The Zennist

The big dilemma

From the perspective of political science, it is a general truism that people will often pursue strategies that make everybody worse off than if they had worked together, which is otherwise known in game theory as the Prisoner’s Dilemma or, the same, the “sub-Pareto optimal Nash equilibria”.  

This is also true with regard to the decision to pursue or not pursue a meaningful spiritual path like the Buddha's.  More specifically, the incentive to avoid rebirth and with it, future suffering, is not very much.  It ain’t got no sex appeal in other words!  On the other hand, the incentive to follow the path of materialism and sensuality is much greater since the rewards appear to be better which are not abstract and difficult.

But is Buddha’s path this bad where the incentive is lackluster?  A Buddhist, like myself, would answer that it is not, at least not from the perspective of Mahayana.  In fact, I would argue that the joy obtained from pursuing the Buddha’s path far exceeds any joy derived from the acquisition of material wealth.  At the same time, this joy proves the joys derived from materialism and sensuality, while attractive and entertaining at best, are never as fulfilling as the Buddha’s path is.

In spite of all the kind words I can say about Buddhism, most people are more incentivized to take up matters that, in the long run, bring harm to others and themselves—and perpetuate their rebirth.  To understand the sense of this, we only have to imagine being a child walking through a huge toy store which is filled with toys of every description then ask ourselves what is the incentive to leave it?  Is it greater and more attractive than the incentive to stay in the toy store?  

Some thoughts of taza-ism

One thing that stands out in D.T. Suzuki's works about Zen Buddhism is that he all but ignores the pivotal role sitting Zen played in the Chinese and Japanese Zen tradition which we recognize in the school of Soto Zen or the same, Ts'ao-tsung Ch'an.  Shedding more light on this, D.T. Suzuki believed that Rinzai Zen was truer to the core of Zen than was Soto Zen.  Suzuki had few kind words for Dogen's Soto style of Zen calling it "taza-ism" (i.e., correct sitting-ism) which he believed gravitated towards philosophy in the form of nonduality insofar as sitting Zen attempted to synthesize, as one, both practice and realization.

I agree with D.T. Suzuki's need to be critical of Soto when it just amounts to taza-ism.  But I cannot agree with his reasoning with regard to nonduality which for me is tangential if not confusing.  As I read Zen literature, Soto or Ts'ao-tsung does stress taza-ism, to use Suzuki's term, which has little to do with the Zen of Sixth Patriarch Hui-neng or the tradition the latter came through which goes back to Bodhidharma of the Lanka School.  Taza-ism, to be more precise, has to do with Ts'ao-tsung under Zen master Hung-chih's 'Silent Illumination' understanding of Zen which was truly about sitting.  Worth adding, when Dogen came to China and studied Zen it was Zen master Hung-chih's Zen that he essentially studied, or the same, Silent Illumination Zen.

Briefly summarized, Silent Illumination Zen places a great deal of emphasis on physical sitting, advocating hours of this practice. Next, there is nothing heuristic in this practice.  Sitting Zen is not a means to an end in the example of koan study.  It is the end—an end founded on the belief that sentient beings are already enlightened so that there is no need to seek it.  Just sit, in other words.  

Here, I have to emphasize, is to be found the main weakness of taza-ism.  The idea that sentient beings are already enlightened, that is say, are already Buddhas, is not found in any Buddhist Sutta or Sutra.  In the Mahayana, Parinirvana Sutra, where it is first asserted that sentient beings have the Buddha-nature (Buddhata), this particular Sutra only means that sentient beings have the Buddha-nature potentially—never actually.  In order to see and actualize their Buddha-nature,  sentient beings must, in addition, undergo a purificatory process as the Buddha did when he was a Bodhisattva otherwise they will never become Buddhas, fully actualizing their Buddha-nature.

We can conclude that no amount of sitting can cause one to fully actualize their Buddha-nature, going from potentiality to actuality.  Taza-ism, unfortunately, sacralizes the physical body's sitting posture.  As a result it rises to importance over the very spirit which animates it.  But traditional Zen is all about spirit, that is, Mind (S., citta) and the realization that Mind is Buddha (mind in this case being pure Mind).  This idea is on virtually every page of early Zen literature where seldom is mentioned sitting if at all.

Finally, there remains the question of why sitting Zen is the popular form of Zen Buddhism.  The answer is probably not that difficult if we understand how fixated our culture is to the body's importance.  As we might expect in this culture, it is believed that sitting, being aware of just sitting (J. shikantaza), one does become a Buddha—or close to it.  But all that this accomplishes is to hide the spirit, which is what Zen is all about.

The second approach

Answering koans often involves two radically different approaches which are in opposition to each other.  The first approach is to interpret the koan by means of some apriori idea.  One might interpret a koan, for instance, according to psychology or view it under the banner of pragmatism.  For example, when Chao-chou tells a student who had just asked him for instruction to, “Go wash your bowl!” it is possible to interpret his response pragmatically as if to convey the idea that Zen consists in recognizing that our ordinary activities are the enlightened way.  However, this approach, while novel, is too open-ended.  As we might conclude, almost any rational interpretation will suffice as long as it falls within a pragmatic scope. 

 But now , to be honest, we are no better off than when we first began to inquire into the koan.  The point I wish to make is that our spiritual eye did not open.   

The second approach, and the correct one, is to lay aside interpretation altogether and look at the koan from an entirely different angle.  Such an approach is exemplified when Ta-hui (1089–1163), who was then a student of Zen master, Yüan-wu, was given the following koan by his teacher to contemplate:  “The eastern mountain sails up the river.”  Making forty-nine attempts at answering the koan, poor Ta-hui came up empty handed.  It was only after he grasped the spiritual intent of the koan, itself, that he was then able to answer it successfully.  

From the true, spiritual standpoint of Zen, if we wish to rid ourselves of deluded concepts that bar us from seeing our Buddha-nature we must go to the very root and foundation of existence that supersedes language and, for that matter, all forms of interpretation.  

In particular, we must go to the unborn nature of pure Mind which is anterior to thinking and concepts.  If we want to find the meaning of the koan, “The eastern mountain sails up the river,” then we must search deeply within ourselves looking for the unborn source which originates the koan; which allows us to picture it, etc.  If we do it right, we will have a direct audience with it.  

My vortical thoughts for the day

Awakening is none other than seeing Mind, itself, or more precisely, of actualizing Mind thus being able to distinguish the increate nature of pure Mind from mind that is shaped.  

Prior to this, we are spiritually asleep, deeply affected by the spell of mind that is shaped and distorted.  Under this condition, mind is constantly reacting to itself out of ignorance which, as a result, turns into something determinate or maybe better said: mind becomes something other than what it really is.  

Mind’s transformation into something other is the defilement of mind to which we are bound—and not free.  This is why the Buddha said the following:

"Luminous, monks, is the mind.  And it is defiled by adventitious defilements.  The uninitiated common person (prithagjana) doesn't discern that as it actually is present, which is why I tell you that for the common person, there is no development of the mind" (AN I. 49–52).

One might picture the adventitiously defiled mind as being like a vortex of water.  Although the vortex is every bit water, in reality, it is a distortion of water.  Water, in this context, is so completely shaped so as to be unidentifiable.  We can also look at our thoughts as being, in a way, vortical, in which absolute Mind is their very substance (svabhava)—although a living, non-static substance.  In such a defiled state, Mind cannot identify itself by thinking or by taking up thoughts.  It exists in a state of ignorance or avidya. 

Not so ordinary mind

It is fairly easy in modern circles of Zen to conflate Buddha-nature with the everyday, ordinary mind.  Amplifying this a little more, it is easy to mistake the mundane in Zen for the absolute.  This leads to the particular dogma that our ordinary mind is synonymous with big Mind, which the Buddha realized.  Such a belief is incorrect which leads any prospective student down a very confusing path. 

This problem is illustrated in the dialogue between the student Chao-chou (J., Joshu) and his teacher, Nan-ch’uan (J., Nansen).  The topic of the dialogue was about the “Way” or Tao and its connection with the “ordinary mind” (p’ing ch’ang hsin).  

When Chao-chou asked his teacher, “What is the Way (Tao)?” Nan-ch’uan replied, “The Way (Tao) is the ordinary mind.”  Not content with his teacher’s answer, Chao-chou asks again, “How does one approach it?”  Nan-ch’uan then responded, “That’s the wrong track.”  Finally in desperation, Chao-chou asks Nan-ch’uan, “If we don’t approach it how will we know it is the Way?  Then Nan-ch’uan says, “The Way does not belong to knowing or not knowing.  Knowledge is illusive perception; not knowing is ignorance.  If free of doubt you comprehend the Way it is like space, vast and open.  There are no limits or obstacles.”  

As the reader may fairly judge, the expression “ordinary mind” is used in a different sense when it is used in the context of the Tao.  The Chinese character “p’ing” (平) actually means “free expansion on all sides; plane, even, level, tranquil” while the second character “ch’ang” (常) means “constantly”.  To translate such a mind as “ordinary” (p’ing-ch’ang) misses the boat when Nan-ch’uan goes on to describe the Tao.  From his explanation we judge that the Way or Tao is really the liberated mind, that is, vimukta-citta.  To be sure, it is not the mind of birth-and-death (C., sheng-ssu hsin) which is, in truth, the mundane, everyday mind with which we are all too familiar.  Nan-ch’uan would have also been correct to say that the straightforward Mind (S., riju-citta) is also the Tao.  Keep in mind, too, that Hui-neng, the Sixth Patriarch, spoke of the straightforward Mind, the pure Mind, the good Mind, the impartial Mind, and the Tao Mind.  But he also used the terms for the higher mind in contrast with the impure mind, the evil mind, the distracted mind, and the deluded mind. 

Throwing a shoe

I came across this passage the other day which I wish to comment on.  It is from D.T. Suzuki's book, Essays in Zen Buddhism.  As the reader may soon learn, I plan to get wordy (but I promise I won't give Joshu's secret away).

"To cite another instance before going further into the subject proper.  The same old Jôshu was asked another time, 'One light divides itself into hundreds of thousands of lights; may I ask where this one light originates?'  This question like the last mentioned is one of the deepest and most baffling problem of philosophy.  But the old master did not waste much time in answering the question, nor did he resort to any wordy discussion.  He simply threw off one of his shoes without a remark.  What did he mean by it?"

First let me say, that we encounter the enigmatic almost always in any treatment of Zen Buddhist literature.  The reason why this happens is because for a Zen master like Joshu the radiant, animative power of Mind, that is the "light", is not hidden from him.  He has come into communion with it it—which I hasten to add is also the Buddha.  Joshu's light animates Joshu.  Joshu knows this.  This is Joshu's wisdom or sapience.  

Any student who, after a long journey, comes to abbot Joshu’s temple seeking the essence of Zen is pretty much clueless, otherwise why would he travel so far?  He is not wise but is engaged, nevertheless, in seeking wisdom.

Let's now try to put our mind in Joshu's big Mind.  When the student asks his question, Joshu fully understands the originary power of the light.  But if the student is to receive the correct enlightening answer, he needs to be baptized by this light which obviously he isn’t.  So when Joshu gives the student the correct, enlightening answer, he misses it altogether.

The enlightening answer is, in fact, Joshu throwing off one of his shoes. To be sure, Joshu’s act is illustrative of the light’s power.  But since the student is wholly identified with his temporal body he doesn’t get Joshu’s timely and correct answer to his question (and probably Suzuki didn’t get it either).  He draws a blank from seeing Joshu’s unexpected antic.

Despite Joshu’s own profound wisdom—even he couldn’t get this dull fellow to see the obvious.  And why?  Because this student is, by desire, fixated on the animate, viz., the physical body and its representational mental system.  The student believes that the body, itself, is capable of realizing what made Joshu throw his shoe.  Or worse still, he believes he can capture it with a net of words.

My history lesson

When interpreted retrospectively, the history of Buddhism is not so much about Buddhism as if we were looking at some archeological dig.  It is more about the interpretation of words and discourses.  I should back up and say that this is the case with all religions.  They don’t provide us with archeological artifacts like pottery shards.  The present us with linguistic artifacts such as words that appear on stone or clay, or on some form of paper or palm-leaf.  It is the words that have to be examined asking, “What do they mean?”

So the history of Buddhism is mainly about the meaning of certain words and what they imply for the one translating them who may or may not be in sympathy with Buddhism, itself.

Given this, when I first began my study of the history of Zen Buddhism it was through the works of D.T. Suzuki, a noted Japanese Buddhist scholar.  His interpretation of Zen Buddhism was satisfying, at least at the time.  Moreover, his translations were above average for the time.  But, overall, I learned from Suzuki’s historical representation of Zen Buddhism and Mahayana Buddhism that the Buddha’s words and those of the great Zen masters were always alluding to something beyond the pale of ordinary human perception.  To be sure, this is not something an historical treatment of Buddhism can present as if it were an objective fact like a document.  It can only be alluded to because the subject is indefinite, although not unrecognizable in satori.  

However, to be fair, a Buddhist historian can treat Buddhism in a very spiritual way so as to present a history of Buddhism as a method by which individuals awaken to the living, eternal spirit within them.  But such a history can never present us with the living spirit itself.  Pages of words cannot do this.  They may excite us and this is all well and good.  

But also a Buddhist historian, by contrast, can lead us away from a spiritual interpretation of Buddhism presenting Buddhism as the history of religious nihilism that teaches us that all we do in this life is finite and ultimately worthless and empty; that accepting this, nevertheless, gives us some measure of peace before we die.  Observe also, that this seems to be the road modern history wants Buddhism to walk down—although it might be strongly denied by those scholars who harbor this viewpoint.

What is of interest to underscore, is that much of the history of Zen Buddhism and for that matter Buddhism, in general, which consists mainly of discourses, not only alludes to something mysterious beyond the pale of human thought, for example, nirvana, but also informs us that we must realize it in this lifetime; that without a proper realization of it we are little more than practitioners of “wild fox Zen” in which the bulk of our human will and intelligence is directed to various degrees of logomachy.

Thankfully, Zen Buddhism’s history offers very little room in which to engage in logomachy which, offhand, is refreshing in this day and age.  Perhaps this is why I found the history of Zen Buddhism so interesting whereas this is not always the case with Buddhism found in the Nikayas which is mainly studied by Theravadins (i.e., the elders).  The latter, in my opinion, tend to value dogma over the satorical acquisition of what the Buddha realized under the Bodhi-tree while placing, at the same time, a huge emphasis on the monastic life although living the life of a monk or a nun was never a prerequisite for the realization of nirvana or being an Arhat according to the Buddha. 

A higher authority

Buddhism is based on introspective authority which is something extrasensory; which begins when we no longer are confused by the Five Aggregates (skandha), believing them to be ourself.  In the words of the Buddha, we realize that physical shape (rupa) is like foam and not ourself.  Feeling or sensation (vedana) is like a bubble which also is not who we are.  Concepts (samjña) are like a mirage and not the self.  Experience (samskara) is like a plantain tree which has no core.  It cannot be who we really are.  And sensory consciousness (vijñana) is like a magician’s creation which is not our innermost self.

In a state of confusion, we lived under the spell of the magician’s creation which is sensory consciousness.  This is what we identified with as being our true nature or who we are.  By it, the internal and external world comprised by the rest of the aggregates (skandha) seemed all too real for us.  Even the tools we had available for existing in this spell-made world are also like magical creations—yet, of no real value for breaking the spell.

The Buddha takes this up with Mahamati in the Lankavatara Sutra under the notion of “maya” which is an illusory creation.

“Said the Blessed One:  It is not, Mahamati, that all things are Maya because they are both alike in being imagined and clung to as having multitudinousness of individual signs, but that all things are like Maya because they are unreal and like a lightning-flash which is seen as quickly disappearing” (trans. Suzuki).

Important to underscore, maya is also a power.  Such power causes us to see illusion as being true reality so that it is difficult for us to let go of the illusion.

To realize the fullness of introspective authority, like the Buddha, means to have disengaged from illusion.  It also mean to be disengaged from the sensory world in the sense of being able to apperceive the spiritual substance from which the Five Aggregates are made.  Indeed, this who we really are which has nothing to do with aggregation (skandha). 

The ineffable ache

An ineffable ache or sadness lies below the surface of most people’s lives which constantly needs to be covered up by using what popular religion or pop culture offer.  To be sure, neither popular religion nor pop culture are the cause of this ineffable ache; nor can they really help us.  Both religion and pop culture offer a kind of cornucopia of distractions.  They help treat the symptoms, so to speak, ignoring the cause.

But if one were to retire to the woods and try to live alone for a couple of months, limiting all worldly distractions, the ineffable ache would be much easier to see, provided that one goes with it in order to see where it leads.  This ache, in itself, is not unlike an unwelcome guide who leads us through our own underworld.  But as we become more familiar with this guide, it turns out that this ache is the disparity between our unrealized spiritual nature (i.e., our Buddha-nature) and the brute factuality of our temporal bodies that have a short life span.  This disparity further wants us to resolve the problem—not just run from it.  The message to us is stop distracting yourself and get on with the business of seeing the spiritual nature which is immortal and, moreover, is greater than the sum of the body’s anatomical parts.

Yet, even knowing this, it is difficult to let go of our old religious habits or the pop culture world.  In the past, they’ve succeeded in numbing the ache, like toothache medicine.  To a certain extent, we have even gotten used to living with this ineffable ache.  Nor do we wish to be reminded of it although it lies just below the surface of our everyday consciousness.

How Zen training deals with this ineffable ache is quite simple.  It begins by pointing us in the direction of our unrealized spiritual nature.  It is as if the guide, mentioned earlier, has shown us the perils of non-realization and then lifting his arm, points in an other direction, then suddenly disappears.  It is now up to us to walk in this new territory, alone, and decipher the amazing sights we behold which give us a clue as to where our Buddha-nature really resides.

Admittedly, not many will take such a path who may really want to know their Buddha-nature but haven’t the courage to stop their reliance on popular religion or the mind-numbing pleasures of pop culture.  There is almost a superstitious fear that keeps people connected with popular religion and especially the belief in God.  Turning to pop culture, its addiction is supported by the fear of alienation:  that if one drifts away from the herd, the ineffable ache will destroy them!

This certainly bespeaks to a kind of phobia most people seem to have.  They’re over-exaggerating their ongoing fear of this ineffable ache when it is really their ally trying to summon them so it can guide them to where their real journey begins which is wholly spiritual. 

The book transmission

Hui-neng, the Sixth Patriarch, did not actually appoint a successor before he died but made, instead, The Platform Sutra the authority of Zen which was his creation.  Citing from Yampolsky’s translation, The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch, before his death Hui-neng says the following to his ten disciples: 

"You ten disciples, when later you transmit the Dharma, hand down the teaching of the one roll of the Platform Sutra; then you will not lose the basic teaching.  Those who do not receive the Platform Sutra do not have the essentials of my teaching.  As of now you have received them; hand them down and spread them among later generations.  If others are able to encounter the Platform Sutra, it will be as if they received the teaching personally from me" (p. 173). 

Hui-neng's Sutra, thus, served as a kind of certificate of transmission.  In section 38 of the Sutra, Hui-neng says that, “Unless a person has received the Platform Sutra, he has not received the sanction.”  He then goes on to stipulate that the “place, date, and the name of the recipient must be made known, and these are attached to it [i.e., the Platform Sutra] when it is transmitted.” 

Does the aforementioned add problems to the so-called Zen transmission history?  There is every reason to believe that it does.  To be sure, the Fifth Patriarch of Zen, Hung-jen, had a different method of transmission than Hui-neng.  Hung-jen emphasized the “Mind-to-Mind” transmission (i-hsin ch’uan-hsin).  In such a transmission, one awakened to the truth, directly, without recourse to any kind of scripture.  In the extant records, there is no evidence that Fifth Patriarch Hung-jen transmitted a special Sutra to Hui-neng.  Even to this day the Platform Sutra is not treated in high regard in modern circles of Zen.  It only achieved this special place briefly through Hui-neng, the Sixth Patriarch.  

On the other hand, the history of Zen teaches us that before Hui-neng the transmission was different. What was of great importance was awakening to the pristine nature of Mind, itself.  This alone is the imprimatur—not a text.  After one's spiritual sleep is ended by the direct acquaintance with the animative power of Mind there is no need to depend on anything except pure Mind.  Mind is self-sufficient, in other words.  Its journey has been from ignorance to enlightenment, finally validating itself.