His successor, Fujaku, at first remained at the Kingchau monastery where he had been Shinshū’s pupil. But in 724 the irresolute Emperor Ming-huang, who had proscribed Buddhism ten years before, summoned Fujaku to the Imperial City. Here princes and grandees vied with one another in doing him honour. “The secret of his success,” says the historian,[7] “was that he seldom spoke and generally looked cross. Hence his rare words and occasional smiles acquired in the eyes of his admirers an unmerited value.” He died at the age of 89. On the day of his interment the great streets of Ch’ang-an were empty. The whole city had joined in the funeral procession. The Governor of Honan (one of the greatest functionaries in the State), together with his wife and children, all of them clad in monastic vestments, followed the bier, mingling with the promiscuous crowd of his admirers and disciples.
Religion was at that time fashionable in the high society of Ch’ang-an, as it is to-day in the great Catholic capitals of Munich, Vienna or Seville. When I read of Fujaku’s burial another scene at once sprang into my mind, the funeral of a great Bavarian dignitary, where I saw the noblemen of Munich walk hooded and barefoot through the streets.
I shall not refer again to the Northern School of Zen. One wonders whether the founders of religions are forced by fate to watch the posthumous development of their creeds. If so, theirs must be the very blackest pit of Hell.
Let us return to the Southern School, always regarded as the true repository of Zen tradition.
ŌBAKU.
Ōbaku lived at the beginning of the ninth century, and was thus a contemporary of the poet Po Chü-i. He enjoyed the patronage of a distinguished statesman the Chancellor Hai Kyū, of whom the Emperor said, “This is indeed a true Confucian.” It is to the Chancellor that we owe the record of Ōbaku’s conversations, which he wrote down day by day. I will make a few extracts from this diary:
Hai Kyū.—Enō could not read or write. How came it that he succeeded to the Patriarchate of Kōnin? The warden Shinshū was in control of 500 monks, gave lectures, and could discourse upon thirty-two different Sūtras and Shāstras. It was certainly very strange that he was not made Patriarch.
Ōbaku (replying).—Shinshū’s conception of Thought was too material. His proofs and practices were too positive.
“The master told me that when he was studying with Enkwan, the Emperor Tai Chung came dressed as a monk. The master happened to be in the chapel prostrating himself before an image of Buddha. The Emperor, who thought he had learnt the lesson of Zen idealism, said to him: ‘There is nothing to be got from Buddha, nothing from the Church, nothing from Man; for nothing exists. What do you mean by praying at your age?’
“Ōbaku answered him: ‘I seek nothing of Buddha, the Church, or of Man. I am in the habit of praying.’ The Emperor said: ‘What do you do it for?’ Ōbaku lost patience and struck him with his fist. ‘You rude fellow,’ cried the Emperor. ‘Since nothing exists, what difference does it make to you whether I am rude or polite?’ and Ōbaku struck him again. The Emperor retreated hastily.”