Sōzan's Dharma Body

Banshō's commentary on the case

Zen Master Benji of Mount Cao at Yihuang in Fuzhou was also called Danzhang, surely a bestowed name or posthumous title. After first leaving Tōzan, he entered Sōkei and bowed at the ancestral stupa. He then returned to Jishui in Jizhou. Because the assembly looked up to the mountain's name, they invited him to open the Dharma there. The teacher modeled himself on Sōkei and used “Cao” in the name of each place where he lived. Tōzan's lineage reached its greatest flourishing with this teacher; hence it came to be called Caodong.³ Sōzan asked Senior De, “The Buddha's true Dharma body is like empty space; responding to things, it manifests forms like the moon in water. How would you express the principle of this response?” These four lines praising Buddha originally come from an old recension of the Golden Light Sutra. Since it is like empty space, how does it respond to things? Juefan, praising the Venerable Aryadeva, said: Responding to conditions, it manifests, without falling into deliberation; therefore, into the bowl of water, a needle was cast.⁴ De said, “Like a donkey looking into a well.” Could calculating consciousness possibly reach this? Unless one has long undergone refinement and possesses a patch-robed monk's grip, one is not admitted to this ground. If this had been someone of petty accomplishment, lacking the upward-facing pivot, I would have approved him with a mouthful. Sōzan said, “You have indeed said a great deal, but you have expressed only eighty percent.” It was as though he had weighed it on a scale or measured it with a bushel. De asked, “What about you, Reverend?” With this one press, words were exhausted and principle came to its end. One might have thought Sōzan could not utter a phrase beyond “the donkey looks into the well.” Yet he quietly and deliberately turned it around. One may say that he extended it by touching its category. This is why he is called a source of the Caodong lineage. Tendō loved these two turning phrases and versified both sides together. Prajñā does not know, yet there is nothing it does not know. Therefore purity contains more than enough. In the first year of the Yongchang era under Emperor Yuan of the Jin, Wang Dun, stationed at Wuchang, raised troops and attacked the imperial palace. Diao Xie urged the emperor to execute the entire Wang clan. Wang Dao led his relatives to the government offices to await punishment. As Zhou Yi was about to enter court, Wang Dao called to him, “Boren, I entrust these hundred lives to you.” Zhou Yi paid no attention. Once inside, however, he argued forcefully for Wang Dao's loyalty and pleaded urgently to save him. When Zhou Yi came out, Wang Dao was still at the gate and called to him again. Zhou did not answer, but said, “This year I will kill the rebel slave, obtain a gold seal as large as a bushel, and fasten it behind my elbow.” Soon afterward he submitted another memorial declaring Wang Dao innocent. Wang Dao knew none of this and deeply resented him. When Wang Dun's army arrived, Wang Dun asked Wang Dao, “May Zhou Yi be allowed to live?” Wang Dao did not answer. Wang Dun then killed Zhou Yi. Later, while Wang Dao was reviewing documents in the imperial secretariat, he found Zhou Yi's memorial defending him. Weeping, he said, “In the dark world I have failed this good friend.”² The monasteries also have the expression “the tally behind the elbow.” The Later Discourses of the Spring and Autumn says that Zhao Jianzi told his sons, “I have hidden a precious tally behind the elbow on Mount Chang. I will reward the first to obtain it.” His sons raced up the mountain but searched without finding it. Only Wuxu, later known as Xiangzi, returned and said, “I have obtained the tally.” No one else could share it. Jianzi asked him to explain. Wuxu said, “From the summit of Mount Chang one looks down upon Dai; it can be taken.” Jianzi said, “Wuxu is worthy,” and established him as heir.⁵ Ungan instructed the assembly, saying, “There is a child of a certain household who, when questioned, has nothing he cannot answer.” Tōzan came forward and asked, “How many books does he have in his house?” Ungan said, “Not a single written character.” Tōzan asked, “How does he know so much?” Ungan said, “Day and night he has never slept.” Tōzan asked again, “May one ask him about a single matter?” Ungan said, “If he could say it, he would not say it.” “Who can share the seal behind the elbow?” The deeply secret Way is personally attained; no one else can divide it. “At home he keeps no books”—how does he know so much? One who knows from birth is highest; one who knows through study is next.⁶ As for “the donkey looks into the well; the well looks at the donkey,” does it permit a share to be divided off and taken? Does it permit learned interpretation to be propagated? Kassan said: Producing understanding from what is heard, painting colors beneath intention: it may be beautiful at the moment, but long accumulation becomes illness. Green mountain and white cloud have never reached one another. The loom's threads do not hang upon the shuttle's business. The patterns range across and through; the intent is naturally distinct. On the single road to Jiaxiang, the wise know estrangement. Worthies do not value an auspicious herb without roots. At the end Tendō uses Kassan's two lines in full to clarify that this case does not fall into deliberation, though its pattern is complete of itself. Now say: what samadhi does one possess to attain such a thing? Only this without a handle—nothing of any kind can be done about it.