Kyōzan and Sanshō Exchange Names

Engo's commentary on the case

Sanshō was a venerable in Rinzai's line. From youth he possessed strategies surpassing the crowd, with great mechanism and great function. In the assembly he was lofty and imposing, and his name was heard in every quarter. After taking leave of Rinzai, he traveled throughout the Huai and coastal regions. Monasteries everywhere received him as an honored guest. Going from the north toward the south, he first visited Seppō and asked, “The golden-scaled fish that has passed through the net—what does it eat?” Seppō said, “Wait until you emerge from the net, and then I will tell you.” Sanshō said, “A spiritual friend of fifteen hundred people does not even recognize the head of the saying.” Seppō said, “This old monk's affairs as abbot are numerous.” When Seppō was going to the monastery estate, he met macaques on the road and said, “Each of these macaques wears one ancient mirror.” Sanshō said, “Nameless through successive eons—why display it as an ancient mirror?” Seppō said, “A blemish has arisen.” Sanshō said, “A spiritual friend of fifteen hundred people does not even recognize the head of the saying.” Seppō said, “My fault. This old monk's affairs as abbot are numerous.” Later Sanshō reached Kyōzan. Kyōzan greatly admired his sharp intelligence and lodged him beneath the bright window. One day an official came to visit Kyōzan. Kyōzan asked, “What office do you hold?” He said, “Judicial commissioner.” Kyōzan raised the whisk and asked, “Can you judge this?” The official had no words. People in the assembly supplied responses, but none accorded with Kyōzan's intent. At that time Sanshō was ill in the infirmary. Kyōzan ordered an attendant to carry the exchange and ask him about it. Sanshō said, “The Reverend has a matter.” Kyōzan again sent the attendant to ask, “What matter does he have?” Sanshō said, “A second offense is not permitted.” Kyōzan deeply approved this. At the time, Hyakujō had entrusted the Zen board and sitting mat to Ōbaku, and the staff and whisk to Isan. Isan later entrusted them to Kyōzan. After Kyōzan greatly approved Sanshō, Sanshō one day took his leave. Kyōzan offered him the staff and whisk. Sanshō said, “I already have a teacher.” Kyōzan questioned the basis, and learned that Sanshō was a true son of Rinzai.² Consider Kyōzan asking Sanshō, “What is your name?” He could not have failed to know the name. Why did he ask again in this way? An adept wants to test a person and learn the details. He merely seems to ask casually, “What is your name?”—without further calculation. Why did Sanshō not say “Huiran,” but instead say “Huiji”? Observe the person who possesses the eye: naturally he is different. Sanshō was not behaving crazily. He consistently seized the banner and stole the drum; his intent lay outside Kyōzan's words. This speech does not fall into ordinary feeling and is difficult to get hold of. The methods of a person like this instead bring people to life. Therefore it is said, “He investigated the living phrase, not the dead phrase.” If one merely follows ordinary feeling, one cannot bring people to rest. Observe how the ancients kept the Way in mind, exhausting their vitality before they could greatly awaken. After awakening, when they functioned, they still resembled people who had not awakened. Yet each word and half-phrase, according to circumstance, could not fall into ordinary feeling. Sanshō knew where Kyōzan landed and immediately told him, “My name is Huiji.” Kyōzan intended to gather Sanshō; Sanshō instead gathered Kyōzan. Kyōzan could only commit robbery upon the person and say, “Huiji is me.” This is the place of release. Sanshō said, “My name is Huiran.” This too is release. Therefore Setchō later versifies, “Double gathering and double release—what makes the lineage?” In this single phrase he versifies the whole exchange at once. Kyōzan laughed loudly. It had provisional and real, illumination and function. Because he was lucid and open on all eight faces, he attained great freedom in functioning. This laugh differs from Gantō's laugh. Gantō's laughter held poisonous medicine. In this laugh, through a thousand and ten thousand ages, the clear wind blows sternly. Setchō's verse says: “Double gathering and double release—what makes the lineage?” Released into action, they reciprocally become guest and host. Kyōzan said, “What is your name?” Sanshō said, “My name is Huiji.” This is double release. Kyōzan said, “Huiji is me.” Sanshō said, “My name is Huiran.” This is double gathering. In fact, this is the mechanism of mutual exchange. When gathering, everyone gathers; when releasing, everyone releases. Setchō versifies it completely at once. His intent is: if there were no release and gathering, no mutual exchange, then “you are you; I am I”—altogether only four words. Why, within them, do they emerge and disappear, roll up and extend? An ancient said, “If you stand, I sit. If you sit, I stand. If both sit or both stand, both are blind fellows.” This is double gathering and double release, and it can serve as the lineage's essential point. “Riding a tiger has always required surpassing skill.” With such lofty style and the highest essential mechanism, when they need to ride, they ride; when they need to get down, they get down. They can seize the tiger's head and also gather its tail. Sanshō and Kyōzan both possessed this style.³ “After the laughter, no one knows where they went.” Tell me: what did Kyōzan laugh at? Why did it make the clear wind blow so sternly? At the end Setchō instead says, “It should only stir a mournful wind through a thousand ages.” This too is dead and not mourned. He has supplied an explanation for you all at once. Yet people throughout the world cannot bite or peck into it and do not know where it lands. Even this mountain monk does not know where it lands. Do all of you know?