Emperor Wu Asks Bodhidharma

Engo's commentary on the case

Bodhidharma saw from afar that this land held people rooted in the Great Vehicle, so he deliberately crossed the sea. He transmitted the mind-seal alone, guided those lost on the road, did not establish it in written words, pointed directly to the human heart, and taught seeing one's nature and becoming buddha.⁴ See it this way and you gain a share of freedom. No speech can turn you around; the matter stands revealed through and through. Then, in the later dialogue with Emperor Wu and in the Second Patriarch's pacification of mind, you will naturally see it. With no calculation and no dust of feeling, one stroke cuts through. Clean and unrestrained, why go on dividing right from wrong and sorting gain from loss? Even so, how many people can do it? Emperor Wu once put on a kāṣāya and lectured on the Radiant Prajñā Sūtra. It was said that heavenly flowers fell in profusion and the ground turned gold. He proclaimed devotion to Buddha, issued edicts throughout the realm, built monasteries, ordained monks, and practiced according to the teaching. People called him the Buddha-heart Son of Heaven. When Bodhidharma first met him, the emperor asked, “I have built monasteries and ordained monks. What merit is there in it?” Bodhidharma said, “No merit.” Already a bucket of foul water had been dumped over his head. Penetrate this saying “no merit,” and I grant that you meet Bodhidharma face-to-face. Tell me: why is there no merit at all in building monasteries and ordaining monks? Where does this answer point?⁵ With Dharma Master Lou Yue, Mahāsattva Fu, and Crown Prince Zhaoming, the emperor discussed the two truths, ultimate and conventional. According to the doctrinal schools, ultimate truth clarifies nonbeing; conventional truth clarifies not-nonbeing. The nonduality of ultimate and conventional is the highest meaning of holy truth. Here scholastic teaching reaches its subtlest mystery. The emperor picked up this ultimate point and asked Bodhidharma, “What is the highest meaning of the holy truths?” Bodhidharma said, “Vast emptiness—nothing holy.” Patch-robed monks throughout the world cannot leap clear of it. Bodhidharma cut the emperor off with a single stroke.⁶ How many people now misunderstand, play with their clever spirits, glare, and declaim, “Vast emptiness—nothing holy”! Happily, that has nothing to do with it. My late teacher Wuzu once said that anyone who penetrates just this “vast emptiness—nothing holy” returns home and sits at ease. Explanation is still a tangle of vines, but one may smash the lacquer bucket for such a person. Bodhidharma is remarkable here. Thus it is said: penetrate one phrase, and a thousand phrases, ten thousand phrases, penetrate at once. Naturally you can sit decisively and hold firm. An ancient said: Bones ground to powder, body smashed to pieces—still not enough to repay it. Clearly grasp one phrase, and you pass beyond a hundred billion. Bodhidharma pressed the emperor head-on and had already leaked a great deal. The emperor did not awaken. Still seeing self opposed to other, he asked, “Who is before Us?” Bodhidharma, compassionate to excess, again said, “I don't know.” Emperor Wu's eyes were left fixed and fluttering, with nowhere to settle. What kind of speech is this? At this point, whether you bring up something or nothing, it will not do. Master Duan has a verse: One ordinary arrow drops one eagle. Add a second arrow and you have already indulged him. Go straight back and sit before Shaoshi Peak. Lord of Liang, do not say you will summon him again. Then Duan said, “Who would summon him?” The emperor did not accord, so Bodhidharma secretly left the country. The old fellow could only be embarrassed. He crossed the river into Wei. Emperor Xiaoming was then on the throne. These northern people bore the clan name Tuoba; only later did they come to be called China. Bodhidharma did not present himself there. He went directly to Shōrin, faced a wall for nine years, and received the Second Patriarch. People there called him the wall-gazing brahmin.⁷ Later Emperor Wu asked Zhigong about him. Zhigong said, “Does Your Majesty recognize this man?” The emperor said, “I do not.” Tell me: is that the same as what Bodhidharma said, or different? It resembles it, but it is not the same. Many people wrongly say that Bodhidharma first answered him about Zen, whereas later the emperor used the “know” of recognizing a person. That has nothing to do with it. When Zhigong questioned him that way, how should he have replied? Why not beat Zhigong dead with one blow and avoid making a smeared mess? Emperor Wu instead offered a confession: “I do not know.” Zhigong seized the opening and said, “This is the great being Avalokiteśvara, transmitting the seal of the Buddha-mind.” The emperor regretted it and sent to retrieve Bodhidharma. How inept! When Zhigong identified him that way, it would have been better to expel Zhigong too. That would have been somewhat closer. People report that Zhigong died in the thirteenth year of Tianjian and that Bodhidharma arrived only in the first year of Putong, seven years later. Why, then, say they met at the same time? This report must be false. That is what the records contain. We need not argue over the affair now; we only need its outline.⁸ Tell me: is Bodhidharma Avalokiteśvara, or is Zhigong? Which one is the genuine Avalokiteśvara? If Avalokiteśvara, why are there two? Not only two—they come in crowds and companies. At the time, Vinaya Master Guangtong and Tripiṭaka Master Bodhiruci debated with Bodhidharma. He rejected appearances and pointed to mind. Their narrow capacities could not bear it, and they formed a murderous intent, poisoning him repeatedly. On the sixth attempt, his transforming work was complete and he had found someone to receive the transmission, so he no longer saved himself. He sat upright and died and was buried at Dinglin Monastery on Mount Xiong'er. Later Song Yun of Wei, returning from a mission, met him in the Congling range, carrying one sandal.⁹ Emperor Wu remembered him and composed an inscription: Alas! Seeing him, I did not see. Meeting him, I did not meet. Encountering him, I did not encounter. Now and of old—regret and lament. He also praised him: When mind exists, through vast ages one remains stuck as an ordinary person. When mind is absent, in an instant one ascends to wondrous awakening. Tell me: where is Bodhidharma right now? You pass him by without knowing. Look at how Setchō versifies this case. He resembles someone skilled at wielding the sword Taia, ranging through empty space without touching its edge or point. Without such skill, the moment you pick it up the blade cuts your hand. A person with eyes watches each lift and set-down, each praise and blame: with only four lines Setchō settles the case. In general, a verse on an old case speaks Zen by a detour. It takes up the old matter's outline, proceeds on the deposition, and closes the case.¹⁰ Setchō presses him and begins head-on: “Holy truth, vast emptiness—how could its mark be discerned?” Adding that question to Bodhidharma's first phrase is remarkable. Ultimately, how do you discern it? Even iron eyes and copper pupils cannot feel their way to it. Can emotional consciousness calculate it? Unmon said, “Like sparks struck from stone, like a flash of lightning.” This bit does not fall within mental mechanism, intention, discriminating consciousness, or conceptual feeling. By the time you open your mouth, what good are you? When calculation is born, the hawk has crossed Silla. Setchō says to the patch-robed monks of the world, “How could its mark be discerned?” To “Who is before Us?” he adds, “Still he said, ‘I don't know.’” Here Setchō is compassionate to excess, serving people again and again. Tell me: are “vast emptiness” and “I don't know” one or two? For someone who has understood, it is clear without words. Someone who has not will surely chop them into two pieces. Everywhere people commonly say that Setchō merely raises the exchange once more. They do not realize that his first four lines have already exhausted the case. Only afterward, out of compassion, does he versify the events. “Because of this he crossed the river unseen—how could thorns fail to grow?” Bodhidharma originally came to this land to unstick what clings, undo bonds, pull nails, draw wedges, and clear away thorns. Why, then, say thorns grew? This is not confined to that time: beneath your own heels they already stand several fathoms deep. “All the country pursued, but he did not come again. / For a thousand ages, ten thousand ages, they remember him in vain.” What a lack of manhood! Tell me: where is Bodhidharma? If you see Bodhidharma, you see Setchō's final way of serving people. Setchō feared that people would follow emotional views. He therefore turned the pivot and presented his own understanding: Stop remembering! The clear wind fills the earth—where could it end? Once remembrance stops, what about the matter beneath your own feet? Setchō says the clear wind now fills this very place. Throughout heaven and earth, where could it end? He takes the affair of a thousand ages and ten thousand ages and throws it before you. It was limitless not only for Setchō then. In your own share, too, where could it end? Again he feared people would cling there. As another expedient he cried, “Is the ancestral teacher here?” and answered himself, “He is.” Here Setchō genuinely serves people, his bare heart in pieces. Then he said, “Call him here to wash this old monk's feet.” That greatly diminishes a person's dignity. At the time, he might instead have shown the essential action. Tell me: where was Setchō's intent? At this point, call him a donkey, call him a horse, call him the ancestral teacher—how will you name and portray him? People often say that Setchō has sent the ancestral teacher on an errand. Happily, that has nothing to do with it. Tell me: ultimately, what is it? The old foreigner may know it; the old foreigner is not allowed to understand it.¹¹