Banzan's “The Three Realms Have No Dharmas”

Engo's commentary on the case

Master Baoji of Banzan in northern Youzhou was a venerable adept in Baso's line. Later he brought forth one person, Puhua. As Banzan approached death, he asked his community, “Is there anyone who can depict my true likeness?” Everyone drew a portrait and presented it, and Banzan scolded them all. Puhua came forward and said, “I can depict it.” Banzan said, “Why not present it to this old monk?” Puhua turned a somersault and went out. Banzan said, “Later this fellow will receive people like a mad wind.”¹ One day Banzan instructed the community: The three realms have no dharmas— where can mind be sought? The four great elements are originally empty— on what could buddha abide? The celestial pivot does not move; quiescent and still, it leaves no trace. Presented directly, face to face, there is no other matter.² Setchō picks up two lines and versifies them. They are solid gold and uncut jade. Have you not heard it said, “To cure an illness, no donkey-load of medicine is needed”? Why does this mountain monk say, “Strike as soon as you hear the sound”? Only because Banzan carries the cangue and submits his own confession. An ancient said, “When you hear the phrase beyond sound, do not seek it within thought.” What does that mean? It must race through a current and cross a blade, wheeling like lightning and flying like a star. If you deliberate and ponder, even if a thousand buddhas appeared in the world, you could not feel your way to it. If someone entered the inner chamber, penetrated bone and marrow, and saw through to the bottom, Banzan's failure would be completely exposed. Those who accept the words and imagine they understand the source, turning left and right, obtain only one stake from Banzan. Those who trail through mud and water and turn about in piles of sound and form have not even dreamed of Banzan. My late teacher Wuzu said, “Only after passing through the other side is there a share of freedom.” The Third Ancestor said: Grasp it and lose the measure: you necessarily enter a deviant road. Release it, and its nature is spontaneous; in its substance there is neither going nor staying. If here you say there is no Buddha and no Dharma, you have again plunged into a ghost cave. The ancients called this the deep pit of liberation. A good cause originally pursued produces a bad result. Therefore it is said, “Even a person of nonaction and no affairs still suffers the golden lock.” You must exhaust it to the bottom. To speak where there are no words and walk where walking is impossible is called a place to turn the body. “The three realms have no dharmas—where can mind be sought?” If you form an emotional interpretation, you die beneath Banzan's words. Setchō's seeing penetrates seven times and eight. Therefore he brings forth this verse. “The three realms have no dharmas—where can mind be sought?” Setchō's verse resembles a realm in the Huayan Sutra. Some say he sings it forth from within nothing. Anyone whose eyelids have split open will never understand it that way. Setchō goes beside Banzan and pastes on two phrases: “White clouds make a canopy. The flowing spring makes a zither.” Academician Su, on visiting Zhaojue, composed: The stream's sound is the broad, long tongue; are mountain colors not the pure body? Through the night, eighty-four thousand verses— another day, how could I present them to people?³ Setchō borrows the flowing spring and makes it a single long tongue. Therefore he says, “One tune, two tunes—no one understands.” Kyūhō Qian said, “Do you recognize life? The flowing spring is life; profound quiescence is the body. A thousand competing waves are Mañjuśrī's house style; one stretch of clear sky is Samantabhadra's realm.” “The flowing spring makes a zither. One tune, two tunes—no one understands.” To appreciate this kind of melody, one must know the music. If it is not the right person, inclining the ear is futile. An ancient said: A deaf person also sings the foreigner's tune; good or bad, high or low—none of it is heard. Unmon said, “Raise it without attending and immediately there is discrepancy. Try to think about it—what kalpa will you awaken in?” Raising is substance; attending is function. See it before it is raised, before the first signs have divided, and you cut off the crucial ford. See it just as the first signs divide, and illumination and function are present. See it after the signs have divided, and you fall into the root of thought. Setchō is exceedingly compassionate and tells you further: “Rain has passed; in the night pond, autumn water is deep.” Someone once discussed this verse and praised Setchō for possessing an Academician's literary talent. Yet you must look urgently at “Rain has passed; in the night pond, autumn water is deep.” If you hesitate any longer, you will search and not find it.⁴