One day Tokusan kept asking Ryūtan for instruction till nightfall. Ryūtan finally said, “The night is late. Why don’t you go to bed.” Tokusan thanked him, made his bows, raised the door curtain and left. Seeing how dark the night was, he turned back and said, “It’s pitch black outside.” Ryūtan lit a lantern and handed it to Tokusan. Just as Tokusan reached for it, Ryūtan blew it out. At that Tokusan came to sudden realization and made a deep bow.
Ryūtan asked, “What have you realized?” Tokusan replied, “From now on, I will not doubt the words of the old master who is renowned everywhere under the sun.” The following day Ryūtan ascended the rostrum and declared, “There is a man among you whose fangs are like trees of swords and whose mouth is like a bowl of blood. Strike him and he won’t turn his head. Someday he will settle on the top of an isolated peak and establish my Way there.”
Tokusan brought his sutra commentaries and notes to the front of the hall, held up a torch and said, “Even if you have exhausted abstruse doctrine, it is like placing a hair in vast space. Even if you have learned the vital points of all the truths in the world, it is like a drop of water thrown into a big ravine.” He then burned all his commentaries and notes. After making his bows, he left.
Before Tokusan had crossed the border, his mind was full of resentment and his mouth speechless with anger. He wanted to go all the way south, intending to refute the doctrine of the special transmission outside the sutras. When he got to the road to the province of Rei, he asked an old woman if he could buy a tenjin from her. The old woman said, “Your Reverence, what are all those books you are carrying in the cart?” Tokusan said, “Those are commentaries on the Diamond Sutra” The old woman said, “In that sutra, it says the past mind can’t be caught; the present mind can’t be caught; the future mind can’t be caught. Your Reverence, with which mind are you going to take the tenjin?” This one question tightly shut Tokusan’s mouth, but hearing the old woman’s words, he still did not completely die away. He asked her, “Is there a Zen master near here?” She replied, “Master Ryūtan lives about five ri away.”
After Tokusan arrived at Ryūtan’s, he was entirely defeated. It must be said that his former and latter words are not consistent. It seems that Ryūtan, forgetting his own unsightliness, took too much pity on Tokusan. Seeing a live charcoal in Tokusan, he immediately threw muddy water over his head to extinguish it. Looking at the whole affair coolly, I think it is just a farce.
Seeing the face is better than hearing the name;
Hearing the name is better than seeing the face.
Even though he saved his nose,
Alas, he lost his eyes!
Ryūtan Sūshin Zenji was a fifth-generation successor of the sixth patriarch, Enō. It is said that he was a son of a rice cake shop-owner. Every day he delivered rice cakes to Master Dōgo. His relation with Buddha deepened, and he finally became a monk. The details of his life are unknown except for several mondo and preachings about Zen, but it is presumed that he lived around 850 A.D.
We met Tokusan Senkan Zenji in his later years in Case 13, where he was carrying his bowls to the Dharma hall. As I told you in that teishō, Tokusan was a specialist in the Diamond Sutra. He was proud of the fact that no one could compete with him in its interpretation and delighted in his nickname, Shū Kongō Ō. Shū was his family name, Kongō means diamond, and Ō is king. Hence his name means “Shū, King of the Diamond Sutra.”
According to Buddhist doctrine, an incalculable period of time is necessary for ordinary people to become Buddha. Zen Buddhism says it can happen instantaneously through self-realization. Tokusan thought this was utter nonsense.
“If that is Zen teaching, then Zen is not Buddhism,” he reasoned. “It must be the teaching of devils in disguise. I will go south, where this teaching is flourishing, and destroy it all.” He packed up the notes and commentaries he would need to make his refutations in Dharma combat and started on his way.
Here Mumon’s commentary begins. Chronologically, it precedes the case, so we shall start with it. When Tokusan had not yet come out of the border, that is, when he had not yet left home, his mind was full of resentment, and he was unable to open his mouth, so great was his indignation. These deep feelings indicate the intensity of his anger towards Zen, which advocated realization of Buddhahood independent of sutra knowledge. Great sutra scholar that he was, Tokusan set off to vanquish the foe.
While on the road to the province of Rei, he became a bit hungry and decided to get something to eat. He found a small snack shop in the area run by an old woman. Tokusan asked her for a tenjin. Now tenjin has a double meaning. Literally, it means “pointing to the mind,” but it also refers to something to eat, probably a sweet similar to the Japanse manjū.
When the learned sutra scholar asked the old woman for a tenjin, there is no doubt as to his meaning. He was hungry. But the old woman responded by asking him a question, “Your Reverence, what are you carrying in the cart?” He told her proudly, “They are notes and commentaries on the Diamond Sutra. I am Shū Kongō Ō. Nobody can compete with me in the interpretation of its teaching.” “Is that so?” the old woman said. “Then I would like to ask you a question. If you can answer it, I’ll treat you to a tenjin. If not, I won’t even let you buy one!”
“Ask me whatever you like,” the great scholar offered. The old woman said, “I hear that it is said in that sutra, ‘The past mind can’t be caught; the present mind can’t be caught; the future mind can’t be caught.’ With what mind are you going to eat the tenjin? (=What mind are you going to point to?)”
Tokusan was dumbstruck. Not one of his scholarly words was of any use to him. The greatest specialist on the Diamond Sutra could not answer a question concerning one of its phrases put to him by an old woman. How incompetent intellectual understanding can be! We are not told whether Tokusan got his tenjin or not.
When he finally found his tongue, Tokusan surmised there must be a good Zen master in the area who was exerting great influence on the neighborhood. He asked, “Is there a Zen master near here?” “Master Ryūtan lives about five ri [one ri is 360 steps] away,” the old woman replied.
So Tokusan went to Ryūtan’s. Ryū means dragon, and tan means deep water. At the gate of the monastery, Tokusan called out loudly, “The name Ryūtan has echoed to me for a long time, but upon arriving I can find neither dragon nor water.” Master Ryūtan peeked through a crack in the door and answered, “You have your Ryūtan now.” What an interesting exchange of Zen greetings! That evening in the master’s room Tokusan threw away his pride and asked for instruction.
Here we take up the main case of the koan. The two discussed Buddhist doctrine and Zen far into the night, and Tokusan was completely persuaded of the Zen view. Finally Ryūtan said, “The night is late. Why don’t you go to bed.” So Tokusan made his bows with thanks, and lifting the curtain that hung in the doorway, he saw that it was dark outside. Turning back he said, “It’s pitch black outside.”
Ryūtan lit a lantern and handed it to Tokusan. Just as Tokusan reached for it, Ryūtan blew it out. At that Tokusan came to sudden realization and made a deep bow.
Why did Tokusan come to realization so soon after he met the master? The answer is very simple: he was ready for it. Previous to that moment, knowingly or unknowingly, Tokusan’s practice had been accumulating and had matured sufficiently so that the hard ball of doubt broke with one probe from the master. When he blew out the candle, Ryūtan was actually blowing out the darkness!
Ryūtan asked, “What have you realized?” Tokusan replied, “From now on, I will never doubt the words of the old master who is renowned everywhere under the sun.” The old master is, of course, the world-famous Ryūtan himself, and what Tokusan is really saying is that he does not doubt Ryūtan. In other words, he has deeply realized Ryūtan’s view that all living beings are Buddha from the beginning.
The following day when he ascended the rostrum, Ryūtan said, “There is a fellow among you whose fangs are like trees of swords and whose mouth is like a bowl of blood.” These are compliments paid to an extraordinarily great man. “Strike him and he won’t turn his head.” This means that he is extremely confident and steady. “Someday he will settle on the top of an isolated peak and establish my Way there.” This prediction later came true.
Tokusan brought his notes and commentaries on the Diamond Sutra to the front of the hall, pointed to them with a torch, and said, “Even though you may come to understand all abstruse doctrine, it is like putting a hair in vast space. Even though you may have learned all the most important truths in the whole world, it is like a drop of water thrown into a huge ravine.” Then he burned all the papers, bowed, and departed.
Seeing the face is better than hearing the name;
Hearing the name is better than seeing the face.
Even though he saved his nose,
Alas, he lost his eyes!
“Seeing the face is better than hearing the name.” For Zen practice it is most important, indeed indispensable, to see our real face once. It is not enough to hear rumors about it. The face can refer to two things, to Master Ryūtan, who was so famous, and to our own primal face or essential nature. The rumor refers both to Ryūtan and to all writings and philosophical ideas about Zen or Buddhism. They are merely rumors of enlightenment.
“Hearing the name is better than seeing the face.” When you attain enlightenment, there is nothing special about it. Your eyes are horizontal, your nose is vertical. Hearing a name or a rumor can be better than actually seeing it. Tokusan had heard of the famous Ryūtan and had imagined a great, dignified Zen master, but he found only a poor old monk. Enlightenment is just like that.
“Even though he saved his nose,” means even though he attained a little enlightenment.
“Alas, he lost his eyes!” What a pity to become utterly blind! This is another of those ironical Zen phrases. It requires a little explanation. In Zen there are five kinds of blindness: (1) ordinary blindness—unenlightened people who know nothing about the truth; (2) bad blindness—persons attached to wrong philosophies or religions; (3) blindness before enlightenment—people in right faith who are studying and practicing in the right way but are still unenlightened; (4) right blindness—the eye of great enlightenment, which sees nothing in the whole universe; (5) true blindness—the eye in which the light of enlightenment has utterly disappeared. This is Buddha’s eye.
I think that Tokusan’s blindness was of approximately the fourth variety. His enlightenment was still not perfect.