“The original reason of my coming to this country
Was to transmit the Law in order to save the confused:
One flower with five petals is unfolded,
And the bearing of fruit will by itself come.”[4.15]
By this “bearing of fruit” did Dharma prophesy the full development of Zen later in China? The “five petals” are supposed to mean the five Zen Fathers in China after Dharma when Zen came to be recognised as a branch of Buddhism with a message of its own. Whether this gāthā was really a prophetic one by Dharma himself, or whether it was composed by some Zen historian after the sixth patriarch Hui-nêng (Yeno), we have no means to decide. The one thing is certain historically that Dharma’s teaching began to be naturalised in China about two hundred years after him and assimilated by her people in a manner best suited to their mental idiosyncracies. Zen in the form we have it to-day could not mature anywhere outside China. India was too metaphysical, or too given up to mystic imagination. It was the home for the Yuishiki (Yogācāra), the Shingon (Mantra school), the Kegon (Avataṁsaka), or the Sanron (Śūnyatā or Mādhyamika). As for Zen, it needed a mind which had already been deeply steeped in the Laotzŭan ideas and feelings and yet could not detach itself from the details of daily life. Aloofness, romanticism, a certain practical temperament, and yet an even, steady, well-balanced character—these were needed to develop Zen to its present form. That is to say, if Mahayana Buddhism as was expounded by Nāgārjuna and Aśvaghosha, and in the Vimalakīrti, Prajñāpāramitā, and other Sutras, especially in the Laṅkāvatāra, were not worked upon by Chinese genius, Zen as such could not at all have come into existence.
It may not altogether be out of place here to show by concrete examples how much the Indian method diverges from the typically Chinese one in demonstrating the truth of Zen Buddhism. As I have repeatedly illustrated, Buddhism, whether primitive or developed, is a religion of freedom and emancipation, and the ultimate aim of its discipline is to release the spirit from its possible bondage so that it can act freely in accordance with its own principles. This is what is meant by non-attachment (apratishṭita-cittam). The idea is negative inasmuch as it is concerned with untying the knots of the intellect and passion, but the feeling implied is positive, and the final object is attained only when the spirit is restored to its original activity. The spirit knows its own way, and what we can do is to rid it of all the obstacles our ignorance has piled before it. “Throw them down,” is therefore the recurring note in the Buddhist teaching. The Indian Buddhist way of impressing the idea is this: A Brahman named Black-nails came to the Buddha and offered him two huge flowering trees which he carried each in one of his hands through his magical power. The Buddha called out, and when the Brahman responded the Buddha said, “Throw them down!” The Brahman let down the flowering tree in his left hand before the Buddha. The latter called out again to let them go, whereupon Black-nails dropped the other flowering tree in the right hand. The Buddha still kept up his command. Said the Brahman, “I have nothing now to let go. What do you want me to do?” “I never told you to abandon your flowering plants,” said the Buddha, “what I want you to do is to abandon your six objects of sense, your six organs of sense, and your six consciousnesses. When these are all at once abandoned and there remains nothing further to be abandoned, it is then that you are released from the bondage of birth-and-death.”
In contrast to this plain though somewhat round-about talk of the Buddha, the following case of Jōshu (Chao-chou)[f79][4.16] is direct and concise and disposes of the matter in a most unequivocal manner. A monk came and asked the master,[4.17] “How is it when a man brings nothing with him?” “Throw it away!” was Jōshu’s immediate response. “What shall he throw down when he is not burdened at all?” “If so, carry it along!” The Zen masters delight in paradoxes, and Jōshu’s remark here is a typical one.
The problem of emancipation is important, but the still more important one is, “Who or what is the Buddha?” When this is mastered, Buddhism has rendered its full service. What did the Indian philosophers think of the Buddha? There was an old lady who lived at the time of the Buddha. She was born at the same time as the Buddha himself and lived in the eastern part of the city. She had a singular aversion against the Buddha and never wished to see him. Whenever he passed by she would run away. But whichever way she turned she would encounter him, east or west. She covered her face with her hands, and lo! she saw the Buddha between her fingers. This is beautiful and illuminating. What follows is the Zen way of treating the subject: A monk came to Ch‘i-an who was one of the disciples of Ma-tsu,[4.18] and asked: “What is the original body of Vairochana?” Said the master, “Would you mind passing that water-pitcher over to me?” The monk handed it to the master as asked. Then the master requested him to put it back where he got it. The monk did so. But not getting any answer as he thought to his first question, he asked again, “What is the original body of Vairochana Buddha?” The master expressed his regret, saying, “Long it is since the departure of the old Buddha!” These two instances will suffice to illustrate where the Chinese Zen mind deviates from the Indian.
II
The history of Zen dates with the coming of Bodhi-Dharma (Bodai-Daruma)[4.19] from the west, 520 A.D. He came to China with a special message which is summed up in the following lines: