths, or the Eight-fold Path, and so on, and that the enlightenment that thus slowly emerged was the result of the apprehension of the truth and consequences of all those facts. We think that Daosheng, however, would not have disagreed with the value of all this work, but would have seen it as merely preparatory – like a golfer checking the lay of the ground, the wind, the obstacles, etc. and selecting the proper club for his attempted shot: even though all of that contributes to the success of the shot, it is not the same as the shot itself, which is either successful – putting the ball in the hole – or not.

2.       Buddha-Nature

The Buddha-nature (佛性fóxìng – which translates Sanskrit tathāgatagarbha meaning the ‘matrix of the thus gone’ or buddhadhātu meaning ‘the realm of the enlightened one’) was the subject of the second of Daosheng’s teachings that we will consider. The Buddha-nature was supposed to be that part of a being’s nature which made it possible for the being to achieve the enlightenment that the Buddha achieved. It was thus that part of the Being’s nature that approximated to (shared in / was identical with / what you will) the essential nature of the Buddha. Although most schools would agree on the purely functional characterization just given, yet there is little agreement on what exactly it was that instantiated the function or realised the potential. Some considered it to be a quality of Mind, or the undefiled mind, or (in the Lankavatarasutra) the universal mind (of the Yogacaras,) while others considered it to be simply nothingness or non-being itself. In any case, it was disputed whether every sentient being possessed the Buddha-nature and was thus able to achieve enlightenment. Daosheng was amongst those who thought that it was a universal quality of sentient beings and that certain important consequences followed from this fact.

Since his treatise on this has not survived his relevant arguments have to be extrapolated from his other commentaries, but they seem clear enough in general. From his reading of the various sutras he concludes that every being does have the Buddha-nature, although not every being realises that they do. The task for each being is to achieve this realisation and to use that realisation to become enlightened and thus fully actualise their Buddha-nature. Daosheng envisioned the Buddha-nature as being whatever it was that was able to enjoy nirvana given that according to the most basic truth of anatman there was ‘no self.’ He further held that Buddha-nature was identical with nirvana and sunyata. His arguments for this point are not specified but we might assume that since nirvana (extinction) and sunyata (emptiness) are without characteristics or parts it is not possible to enjoy them or to participate in them while having characteristics and parts; therefore this thing, if it was to ‘enjoy’ extinction and emptiness could only do so as a kind of participation – and by the nature of extinction and emptiness, participation in them could only be identification with them. This being the case, and Buddha-nature being thus without characteristics, there would be two further consequences. First, being indivisible into parts, it could not be grasped in parts: it was all or nothing, which supported the claim of sudden enlightenment. Second, being inapprehensible from outside – since it has no qualities for any perception or comprehension to grasp – to know the Buddha-nature is to participate in it; so that the understanding of the Buddha-nature leads to instant enlightenment and liberation.
 

Founders 

 
An identifiable school of Chan seems to have arisen sometime around the 6th C, and some centuries after that we find stories being told of the founders of the school and of a line of patriarchs and monks connecting the school and its doctrines to the Buddha and his orally transmitted esoteric teachings. Amongst these the most important are Bodhidharma and Huineng.

Bodhidharma

According to the traditional account Bodhidharma was the founder of Chan in China, although since it is accepted that the school itself did not exist at that time, his role as ‘founder’ has to be understood more as providing an example of attitudes and practices for the Chan school than anything more concrete. This Bodhidharma, whose name means the ‘dharma (law) of enlightenment’ in Sanskrit was said to be a Buddhist monk from the ‘Western regions’ – probably Central Asia or North India – who came to China in the 5th-6th C. Quite why he came all that way is not known – or at least is not publicised. Indeed, the question became a favourite in collections of inspirational prompts for practitioners of Chan – but the answers recorded are not very helpful. In Case 37 of the Mumonkan (a text which we’ll talk more about later) we find, for example:

A monk asked Jôshû, “What is the meaning of Bodhidharma’s coming to China?”
Jôshû: “The oak tree in the garden.”

In fact it is unlikely that much of what is traditionally recorded of Bodhidharma can be trusted. There may well have been a Western monk, perhaps called Bodhidharma, and he was perhaps an impressive teacher, but little else can be surmised concerning him. The miraculous legends, of course, can be discounted; but even the more plausible general outlines are now thought to be later inventions intended to provide such a figure as a founding patriarch for the Chan ‘school’ (obviously, you can’t be a real school without a patriarch) and to provide a bridge between the Chan practitioners of the time and the Buddha. Whatever Bodhidharma might have thought he was doing in coming to China, his actual role was to provide a hook upon which various useful items might be hung. Nevertheless, just because these impositions were thought to be useful, it is worthwhile describing some of them.

1.       Meeting Wu-Ti

There is the story of his early meeting with the emperor Wu-Ti, himself a champion of Buddhism.[1] In that meeting Wu-Ti wanted to know how much merit he had acquired by his building of temples, but Bodhidharma tells him that such things don’t count towards merit just because they were done with the wrong intention of gaining merit. Here Bodhidharma is dismissive of the institutions of Buddhism, seeing them as irrelevant or perhaps even obstacles to true ‘merit.’ Merit, so far as that means anything in Buddhism, is just knowledge of the nature of things. And that is to know that there is nothing. Not even the person standing before you. In this story are combined expressions of antinomianism, Emptiness, even skepticism.

2.       Staring at the Wall

There is the story of his Wall-Staring ( bìguān).[2] He is supposed to stand at the head of a great meditative tradition therefore he is known for his own strange practice of staring at a wall. He once stared for nine years at the wall of a cave near the Shao-Lin monastery to which he could not gain admittance. (The story also says his legs fell off, therefore the popular Daruma doll representing him is legless.) It is said that this wall-gazing exercise is the ancestor of the Sitting Meditation (, zuòchán) style (that we know better by the Japanese name zazen.)

3.       His Farewell Discourse

There is the story of his farewell discourse with his disciples. Before returning to India he wanted to know how his disciples had progressed.

Bodhidharma asked, “Can each of you say something to demonstrate your understanding?”
Dao Fu stepped forward and said, “It is not bound by words and phrases, nor is it separate from words and phrases. This is the function of the Tao.”
Bodhidharma: “You have attained my skin.”
The nun Zong Chi stepped up and said, “It is like a glorious glimpse of the realm of Akshobhya Buddha. Seen once, it need not be seen again.”
Bodhidharma: “You have attained my flesh.”
Dao Yu said, “The four elements are all empty. The five skandhas are without actual existence. Not a single dharma can be grasped.”
Bodhidharma: “You have attained my bones.”
Finally, Huike came forth, bowed deeply in silence and stood up straight.
Bodhidharma: “You have attained my marrow.”

The truth is inexpressible, but expressions which approach the truth tell of the way that expressions can help bring one to the truth, and how the truth is that there is nothing to be expressed. This teaching was summarised in a late stanza attributed to Bodhidharma:

A special transmission outside the scriptures
Not founded upon words and letters;
By pointing directly to [one's] mind
It lets one see into [one's own true] nature and [thus] attain Buddhahoo
d

Huineng

The second supposed founder of Chan is a little more solidly based in history and his role in the establishment of the school is a little more direct. According to the traditional account again, Huineng (惠能; 638–713) and Shenxiu were monks at the Eastern Meditation Monastery of Huangmei in Qi who submitted rival poems to justify their succession to leadership of the monastery. Shenxiu wrote:

The body is like unto the Bodhi-tree,
And the mind to a mirror bright;
Carefully we cleanse them hour by hour
Lest dust should fall upon them

And in reply, Huineng wrote:

Originally there was no Bodhi-tree,
Nor was there any mirror;
Nor was there any mirror;
Since originally there was nothing,
Whereon can the dust fall?

The poem by Shenxiu reflects the teaching of Daosheng regarding the Buddha-nature as universal mind, while the poem of Huineng is rather inspired by the teachings of Sengzhao regarding emptiness. In the event Huineng was declared the winner and became the ‘sixth patriarch’ of the school.

As with Bodhidharma, however, there is not much in this story in which we can put much faith. All the details come from sources hundreds of years later than the period in question and are widely thought now to be more or less complete inventions intended to provide an authoritative origin for the mature doctrines and teachings of the school – which are attributed to this Huineng figure.


[1] Blue Cliff Record ( 碧己, Bìyán Lù) Case 1.

[2] Daoxuan, Further Biographies of Eminent Monks (Taishō Shinshū Daizōkyō, Vol. 50, No. 2060)

 

Philosophical Postures

 
It is in fact difficult to say that the Chan school has a set of doctrines and teachings, because the school itself ‘teaches’ that there are no such things as teachings to which one should attach oneself or by means of which the truth of the world might be expressed or enlightenment gained upon their comprehension. What it does propose or practise is a set of methods through which it is implicitly supposed true enlightenment can be gained. Such an attitude, if that were a true description of the school’s attitude, would not be out of place in a philosophical school: we could say something similar about Socrates himself who never claimed to know anything but practised a method by which error could be eliminated and (one assumes) the truth more nearly approached. Of course, Socrates assumed that there were truths to be told about the world and that Reason could grasp them, whereas the Chan School would probably not explicitly affirm any such thing. On the other hand, the whole point of Chan as a school and a method is rendered pointless if there is not a goal at which the method aims; and, of course, according to everything that is said, enlightenment and liberation is that goal – as it would have to be for a Buddhist school.

Limits Concerning Truths

  1. Inexpressible

Foremost amongst the postures that give rise to such difficulties is the claim that the first principle of the Chan School may not be put into words. Fung gives a nice illustration of this claim:

The Ch’an master Wen-yi was once asked: “What is the First Principle?” To which he answered: “If I were to tell you, it would become the second principle.”[1]

This would follow naturally enough from the observations of Sengzhao noted above that wisdom could not be considered as any sort of propositional knowledge. If that were the case, and if all propositional knowledge is expressible (which it is, tautologically,) and if wisdom involved knowledge of the first principle, then it would very nearly logically follow that the first principle was inexpressible. One could further trace it back to the Tiantai doctrine of Three Truths that we looked at previously. The third level of Truth, you will recall, is the level at which we pay attention to the fact that statements describing reality can be equally sincerely asserted and denied at the same time. That being the case, and accepting that the assertion of contradictions leaves all our statements void of content, it follows that nothing can really be asserted and that even the truth of the first principle cannot be asserted. Finally, we can note that the claim that truths exist that are inexpressible takes us back once again to the first verse of the Daodejing (which more and more seems central to this style of philosophizing) which just emphasizes the effect that the existing Daoist speculations had had on the development of early Buddhism in China. Thus it was said:

The way that can be spoken of
Is not the constant way;
The name that can be named
Is not the constant name.[2]

  1. Inconceivable

As the truth is inexpressible, it equally follows that thought which partakes of the nature of propositional expression cannot approach to truth. If we are thinking in the way we think when we can put our thoughts into sentences, then we are on the wrong path, apparently. This does not mean, however, that thoughtlessness is recommended: just that the type of thought that is useful is of a peculiar non-conceptual or non-propositional kind. Since what we think of when we think about thinking is usually exactly the conceptual style, this allows the Chan philosophers to propound many apparently paradoxical claims. Huineng, for example, put forward the necessity of wú niàn () or ‘non-thought’ in such passages as the following

No-thought is not to think even when involved in thought.
. . .
Men of the world, separate yourselves from views; do not activate thoughts. If there were no thinking, then no-thought would have no place to exist.[3]

  1. Undocumentable

It would also seem to follow that the sutras and other documents – which are nothing but expressions of propositions – can have only a very limited usefulness in cultivating the wisdom that Chan teaches. All the teachings contained therein can only be expressions uttered by teachers, which cannot carry the truth. Thus, in a very famous passage, the monk Yìxuán stated that

If you want to have the right understanding, you must not be deceived by others. You should kill everything that you meet internally or externally. If you meet the Buddha, kill Buddha. If you meet the patriarchs, kill the patriarchs.[4]

Limits Concerning Wisdom

  1. Uncultivable

All of this has a direct effect on the methods by which the Chan school thinks it possible to cultivate the wisdom it values. Briefly, it does not believe that efforts to cultivate wisdom can be successful. This does not mean that wisdom cannot be gained, or that it cannot be gained as a result of the actions that one takes; it means that actions directed at cultivation are ineffective. The reason for this is supposedly that acts of deliberate cultivation are by their nature deliberate, which is to say that they are conceived as having a purpose and as being fitted to achieving that purpose, and so on. Such conceptual thought is exactly what the Chan school deprecates. Presumably, any deliberate act of cultivation would require the conception of an end or a final goal in terms of a final truth to be realised; and since that truth is inexpressible, the thought may not be formulated and therefore cannot be part of a piece of practical reasoning that tries to fit means to an end. Thus Xi Yun said

If you do not understand wú xīn (无心, no mind; equiv. to wú niàn,) then you are attached to objects, and suffer from obstructions.[5]

Moreover, how is it imagined that deliberate action will result in a desired end? Clearly, there are imagined to be causes that relate the actions to their effects and those effects are imagined to include the enlightenment of the actor. This effect, however, would be temporary in just the same way that the effects of all causes are temporary. Nothing lasts forever that is part of the cycle of dependent origination, and so enlightenment gained by causal processes will decay and end leaving the creature in the same position it was in before. Deliberate action is unfit for the purpose of cultivation. Therefore Xi Yun said:

All deeds are essentially impermanent. All forces have their final day. They are like a dart discharged through the air; when its strength is exhausted, it turns and falls to the ground. They are all connected with the wheel of Birth and Death. To practise cultivation through them is to misunderstand the Buddha’s ideas and to waste labour.[6]

But if no deliberate action is to be undertaken then what should one do? Apparently, one is advised to live one’s life without thought directed at these higher things – and to live ‘naturally’ as the Taoists would say. So Yixuan says:

To achieve Buddhahood there is no place for deliberate effort. The only method is to carry on one’s ordinary and uneventful tasks: relieve one’s bowels, pass water, wear one’s clothes, eat one’s meals, and when tired, lie down. The simple fellow will laugh at you, but the wise will understand.[7]

A recommendation such as the last one might suggest that there is no distinction between a person belonging to the Chan school and a normal person unaffiliated with any such school. What is the difference between the Chan person and the non-Chan person, a farmer, official, or soldier? It seems not to be in their actions, for they are explicitly told to behave like normal people. It can’t be in their beliefs, because clinging to views is to be condemned (and the true belief is inconceivable anyway.) It can’t be in the goals, because any effort or intention to gain enlightenment is deprecated. What then distinguishes the Chan follower from others?

Well, it seems that the distinction is that the normal person does form goals and has intentions – about getting the crop in, completing the task at hand, in order to profit from that, in order to be able to do something else he desires, which will satisfy yet another purpose, and so on. The Chan follower, like the Taoist practising wu wei will avoid any such formation of intentions and grasping at results and achievements. In this way the Chan follower prepares himself for the enlightenment that will descend upon him like the grace of God which he neither earns nor desires. (Makes you wonder why he would bother, really.)

  1. Incommunicable

This makes the matter of practice fundamental to the Chan follower. Clearly, given the belief that the truth is inexpressible, inconceivable, and incommunicable, there can be no question of achieving enlightenment through studying what can be read in texts, or what can be explained by a teacher. Indeed, Chan was known as the doctrine ‘not founded on words or scriptures.’ For Chan, the practice of meditation was identified with the gaining of the appropriate knowledge: to come to know the appropriate truths was just to practise a certain type of mediation. This approach makes a little sense if you consider – as we have suggested above – that the knowledge that is important to the Chan school is practical knowledge rather than propositional knowledge; a ‘knowing how’ rather than a ‘knowing that.’ The knowledge is more like knowing how to ride a bike than knowing that a bike can be ridden. Explanations are beside the point. Practice is all. On the other hand, although such knowledge is strictly speaking incommunicable, it doesn’t mean that you can’t be helped along the way by those who already know how to get it. You can be helped to learn how to ride a bike, not by explanation but by example or by practical guidance. This is the reason for teachers in Chan monasteries.

  1. Unreasonable

This brings us to the most remarkable aspect of Chan practice and theory: the apparent irrationality of much of what goes on there. The apparent irrationality is quite deliberate, and given what has been said above, it should be obvious why: rationality is rendered irrelevant to the achievement of the goal of the Chan school because of the inexpressibility of the first truth, the consequent inconceivability of the same, and the rejection of all forms of ordered conceptual thought in the pursuit of that goal. It follows, quite reasonably actually, that if rationality is a trap to be avoided, then those who would guide the student towards the goal (which is not desired) should act so as to prevent the student from falling into that trap. Some such guides take the rather extreme action of striking their students when they feel that they are becoming stuck in conceptualisations and thoughts. A less violent technique is to offer nonsensical answers to questions posed by students. Presumably – and so it is reported – the students are knocked out of their incorrect forms of thinking and become open to whatever form of intuition is required to achieve enlightenment. It is reported of Mazi (d. 788,) for example, that he was once asked by a pupil ‘Why do you say that the very mind is Buddha?’ to which he replied ‘’I simply want to stop the crying of children.’ ‘Suppose they do not stop crying?’ ‘Then not-mind, not-Buddha.’ On another occasion he was asked ‘What kind of man is he who is not linked to all things?’ ‘Wait until in one gulp you can drink up all the water in the West River, then I will tell you.’[8]

Another related technique is the contemplation of brief anecdotes that we know by the name of koan, which is just the Japanese reading of their Chinese name gōng'àn (公案, ‘public case.’) They originated as records of conversations or episodes in the life of previous Chan masters together with a commentary intended to aid in the illumination of the reader. There are several collections of these, such as the Blue Cliff Record (, Bìyánlù; J: Hekiganroku) and the Gateless Barrier (门关, Wúménguān; J: Mumonkan,) from which we get a pretty good idea of the type of thing that the Chan practitioners thought was likely to be useful.

These anecdotes are so structured that they transgress the normal rules of conversational or narrative coherence. The reader is supposed to meditate upon the gongan, using its ‘irrationality’ to interrupt the rational conceptual thought processes that block true enlightenment. When posed as questions –as in ‘what is the sound of one hand clapping?’ – the point is not to discover the root of a paradox or to ‘solve’ the problem, but rather to accept its contra-rationality and to leap from that acceptance to the enlightenment concerning things that are closed to the reasoning mind. Questions, however, are not the classic form of a gongan which is better exemplified by such encounters as Zhaozhou‘s Dog which is case 1 of the Gateless Barrier. Thus:

                A monk asked Zhaozhou, "Has a dog the Buddha Nature?" Zhaozhou answered, "Wu."

Wu’ means ‘nothingness,’ or perhaps’ no,’ or perhaps ‘woof.’ Well, perhaps that’s more of a joke than an inspiration; let’s try the second case: Baizhang’s Fox.

When Baizhang Huaihai delivered a certain series of sermons, an old man always followed the monks to the main hall and listened to him.
When the monks left the hall, the old man would also leave.
One day, however, he remained behind, and
Baizhang asked him, "Who are you, standing here before me?"
The old man replied.
"I am not a human being.
In the old days of Kashyapa Buddha, I was a head monk, living here on this mountain.
One day a student asked me, 'Does a man of enlightenment fall under the yoke of causation or not?'
I answered, 'No, he does not.'
Since then I have been doomed to undergo five hundred rebirths as a fox.
I beg you now to give the turning word to release me from my life as a fox.
Tell me, does a man of enlightenment fall under the yoke of causation or not?"

Baizhang
answered, "He does not ignore causation."
No sooner had the old man heard these words than he was enlightened.
Making his bows, he said, "I am emancipated from my life as a fox. I shall remain on this mountain.
I have a favour to ask of you: would you please bury my body as that of a dead monk."

Baizhang had the director of the monks strike with the gavel and inform everyone that after the midday meal there would be a funeral service for a dead monk.
The monks wondered at this, saying, "Everyone is in good health; nobody is in the sick ward. What does this mean?"
After the meal
Baizhang led the monks to the foot of a rock on the far side of the mountain and with his staff poked out the dead body of a fox and performed the ceremony of cremation.
That evening he ascended the rostrum and told the monks the whole story.
Huángbì thereupon asked him, "The old man gave the wrong answer and was doomed to be a fox for five hundred rebirths. Now, suppose he had given the right answer, what would have happened then?"
Baizhang said, "You come here to me, and I will tell you."
Huángbì went up to Baizhang and boxed his ears.
Baizhang clapped his hands with a laugh and exclaimed, "I was thinking that the barbarian had a red beard, but now I see before me the red-bearded barbarian himself." 

Which you can interpret in your own time


[1] Wen-yi Ch’an-shih Yü-lu (‘Sayings of the Chan master Wen-yi’) in Fung Yu-lan (1964) Short History of Chinese Philosophy New York: Macmillan, p. 257

[2] Dàodéjīng 1

[3] The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch  c. 17

[4] Recorded Sayings of Ancient Worthies,(古尊宿語錄, gǔ zūn sù yǔ lù) chüan 4. [Dainippon zokuzôkyô (1905-12) Kyoto: Zôkyôshoin, vol. 118]

[5] Op. cit. chüan 1

[6] Ibid.

[7] Op. cit. chüan 4

[8] Op. cit. chüan 1 (Fung Yu-Lan (1948) Short History of Chinese Philosophy, NY: Macmillan, p. 258.)