Nansen Cuts the Cat

Banshō's commentary on the case

Zen Master Yuantong Xiu of Fayun saw two monks standing together talking. He brought his staff, struck the ground several times in succession, and said, “One whole field of karma!” How much more so when the leaders of two halls disputed because of a cat? Nansen neither mediated and persuaded them nor punished them. As a person of the Way true to type, he used the fundamental matter to work for people. He picked up the cat and said, “If you can say it, I will not cut it.” At that very moment every sentient and insentient being throughout the worlds of the ten directions begged for its life in Nansen's hands. If someone then had come forward and spread both hands—or else seized Nansen around the chest and said, “Abbot, you need not trouble your spiritual power”—even had Nansen separately carried out the true command, I guarantee that person would have saved the cat. But this den of dead rats had not the slightest breath in it. Nansen had extended himself and would not withdraw; he carried out the command to the full. In the Liao dynasty, the monk [name represented by a rare graph] composed the Record of the Mirror-Mind, censuring Nansen and his kind for killing living beings and creating culpability. Head Seat Wen composed the Inexhaustible Lamp: A Correction of Errors to defend him: “An old edition says he made with his hand only the gesture of a feigned cut. Could he really have cut it in two with one stroke, fresh blood streaming and spurting?”² These two men passed judgment on the ancient. Master Wen's offense was heavy; the other master's offense was light. Nansen, as before, shakes his head and swishes his tail among the herd of water buffalo. Have you not seen Zen Master Furi taking tea with the community? When he saw a cat approach, he threw a pigeon to it from his sleeve. The cat caught it and left. Furi said, “Excellent!” Could that too have been a feigned action? Nansen thought to himself, “The tune is high and those who can harmonize are few,” and raised the earlier story to ask Jōshū. Jōshū immediately removed his sandals, put them on his head, and walked out. Sure enough, sounding and singing proceeded together and completed the rhythm. Nansen said, “Had you been there, you would just have saved the cat.” This little point of function is difficult to understand but easy to see. Simply see through it where you pick up a spoon and raise chopsticks; then you will see that cutting the cat and wearing the sandals are no different. Otherwise, look again: what other skill does Tendō perform? “The cloud-and-water monks of both halls were all in turmoil.” To this day the dispute has never been settled. Had Tendō not understood Nansen's precedent and tested it until a clue appeared, straight and crooked would often remain undivided. When straight and crooked are clearly divided, how do you judge? At once the sharp blade cuts through and buries both in one pit. This not only annihilates an unresolved public case from one period; it also leaves the realm beneath a clear wind for a thousand ages. At the time Nansen was an excellent teacher and his disciple was strong. Seeing the assembly speechless, he later raised the matter to Jōshū, revealing that there was someone in the community. Jōshū took off his sandals and put them on his head. Indeed, this Way had not perished; a discerning companion was worthy of praise. Confucius said, “Heaven has not yet caused this culture to perish.” Look at teacher and disciple: their Way accorded, singing and beat followed one another. Nothing can adequately compare. According to the rules for posthumous titles, one whose springs and sources circulate is called Yu; one who receives abdication and completes the work is also called Yu. The “Tribute of Yu” in the Book of Documents says he guided the Yellow River from Jishi as far as Longmen. The Huainanzi says that Gonggong was militarily strong and ferocious and contested accomplishment with Emperor Yao. When his strength was exhausted, he struck Mount Buzhou and died; the pillar of heaven broke. Nüwa smelted five-colored stones to repair heaven. The Liezi says that imbalance of yin and yang is called a breach, while smelting the essences of the five constants is called repair.³ Yungai Ben once raised the story of Dongshan removing Head Seat Tai's fruit tray: “Though Dongshan had the drill and hammer that shatter empty space, he still lacked the needle and thread for mending.” Nansen was like Great Yu tunneling through mountains and opening the sea, revealing spiritual function. Jōshū was like Nüwa smelting stones to repair heaven, completing the topic. Banshō says: at eighteen Jōshū knew how to break up the house and scatter the household. Who knows how much livelihood he had? “Wearing straw sandals on his head came somewhat close.” Tsk, tsk—having nowhere to go, he made this disposition. Hofuku Zhan said, “Even so, they were only worn-out straw sandals.” Nansen leveled the high and approached the low, saying, “Had you been there, you would just have saved the cat.” Zhi of Suigan said, “Great Jōshū could only save himself.” He let one move pass. Tendō said, “Coming from within difference, he still discerned clearly. This true gold is not mixed with sand.” He could only push the boat with the current; he did not know how to hold the helm against the wind. And now this whole band of you has come forward. There is no cat—what dog are you fighting over? Banshō drove them out with his staff.