Zen Masters Of China. Richard Bryan McDaniel
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The story of Dajian Huineng is one of the best known in the Zen tradition and is recorded in a document entitled The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch. This purports to be a transcript of statements made by Huineng from his seat on the platform in the meditation hall. It begins with his account of how he came to be Hongren’s successor.
He tells his disciples that his father had been a disgraced government official who had died when Huineng was only three years old, leaving his wife and child in extreme poverty. Once the boy was old enough, he took on the responsibility of supporting his mother by gathering and selling firewood. As a commoner, he had no schooling, and, in the chronicles of Zen, stress is put on the fact that he was not able to read or write.
When he in his mid-twenties, he was going about his rounds and happened to hear a man chanting a sutra. Although Huineng was unfamiliar with the sutra, when he heard the phrase “let thought arise without resting it anywhere” he came to a deep spontaneous awakening. He asked the man what he was reciting and was told that it was the Diamond Sutra.
“How did you come by this sutra?” Huineng inquired.
“I visited the East Mountain Monastery,” the man explained, “and the master there gave it to me.”
“And who’s that master?”
“He’s Master Hongren, who is called the Fifth Patriarch, and he has one thousand monks studying with him. But he encourages even laypeople to recite this sutra so that they might realize their true nature, their Buddha-nature, for themselves. If you want to learn about this sutra, he’s the man you should go to see.”
Huineng was eager to visit the Fifth Patriarch, but he first needed to arrange for his mother’s care. Fortunately, a villager who learned of his desire to travel to East Mountain provided him with a sum of money that ensured his mother’s security. Once the appropriate arrangements had been made, he set out on the journey that took thirty days to complete.
The Fifth Patriarch received Huineng formally, asking his name and inquiring where he had come from. The young man replied that he was a commoner from Guangdong in the South and that he had come to East Mountain in order to attain Buddhahood.
The patriarch tested Huineng by asking: “How is it possible for someone like you to attain Buddhahood? Southerners are barbarians and don’t have Buddha-nature.”
Undeterred, Huineng responded: “There may be Southerners and there may be Northerners, but what has that to do with Buddha-nature?”
“You are a very clever barbarian,” Hongren said. “But you aren’t a monk, so you can’t stay in the monastery. Report to the granary. You may begin work there.”
The young man was put to work hulling rice and splitting firewood. It is said that he was so slight that he had to have a stone tied to his belt in order to give him enough weight to trample the rice.
He worked without any instruction from Hongren for eight months before the master came to see how he was doing. At that time, the patriarch confirmed Huineng’s awakening. “Among the monks in this monastery there are none who have attained what you have attained,” he added. “Instead of striving to open their mind’s eye, they seek only to accumulate merit in hopes of obtaining a more auspicious rebirth in the future. If they heard that a layman, an illiterate lad at that, had achieved awakening, they wouldn’t believe it, and they might do you harm. Or they might come to lose respect for the teachings of Buddhism altogether. So for a while, you and I will keep this secret.”
Huineng agreed to do as the master instructed. He kept away from the monks’ quarters and the meditation hall, and he pursued his chores in the granary.
Shortly after speaking to Huineng, Hongren called his disciples together and told them that he intended to retire. He announced that he needed to identify a successor to follow him as Sixth Patriarch, and he challenged the monks to submit their understanding of the dharma in a short poem, or gatha. The one whose poem demonstrated the deepest insight, he told them, would receive the bowl and robe of Bodhidharma.
The monks consulted among themselves and decided that surely it would be the senior monk, Shenxiu, who should succeed the master and therefore there was no point in anyone else submitting a poem for consideration. Shenxiu, however, was not confident of his own understanding of the dharma, so he decided to submit his poem anonymously. If Hongren approved it, Shenxiu would acknowledge having written it, but if the patriarch did not, then Shenxiu would be able to retain face by keeping silent. “If that’s the case, however,” he reflected, “then I’ve wasted many years in this monastery and have gained the admiration of others without just cause.”
There were three corridors in the meditation hall that had been whitewashed in preparation for a series of murals. An artist from the capital had been commissioned to portray significant events in the lives of the four patriarchs who had come before Hongren for the edification of the monks and visiting laypeople. That midnight, Shenxiu inscribed his poem on one of these walls. He wrote:
The body is like the Buddha-tree,
the mind a stand with a mirror bright.
Take care to wipe it clean,
and don’t let dust or dirt alight!
The next morning, Hongren met with the artist who was to do the murals. When they found the gatha inscribed on the wall, Hongren told him, “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you by asking you here today, but your presence is no longer necessary. These walls don’t need to be painted now.”
Then he called the monks together and, in their presence, he had incense lit and burnt in front of the poem to honor it. “We will leave this stanza here so that all may read and benefit from it,” he announced. “All those who practice as it describes will undoubtedly acquire great merit by doing so.”
Then he signaled Shenxiu to meet with him privately. When they were alone, Hongren told Shenxiu that he suspected him to have been the author of the gatha, and the head monk admitted that was the case. “I’m not so vain that I expect to be declared your successor,” he said. “But would you be kind enough to tell me whether I’ve shown any indication of wisdom.”
“The enlightenment of the Buddha comes when one realizes one’s true-self, the self that is neither born nor dies,” Hongren told him. “You haven’t achieved this yet. You’ve come to the gate, but you still need to pass through. Go to your quarters and reflect on this. When you come to complete realization, submit another poem, and, if it demonstrates true understanding, I’ll transmit the robe and bowl to you.”
Shenxiu bowed and took his leave. He meditated on the Fifth Patriarch’s words for days but was unable come to any clearer understanding.
Meanwhile, the other monks had taken to reciting Shenxiu’s stanza as a mantra. It so happened that, while he was hulling rice, Huineng heard one of them do so. The young man asked the monk about the gatha, and the monk replied disdainfully, “You Southerner, how is it that you alone of everyone in this monastery don’t know of this gatha composed by our chief monk, who’s surely to become our new master when the present patriarch retires. It’s inscribed on the wall of the corridor in the meditation hall for all to read and admire.”
Huineng explained that he had not yet visited the meditation hall. “But I’d be grateful if you’d show me the stanza so that I can honor it as well as everyone else.”
The monk directed Huineng to the spot where Shenxiu had written his poem. When Huineng got to the corridor, he found a district official there as well. The young man asked the official to read the poem to him, explaining that he could not read himself. After hearing Shenxiu’s poem once more, Huineng said: “I’ve also composed a poem. Could you write it on the wall for me?”
The district officer expressed surprise that someone who could not read would be able to compose a lyric, but he agreed to do so, asking only, “If you’re successful in acquiring