Haryō's Silver Bowl Filled with Snow

Engo's commentary on the case

Many misunderstand this case by saying, “This is a non-Buddhist school.” What does that have to do with it? The venerable Kanadeva, counted as the fifteenth patriarch, had also been one among the outsiders. When he met Nāgārjuna, the fourteenth patriarch, he dropped a needle into Nāgārjuna's bowl. Nāgārjuna esteemed his capacity, transmitted the Buddha-mind teaching, and made him the fifteenth patriarch.² The Laṅkāvatāra Sūtra says, “Buddha-speech takes mind as its source; gatelessness is the Dharma gate.” Baso said, “Every word and phrase is the Kanadeva school.” He made this alone primary. All of you are guests within the patch-robed gate. Have you investigated Kanadeva's school? If so, you subdue all ninety-six outsider schools of India at once. If not, you may have to put your robe on backward.³ What is it? Say phrases are it, and that has nothing to do with it. Say phrases are not it, and that too has nothing to do with it. Where was Master Ma's intent? Unmon later said, “Master Ma's words were good, but no one asked him.” A monk immediately asked, “What is the Kanadeva school?” Unmon said, “Of the ninety-six schools, you are the lowest.” Once a monk taking leave of Daizui said he was going to bow to Samantabhadra. Daizui raised his whisk: “Mañjuśrī and Samantabhadra are entirely here.” The monk drew a circle, held it up, and threw it behind him. Daizui said, “Attendant, bring a packet of tea for this monk.” Unmon supplied an alternative: “In India they cut off heads and arms; here, take yourself out.” He also said, “The red banner is in my hand.” In Indian debate, Engo says, the winner held a red banner; the defeated person put the monastic robe on backward and entered and left through a side gate. Debate required royal authorization and the sounding of bell and drum in a great monastery. Outsiders once sealed the bells and drums in a Buddhist monastery to suppress it. Knowing Buddha-dharma was in danger, Kanadeva used supernatural power to ascend the tower and ring the bell. An outsider called, “Who rings the bell above?” “A deva.” “Who is the deva?” “I am.” “Who am I?” “I am you.” “Who are you?” “You are a dog.” “Who is the dog?” “The dog is you.” After seven reversals, the outsider knew he had lost and opened the gate. Kanadeva descended carrying the red banner. The outsider asked, “Why aren't you behind?” Kanadeva replied, “Why aren't you in front?” “You are a lowly person.” “You are a respectable person.” Turning question and answer this way, Kanadeva defeated him with unobstructed debate. The outsiders submitted. Those who lost stood beneath the banner and offered to cut off their heads in apology. Kanadeva stopped them and instead had them shave their heads and enter the Way. Thus, Engo says, Kanadeva's school greatly flourished.⁴ Setchō later uses this story in his verse. In the assembly Haryō was called “Jian the Many-Mouthed.” He traveled continually while sewing his sitting cloth and deeply attained the great matter beneath Unmon's heels. After succeeding Unmon, he first lived at Haryō in Kempō. He did not compose a succession document; he submitted three turning phrases to Unmon: “What is the Way?” — “A clear-eyed person falls into a well.” “What is the sword that splits a hair blown across it?” — “Every coral branch props up the moon.” “What is the Kanadeva school?” — “Snow heaped in a silver bowl.” Unmon said, “On this old monk's memorial day, recite only these three turning phrases. That will repay my kindness fully.” After Unmon's death no memorial meal was prepared; according to his instruction, only the three phrases were raised.⁵ Communities usually answer this question at the level of its historical subject. Haryō alone spoke this way. His answer is exceedingly steep and difficult, yet shows not the slightest blade. Attacked from eight directions, every step has a road of emergence. It traps a tiger and frees people from emotional interpretation. In matters of the single color, you first must break through for yourself and then meet someone. Thus it is said: When Dōgo dances his tablet, an equal understands; when Shigong bends his bow, an expert knows. Unless this principle bears a teacher's seal, what teaching could you use to speak of mystery? Setchō picks it up to serve people. Here is his verse. “Old Xinkai”: Xinkai is the name of Haryō's monastery. “Truly distinct”: Setchō has a share in praising him. Where is the distinction? “All language is Buddha-dharma”—what principle would this mountain monk's statement establish? Setchō exposes only a little: “truly distinct.” Then he opens it out: He can say, “Snow heaped in a silver bowl.” He adds a footnote: The ninety-six should know for themselves. They must lose before they know. If you do not know, ask the moon at heaven's edge. An ancient once answered this question, “Ask the moon at heaven's edge.” Having completed the verse, Setchō must leave a living road at the end, a phrase like the lion's backward throw. He raises it again: Kanadeva's school! Kanadeva's school! Beneath the red banner, a clear wind rises. Haryō said, “Snow heaped in a silver bowl.” Why does Setchō say, “Beneath the red banner, a clear wind rises”? Do you know how Setchō kills without using a knife?