THE attainment of Buddhahood or the realisation of Enlightenment is what is aimed at by all pious Buddhists, though not necessarily during this one earthly life; and Zen, as one of the Mahayana schools, also teaches that all our efforts must be directed towards this supreme end. While most of the other schools distinguish so many steps of spiritual development and insist on one’s going through all the grades successively in order to reach the consummation of the Buddhist discipline; Zen ignores all these, and boldly declares that when one sees into the inmost nature of one’s own being, one instantly becomes a Buddha, and that there is no necessity of climbing up each rung of perfection through eternal cycles of transmigration. This has been one of the most characteristic tenets of Zen ever since the coming-east of Bodhi-Dharma in the sixth century. “See into thy own nature and be a Buddha,” has thus grown the watchword of the Sect. And this “seeing” was not the outcome of much learning or speculation, nor was it due to the grace of the supreme Buddha conferred upon his ascetic followers; but it grew out of the special training of the mind prescribed by the Zen masters. This being so, Zen could not very well recognise any form of gradation in the attainment of Buddhahood. The “seeing into one’s nature” was an instant act. There could not be any process in it which would permit scales or steps of development.
But in point of fact where the time-element rules supreme, this was not necessarily the case. As long as our relative minds are made to comprehend one thing after another by degrees and in succession and not all at once and simultaneously, it is impossible not to speak of some kind of progress. Even Zen as something possible of demonstration in one way or another must be subjected to the limitations of time. That is to say, there are after all grades of development in its study; and some must be said to have more deeply, more penetratingly realised the truth of Zen. In itself the truth may transcend all form of limitation, but when it is to be realised in the human mind, its psychological laws are to be observed. The “seeing into thy nature” must admit degrees of clearness. Transcendentally, we are all Buddhas just as we are, ignorant and sinful if you like; but when we come down to this practical life, pure idealism has to give way to a more particular and palpable form of activity. This side of Zen is known as its “constructive” aspect, in contradistinction to its “all-sweeping” aspect. And here Zen fully recognises degrees of spiritual development among its followers, as the truth reveals itself gradually in their minds until the “seeing into one’s nature” is perfected.
Technically speaking, Zen belongs to the group of Buddhist doctrines known as “discrete” or “discontinuous” or “abrupt” (tun in Chinese) in opposition to “continuous” or “gradual” (chien)[f159]; and naturally the opening of the mind, according to Zen, comes upon one as a matter of discrete or sudden happening and not as the result of a gradual, continuous development whose every step can be traced and analysed. The coming of satori is not like the rising of the sun gradually bringing things to light, but it is like the freezing of water which takes place abruptly. There is no middle or twilight condition before the mind is opened to the truth, in which there prevails a sort of neutral zone, or a state of intellectual indifference. As we have already observed in several instances of satori, the transition from ignorance to enlightenment is so abrupt, the common cur, as it were, suddenly turns into a golden-haired lion. Zen is an ultra-discrete wing of Buddhism. But this holds true only when the truth of Zen itself is considered, apart from its relation to the human mind in which it is disclosed. Inasmuch as the truth is true only when it is considered in the light it gives to the mind and cannot be thought of at all independent of the latter, we may speak of its gradual and progressive realisation in us. The psychological laws exist here as elsewhere. Therefore, when Bodhi-Dharma was ready to leave China, he said that Dōfuku got the skin, the nun Sōji got the flesh, and Dōiku the bone, while Yeka had the marrow (or essence) of Zen.[f160][8.1] Nangaku who succeeded the sixth patriarch had six accomplished disciples, but their attainments differed in depth. He compared them with various parts of the body, and said, “You all have testified to my body, but each has grasped a part of it. The one who has my eye-brows is the master of manners; the second who has my eyes, knows how to look around; the third who has my ears, understands how to listen to reasoning; the fourth who has my nose is well versed in the act of breathing; the fifth who has my tongue, is a great arguer; and finally the one who has my mind knows the past and the present.” This gradation was impossible if “seeing into one’s nature” alone was considered; for the seeing is one indivisible act, allowing no stages of transition. It is however no contradiction of the principle of satori, as we have repeatedly asserted, to say that in fact there is a progressive realisation in the seeing, leading one deeper and deeper into the truth of Zen, finally culminating in one’s complete identification with it.
Lieh-tzŭ, the Chinese philosopher of Taoism, describes in the following passage certain marked stages of development in the practice of Tao:
“The teacher of Lieh-tzŭ was Lao-shang-shih, and his friend Pai-kao-tzŭ. When Lieh-tzŭ was well advanced in the teachings of these two philosophers, he came home riding on the wind. Yin-shêng heard of this, and came to Lieh-tzŭ to be instructed. Yin-shêng neglected his own household for several months. He never lost opportunities to ask the master to instruct him in the arts [of riding on the wind]; he asked ten times, and was refused each time. Yin-shêng grew impatient and wanted to depart. Lieh-tzŭ did not urge him to stay. For several months Yin-shêng kept himself away from the master, but did not feel any easier in his mind. He came over to Lieh-tzŭ again. Asked the master, ‘Why this constant coming back and forth?’ Yin-shêng replied, ‘The other day, I, Chang Tai, wished to be instructed by you, but you refused to teach me, which I did not naturally like. I feel, however, no grudge against you now, hence my presence here again.’
“‘I thought the other time,’ said the master, ‘you understood it all. But seeing now what a commonplace mortal you are, I will tell you what I have learned under the master. Sit down and listen! It was three years after I went to my master Lao-shang and my friend Pai-kao that my mind began to cease thinking of right and wrong, and my tongue talking of gain and loss, whereby he favoured me with just a glance. At the end of five years, my mind again began to think of right and wrong, and my tongue to talk about gain and loss. Then for the first time the master relaxed his expression and gave me a smile. At the end of seven years I just let my mind think of whatever it pleased and there was no more question of right and wrong, I just let my tongue talk of whatever it pleased, and there was no more question of gain and loss. Then for the first time the master beckoned me to sit beside him. At the end of nine years, just letting my mind think of whatever it pleased and letting my tongue talk of whatever it pleased, I was not conscious whether I or anybody else was in the right or wrong, whether I or anybody else gained or lost; nor was I aware of the old master’s being my teacher or the young Pai-kao’s being my friend. Both inwardly and outwardly I was advanced. It was then that the eye was like the ear, and the ear like the nose, and the nose like the mouth; for they were all one and the same. The mind was in rapture, the form dissolved, and the bones and flesh all thawed away; and I did not know how the frame supported itself and what the feet were treading upon. I gave myself away to the wind, eastward or westward, like leaves of a tree or like a dry chaff. Was the wind riding on me? or was I riding on the wind? I did not know either way.
“‘Your stay with the master has not covered much space of time, and you are already feeling grudge against him. The air will not hold even a fragment of your body, nor will the earth support one member of yours. How then could you ever think of treading on empty space and riding the wind?’
“Yin-shêng was much ashamed and kept quiet for some time, not uttering even a word.”