Tōzan's Three Pounds of Hemp

Engo's commentary on the case

How many people misunderstand this case! It is genuinely difficult to chew; there is nowhere to sink your teeth. Why? It is bland and flavorless. Ancients gave many answers to “What is Buddha?” One said, “The one in the shrine hall.” Another, “The thirty-two marks.” Another, “A bamboo-ribbed whip below Staff-Forest Mountain.” Tōzan instead said, “Three jin of hemp,” cutting off the ancients' tongues. Many construct stories. “Tōzan was in the storeroom weighing hemp, so he answered from what he was doing.” Some say he answered east when asked west. Others say, “You are Buddha and still ask after Buddha; Tōzan therefore answered indirectly.” Dead fellows! Another group says, “These very three jin of hemp are Buddha.” Happily, none of this has anything to do with it. Search beneath Tōzan's phrase this way and even when Maitreya descends you will not have dreamed of it. Words are only vessels that carry the Way. Ignorant of the ancient's intent, people keep searching inside the phrase. What handle could they find? An ancient said, “The Way originally has no words. Through words the Way is disclosed. See the Way and forget the words.” Here, give me the first working. “Three jin of hemp” resembles the broad road to Chang'an. Lift a foot or set it down—nothing is outside it. This saying and Unmon's “flatbread” are of one kind, and exceedingly difficult to understand. My late teacher Wuzu versified: The board-carrying fellow sells it cheaply; three jin of hemp are stuck on the scale. Merchandise unsold for a thousand years— nowhere to put the whole body. Only clear away emotional dust, imagination, calculation, gain and loss, right and wrong, all at once. Then you naturally understand. Setchō saw through. He therefore begins, “The golden crow races; the jade hare speeds.” This and Tōzan's “three jin of hemp” are not two different things. The sun rises and the moon sets, day after day. Many interpret: golden crow is the left eye, jade hare the right. Asked, they stare and say, “Right here!” What does that have to do with it? Such understanding sweeps Bodhidharma's lineage from the earth. Thus it is said, “Lowering a hook in the four seas, one fishes only for a fierce dragon; the mysterious working beyond convention seeks an intimate.” Setchō had emerged from the shadow realm. How could he hold such a view? He lightly taps the barrier's joint and exposes a little: “Skillfully responding—when was there ever a careless touch?” Tōzan did not answer lightly. Like a bell when struck or a valley receiving sound, he responded to great and small without careless contact. Setchō has thrust out heart, liver, and five organs and shown them to you. His verse on “still yet skillfully responding” says: Presented directly, face to face—not in many devices. Dragons and snakes are easy to distinguish; a monk is hard to deceive. The golden hammer's shadow moves; the precious sword's light is cold. It comes straight down—look quickly! When Tōzan first studied with Unmon, Unmon questioned him about his route: where he had come from, where he spent the summer, and when he left. Tōzan answered “Zhadu,” “Baozi in Hunan,” and “the twenty-fifth day of the eighth month.” Unmon said, “I spare you three rounds of blows. Go to the hall.” That evening Tōzan entered Unmon's room and asked where he had erred. Unmon said, “Rice sack! You wander through Jiangxi and Hunan this way.” At these words Tōzan suddenly greatly awakened. Tōzan said, “One day I will build a hut where there is no smoke of human habitation. I will store not one grain of rice and plant not one stalk of vegetables. I will receive the great teachers who come from every direction, pull out their nails, remove their wedges, take off their greasy hats and stinking shirts, and make each clean, free, and a person with nothing to do.” Unmon said, “Your body is the size of a coconut, yet you open such a huge mouth.” Tōzan then left.³ His awakening emerged directly. How could his later “three jin of hemp” be a small view? Communities treat it only as an answer about Buddha, comparing “the bamboo whip,” “the fire-boy seeks fire,” and other phrases, then constructing principles around Buddha. Setchō says that making fixed categories of “displaying the matter” and “meeting the working” resembles a lame turtle and blind tortoise entering an empty valley. In what year will they find the road out? “Flowers mass on flowers; brocade massed on brocade” was Chimon's reply when a monk asked the meaning of Tōzan's hemp. When the monk did not understand, Chimon added, “Bamboo in the south; wood in the north.” The monk reported this to Tōzan. Tōzan said, “I do not speak for you alone; I speak for the assembly.” He ascended the hall: Words do not display the matter. Speech does not meet the working. Those who receive words perish; those stuck in phrases are deluded. Setchō strings the replies together to break emotional interpretation. Later people perversely explain hemp as mourning clothes, bamboo as the mourner's staff, and flowers and brocade as coffin decoration. Have they no shame? Southern bamboo, northern wood, and three jin of hemp are like “father” and “dad.” An ancient's turning phrase never intends such symbolic explanations. Setchō's golden crow and jade hare have the same spacious breadth, though gold and brass, or the graphs for fish and Lu, are hard to distinguish. Out of grandmotherly kindness Setchō wants to break your doubt and drags in another dead fellow: “I recall Changqing and Minister Lu; he knew to say one should laugh, not cry.” The verse was complete in its first three lines. Why so many vines around three jin of hemp? Excessive compassion. Minister Lu Gen studied with Nansen. When Nansen died, Lu entered the monastery for the memorial and laughed loudly. The prior asked why he did not cry for his teacher. Lu said, “If you can say it, I will cry.” The prior had no words. Lu cried, “Blue heaven! Blue heaven! My former teacher has gone far away.” Changqing later said, “The minister should have laughed, not cried.” Setchō borrows the judgment: construct interpretations of this kind and you should laugh, not cry. That is correct, but the final word remains gnarled. Setchō adds, “Yi!” Has he washed himself clean?