Entangling Vines Page 3
In 1984, after three years at Kennin-ji, Kirchner left the unsui life and moved to the Daitoku-ji subtemple Hōshun-in. Returning to his academic studies, he received a masters degree in Buddhist studies from Otani University and in education from Temple University (Japan). In 1992 he accepted the position of copyeditor at the Nanzan Institute for Religion and Culture at Nanzan University in Nagoya, and he worked there for six years on the Institute’s journals and monographs. During this period he lived near the Sōtō Zen temple Tokurin-ji, where every morning he tended a large vegetable garden before heading to work. Following a health breakdown in 1997 he resigned his position and returned to Kyoto, where, in addition to his duties as caretaker of the Tenryū-ji subtemple Rinsen-ji, he works at the International Research Institute for Zen Buddhism at Hanazono University.
Kirchner’s varied life experiences, including monastic training, meditation, academic research, and professional translation and editing, can be seen as part of his overall practice of Zen. These elements have now come together to make the Kattōshū available to the English-speaking world.
The Shūmon Kattōshū
The Shūmon kattōshū is one of the few major koan texts to have been compiled in Japan. The name of the compiler (or compilers) is unknown. So, too, is the date of compilation, but the fact that the first printed version appeared in the year 1689 makes it, at the very latest, a work of the early Tokugawa period (1600–1868).
Most of the 272 cases that constitute the Kattōshū were taken from Chinese koan collections popular in Japan, like the Wumen guan (Gateless Gate), Blue Cliff Record , Record of Linji , Record of Equanimity , and Record of Xutang , as well as biographical literature like the Jingde-Era Record of the Transmission of the Lamp and Compendium of the Five Lamps .
An intriguing additional feature, however, is the presence of eight koans of Japanese origin. Case 61 features the Japanese monk Nanpo Jōmyō (1235–1309), who studied in China and transmitted the lineage of Xutang Zhiyu (1185–1269); Cases 107, 144, 169, and 225 feature Shūhō Myōchō (1282–1338), the successor of Nanpo; Cases 35, 225, and 253 feature Kanzan Egen (1277–1360), the chief Dharma heir of Shūhō and the founder of Myōshin-ji ; Case 213 features Tettō Gikō (1295–1369), Shūhō’s successor at Daitoku-ji; and Case 225 features Musō Soseki (1275–1351), a contemporary of Kanzan Egen and the founding priest of Tenryū-ji. The “ancient worthy” mentioned in Case 170 may also have been Musō Soseki. Hakuin Ekaku (1686–1769), the great reviver of the Japanese Rinzai school, appears in Case 199 of the present Kattōshū text, although this is a later accretion that does not appear in the first edition, published when Hakuin had just been born.
With the exception of Musō, the Japanese masters who appear are all associated with the Ōtōkan lineage, the Japanese Rinzai teaching line starting with Nanpo Jōmyō, Shūhō Myōchō, and Kanzan Egen, and continuing through the generations of their successors (the name Ōtōkan derives from the ō of Daiō Kokushi [Nanpo’s honorary title], the tō of Daitō Kokushi [Shūhō’s title], and the kan of Kanzan Egen ). The text’s design, too, follows that of a koan collection by Shūhō entitled Daitō’s One Hundred and Twenty Cases . It is nearly certain, therefore, that the Kattōshū was compiled by priests of the Ōtōkan lineage. The ascendancy of this school (all present-day Rinzai masters belong to it) secured the position of the Kattōshū in the Rinzai koan training system, a position strengthened by each of the text’s successive printings during the seventeenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries.
The Kattōshū, then, took form in accordance with the special character and approach of the Japanese Rinzai Zen school. The compilers—most likely a series of masters who selected and rearranged its contents in response to the practical needs of their students—created an anthology especially suited for use in koan-oriented Zen meditation practice.
The first distinctive feature of the collection is the large number of koans it contains. Its 272 cases far outnumber the 48 cases of the Wumen guan, the 100 cases of the Blue Cliff Record, and the 100 cases of Record of Equanimity. A text with this number and variety of koans would provide ample material for a master as he worked with a student over the years, examining and refining the Zen experience first from one standpoint, then from another. Kajitani Sōnin (1914–95), former chief abbot of Shōkoku-ji and author of an annotated, modern-Japanese translation of the Kattōshū, commented that “herein are compiled the basic Dharma materials of the koan system” (1982, “Kaidai” ). And, in fact, most of the central koans in the present Rinzai koan curriculum are contained in this work.
Another distinctive feature of the Kattōshū is that, unlike the Wumen guan and Blue Cliff Record, the koans are presented “bare,” with no introductions, commentaries, or verses. This, too, may be seen as a result of the text’s development within the context of active Zen training: the straightforward structure of the koans tends to give them added force and immediacy, emphasizing the point that the koan is asking the student to address. The vitality of this approach is certain to bring home to English-speaking readers the fact that the question each koan confronts us with is the same as the question that Zen as a whole confronts us with, which, at the deepest level, is the question that life itself confronts us with.
Although Kirchner began the Kattōshū translation as a personal project, when the text’s many difficulties became apparent he turned to Tenryū-ji’s Hirata Seikō Rōshi for advice. Hirata met with Kirchner several times a month over the course of a year and a half to clarify the Chinese readings and discuss approaches to translating the koans themselves. Hirata’s two principal Dharma heirs, Sasaki Yōdō and Yasunaga Sodō, joined the seminars on a number of occasions.
Both Sasaki and Yasunaga are, like Hirata, striving to find Zen’s place in the modern world even as they maintain the classical Zen tradition. Sasaki, Hirata’s successor as master of Tenryū-ji monastery, is a graduate of Kyoto University, where he studied modern academic Buddhology under Kajiyama Yūichi (1925–2004). Sasaki is the author of a book on Tenryū-ji’s founder Musō Soseki, and he is at present the leading authority on this figure.
Yasunaga, following completion of his training under Hirata, established an international Zen center at his temple, Shōun-ji, and joined the faculty of Hanazono University in Kyoto as a professor of Zen studies. He is also active in the East-West Spiritual Exchange, a program of interreligious dialogue between Buddhist and Christian monks and nuns.
The participation of these three masters, deeply versed in both traditional Zen practice and modern academic thought, helped lay a solid foundation for the readings and interpretations of the Kattōshū koans.
During the past several decades linguists specializing in Tang and Song Chinese have identified many inaccuracies in the traditional Japanese readings of the Chinese Zen literature, the implication being that these mistaken readings have led to misunderstandings of the texts themselves. This challenge to traditional Japanese Zen is one that must be taken seriously—if the texts are to be used at all, they obviously must be read in a manner that is linguistically correct. This is doubly true when translation is involved.
Nevertheless, merely reading a text in a philologically correct way does not guarantee that one understands the text’s message. The reading of any work invariably involves interpretation, and that, in turn, inevitably brings up questions of the depth and horizon of that interpretation. This is particularly true in the case of Zen texts, where the surface meaning of the words does not always directly convey the intention of the author or speaker. The paradoxical result is that readings which are correct from a linguistic point of view can suggest interpretations that are misleading, and vice versa. This is one of the most intriguing aspects of Zen literature.
The question of how to read a text in a philologically sound way does not always correspond to the question of how to read a text in a way that yields the text’s true intention (a way of reading that, in Zen, implies an almost physical process, in which the problem add
ressed by the text is recognized as one’s own personal problem). Zen has produced many texts, and Zen without texts is not Zen. Yet texts in and of themselves are also not Zen. Zen encompasses texts; that which the texts cannot express is approached through the texts, then experienced beyond the texts. Mere knowledge of the term “original face,” for example, does not mean that one truly knows what the term is pointing to.
The people most familiar with the use of texts in Zen training are the shike, the masters at the Zen training monasteries. During the one-on-one encounters between master and disciple known as sanzen, koans like those in the Kattōshū are given to the monk in the form of questions or problems that the monk must respond to. These questions are presented in the form of language, and the responses, too, are expressed in the form of language (including body language and silence). Yet the trajectory that connects these two linguistic endpoints is not itself a step-by-step progression of words. There occurs during the deep samadhi of zazen a leap that separates and yet simultaneously bridges the language of the question and the language of the response. This process may be characterized as one of “from language, into language,” with the inquiry emerging from words and the response emerging into words.
In this “from language, into language” dynamic lies the true significance of “text” in Zen practice. At the same time, the text represents a form of invitation to and guidance in experiencing this movement “from language, into language.”
This dynamic continues another step in the case of the present translation: “from Sino-Japanese, into English.” Here too a leap out of language and back into language was required. The synergistic action of this double leap has given birth to a new text, one that emerges into the world of English less influenced than the original text by the outlook of Japanese culture.
In this way, translation can be a valuable approach to the re-creation of a new, more direct expression of Zen. Entangling Vines had its origins in the discussions between three forward-looking Japanese Zen masters and an experienced Zen monk from America. It is my hope that it will not be seen simply as an English translation of the Shūmon kattōshū, but as an important text in its own right.
Ueda Shizuteru
UEDA SHIZUTERU, Professor Emeritus at Kyoto University, specializes in the philosophy of religion. His areas of interest include Christian mysticism, Buddhist thought, and Kyoto School philosophy. He is a longtime practitioner of Zen meditation.
Translator’s Preface
THERE ARE IN ZEN two texts known as the Shūmon kattōshū. One, alternatively referred to as the Kuzō kattōshō , is a voluminous anthology of phrases used in former times as a source for capping phrases, the words and verses from Chinese literature with which students demonstrated and refined their understanding of koans. The other Kattōshū—the subject of the present translation—is a collection of koans used in Japanese Rinzai Zen training. Though little known outside Zen circles, this Kattōshū is one of the more important of the koan collections. Every Rinzai Zen practitioner who advances in koan work must, sooner or later, examine this text.
Different teaching lines appear to use it in different ways. Some employ it from the early stages of koan training, combining Kattōshū koans with those from better-known works like the Wumen guan, Blue Cliff Record, and the Record of Linji. Others use it at a more advanced stage, subsequent to work with the other koan collections. According to monastic friends who have worked extensively with the Kattōshū as an advanced-level text, the emphasis—even more than in the other collections—is on eliminating the last attachments to dualistic thought. The koans are thus often approached in ways quite unexpected even to experienced Zen students. As one monastic friend commented, “If there’s anything you can say about the Kattōshū koans, it’s that your first response is certain to be wrong.”
This enigmatic quality of the Kattōshū extends to its very origins. The text is known to be a medieval Japanese work, but no one knows exactly who compiled it or when. Koans from Chinese sources predominate, but here and there cases involving Japanese masters appear, with one (Case 61) featuring a Japanese monk (Nanpo) and his Chinese master (Xutang). Even the wording can be quite enigmatic; in the course of translating the text I found that requests to Zen masters for paraphrases of especially obscure passages often resulted in widely varying responses, depending on the individual master’s sense of what the koan might be asking.
The title, Shūmon kattōshū, may be translated as, simply, “The Zen-school koan collection,” since the most common contemporary usage of the word kattō in Zen is as a synonym for “koan.” The word has a long and interesting history, however. The first character, katsu, means “kudzu,” the tough vine infamous among farmers in the American South for its invasive vigor. The second character, tō, means “wisteria,” another tough and vigorous vine but one known also for the beauty of its white or lavender flowers. Together the characters came to indicate entanglements, complications, difficulties, or struggles—the image comes to mind of vines ensnaring a person’s feet as he makes his way across a field.
This sense of “things that ensnare” was adopted in Chinese Zen Buddhism as a natural metaphor for kleśa, the hindrances that impede people’s search for liberation and bind them to the cycle of birth and death. In Zen the term quickly took on the connotation of the specific difficulties and impediments resulting from attachments to words and concepts. Appearances in the Tang-dynasty Zen literature, such as in the Record of Linji and the Recorded Sayings of Muzhou , suggest that the word was used both in this sense and as a disparaging synonym for the verbal exchanges (mondō ) by which Zen monks induced awakening or tested each other’s understanding.
Later, with the rise of koan Zen in the Song dynasty, kattō came to indicate not only words as impediments but also words as expedient devices to help bring the student to enlightenment; hence the connection with koans. The term thus took on the dual nuance, both positive and negative, so often seen in Zen terminology. Zen as a tradition may not be based on words and letters, but it does use, even need, words and letters to help precipitate that awakening which transcends language. Koan work, of course, is the prime example of this approach. As Prof. Ueda Shizuteru writes in his Introduction, the dynamic of koan training “may be characterized as one of ‘from language, into language,’ with the inquiry emerging from words and the response emerging into words.”
The Kattōshū itself is a large work in terms of the number of koans it contains: with 272 cases, it is several times the size of collections like the Wumen guan and the Blue Cliff Record. Yet as a publication it is relatively small. Presenting just the koans themselves and lacking pointers, commentaries, and verses, it fills only forty-five leaves in the wood-block print edition commonly used by Zen monks.
As mentioned by Prof. Ueda, most of the material in the Kattōshū originally comes from the Chinese Zen literature, with a few koans of Japanese origin. Among the Chinese sources are the Wumen guan, with which it shares, in full or in part, forty-five cases; the Blue Cliff Record, with which it shares, in full or in part, forty-six cases; and the Record of Linji, with which it shares sixteen cases, for a total of one hundred and six. With eight of these cases overlapping between either the Blue Cliff Record and the Wumen guan or the Blue Cliff Record and the Record of Linji, a total of ninety-nine of the Kattōshū koans derive from the text’s more famous predecessors in the Rinzai Zen literature. The remaining Chinese koans come from a broad range of materials, including the Record of Xutang , the Recorded Sayings of the Ancient Worthies , the Jingde-Era Record of the Transmission of the Lamp , the Essential Materials from the Zen School’s Successive Lamp Records , and the Compendium of the Five Lamps .
Although it is unknown who compiled the Kattōshū, several unusual features of the collection tell us much about its origins. The first of these features is the prevalence of cases involving the master Xutang Zhiyu (1185–1269). Xutang, although a significant figure in the history of Chinese Zen, is not typic
ally classed with such giants as Nanquan Puyuan (748–835), Linji Yixuan (d. 866), Zhaozhou Congshen (778–897), and Yunmen Wenyan (864–949). Yet Xutang appears in seventeen Kattōshū cases, as many as Nanquan, and nearly as many as Zhaozhou (twenty-three) and Yunmen (also twenty-three). Furthermore, Xutang often serves in the role of commentator, giving him, in effect, the final say on the words and actions of other masters. Few other figures are accorded this authority.
Xutang’s presence assumes even greater significance when one takes into account the fact that five of the six Japanese masters appearing in the standard Kattōshū text—Nanpo Jōmyō (1235–1309), Shūhō Myōchō (1282–1338), Kanzan Egen (1277–1360), Tettō Gikō (1295–1369), and Hakuin Ekaku (1686–1769)—are in Xutang’s direct teaching line. (The sixth master and sole exception is Musō Soseki [1275–1351], an illustrious priest in another lineage and a contemporary of Shūhō Myōchō and Kanzan Egen.) Nanpo was Xutang’s student and successor, and transmitted the lineage to Shūhō; Shūhō, in turn, transmitted it to Kanzan and Tettō; and Hakuin (known in the West as the creator of the famous “sound of one hand” koan) was the great revitalizer of the lineage in Japan’s early modern era. Taken together, these features strongly suggest compilation of the Kattōshū within the teaching line of Xutang’s Japanese successors, known as the Ōtōkan lineage (for an explanation of the derivation of the name Ōtōkan, see the Introduction, page 10).
Further evidence of Ōtōkan involvement is provided by the actual koans selected for inclusion in the collection. In a detailed study of the historical background of the Kattōshū, Andō Yoshinori of Komazawa Women’s University traces a likely process of development starting with the Daitō hyakunijissoku, a collection of 120 koans with comments by Shūhō Myōchō (Andō 2002). The two lineages stemming from Shūhō—the Daitoku-ji school under Tettō and the Myōshin-ji school under Kanzan—further developed Shūhō’s koan system in their literature of secret koan records (missan roku ), all of which predate the earliest edition of the Kattōshū.