Case 2 in the Gateless Barrier: Once when Pai-chang gave a series of talks, a certain old man was always there listening together with the monks. When they left, he would leave too. One day, however, he remained behind. Pai-chang asked him, “Who are you, standing here before me?”
The old man replied, “I am not a human being. In the far distant past, in the time of Kāśyapa Buddha, I was head priest at this mountain. One day a monk asked me, ‘Does an enlightened person fall under the law of cause and effect or not?’ I replied, ‘Such a person does not fall under the law of cause and effect.’ With this I was reborn five hundred times as a fox. Please say a turning word for me and release me from the body of a fox.”
He then asked Pai-chang, “Does an enlightened person fall under the law of cause and effect or not?” Pai-chang said, “Such a person does not evade the law of cause and effect.”
Hearing this, the old man immediately was enlightened. Making his bows he said, “I am released from the body of a fox…
Aitken, Robert. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-Men Kuan (Mumonkan) (p. 30-32). Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Kindle Edition.
Please sit comfortably.
This is one of the longer koan stories in our canon. Some of you may also recognize that for our purposes today, I left some out of this reading. I’ll also include more of the story as I go along.
This story has content that may be strange to us – rebirth as a fox for five hundred lifetimes; a fox showing up as a human and dying as a fox. I’m not going to set the context. Let’s not address whether this story is literal, mythic, or embellished. Let’s go straight to the point – back to the fox-man’s words:
“Does an enlightened person fall under the law of cause and effect or not?” I replied, “Such a person does not fall under the law of cause and effect.” With this I was reborn five hundred times as a fox.
Before opening the book of koans from which this is taken, we are met with a seeming paradox in the title on the title page, where it is translated as: “Gateless Gate” (Yamada) or “Gateless Barrier” (Aitken). Where do you stand such that “Gateless” and “Gate” rest together?
The fox-man was also named Pai-chang after the same mountain as Pai-chang, the teacher of the story.
“Does an enlightened person fall under the law of cause and effect or not?” The implication of the rebirths is that Pai-chang [the elder] answered incorrectly. If so, what was the error? The question was then asked of Pai-chang [the younger] and he said, “Such a person does not evade the law of cause and effect.” Freed from the body of a fox, the implication is that Pai-chang this time answered correctly. Is that true?
Correct and incorrect, true and false, all live on one plane where there is much to dispute and to parse. To seek a response beyond near and far is already nonsense – just look here. If we honor the monastic who asked the original question, what did he or she want to know? Something close to the heart of all of us, I think.
At eleven or twelve years old, the child who was later named Hakuin heard a graphic teisho about falling into hell. Young Hakuin recalled his own transgressions, like fighting with other boys, and wept inconsolably out of fear of hell. His family took him to temples, seeking peace for their son. At one, Hakuin learned from a puppet show that Buddhist practices of sincere chanting were protection from burning fire. Of course, he began chanting. After he thought he had it down, he touched a hot iron poker against his thigh and received a severe burn. Keeping faith, he concluded he would have to join the priesthood to be safe from fire. By 19 years old he had applied himself with zeal, and did pilgrimages to teachers around the area. All was good until he heard the story of bandits cutting off the head of a renowned Chinese priest, Yen-t’ou, and that his death cry was heard for miles. Young Hakuin’s expectations crumbled. The unasked question that had been driving Hakuin’s life was this: Is an enlightened person subject to fire and blade or not? Hakuin found he was an ordinary person after all.
Each of us has had our expectations of the fruits of Zen, and still expectations arise and fall by the hour. Yet, as ordinary people, we sit. On a good day, our minds are unhindered in weeping when grieving, and exuberant when joyful.
Yamada translates a line in Wu-men’s commentary in Gateless Gate Case 1, as “To attain to marvelous enlightenment, you must completely extinguish all thoughts of the ordinary mind.” Aitken translates the same line as “For subtle realization it is of the utmost importance that you cut off the mind road.” (Aitken, Robert. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-Men Kuan (Mumonkan) (p. 16). Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Kindle Edition.)
We might call the plane of correct and incorrect, true and false, as ordinary mind, but that categorization too is on the same plane. If we take not falling under the law of cause and effect as the absolute, and falling under the law of cause and effect as relative – again, same plane. As such, there is no doubt we can say much about this falling and not falling under cause and effect.
Yet, there is no complexity in saying there is fox; it is undeniably so. There is no complexity in saying there is human; it is undeniably so. It is just as we say, “I am hot,” and at another time, “I am cold.” Where is the error or the truth here?
The koan story arises when a monk asked, “does an enlightened person fall under the law of cause and effect? Trusting that the monk was not studying philosophy, he sought out the priest to ask a burning question. To make this koan our own, let’s make the question our own. What is the monk asking, and how is that my question and yours? Maybe he had been sitting for many hours and wondered, what am I doing here? I’m still sore, I get tired and hungry, and I’m going to die, so what’s the point? Or, were his feet floating off the ground, disconnected from dirt and doubt, lost and seeking a way back to earth? In a book about Hakuin’s “Song of Zazen,” Yamada wrote:
Buddhism is not a religion that stands unsteadily looking up at the sky, praising the earth and yearning for Heaven. It sits, deeply rooted in the great earth, gazing at it, its eyes cast downward, and proceeds to merge with it.
Mumon Roshi, Yamada. Hakuin’s Song of Zazen: Yamada Mumon Roshi on Zen Practice (p. 27). Shambhala. Kindle Edition.
After having attended a party, a friend of mine told of a half a dozen people sitting around a coffee table with a cheese plate on it. All were talking, and a couple asked about the different cheeses. One woman described their differences, fielded questions, and described some more. My friend told me about this because he found it mysterious that no one tasted the cheeses either before or after the conversation. In a most ordinary manner, the cheese presented itself as it was for all; those present received the doctrine of cheese in descriptions of their characteristics.
But that too is presumptuous on my part. I understand and appreciate how my friend who was present took it as a reminder to himself to taste, but I don’t know why it was not tasted by others. Each there presented themselves as they were in that moment.
Just as you and I are here, in sesshin with our own chance to release ordinary mind without waiting for the next breath. Yamada tells us to extinguish thoughts coming from ordinary mind. We know the parsing mind, and we know the open mind. Aitken’s translation, in pointing to something off the mind road, avoids possible misunderstanding of that term, “ordinary mind.” Tasting cheese is ordinary after all. We all know the mind that counts the hours until dinner, and when minutes and hours are lost completely.
I read a news story years ago in which the Dalai Lama met with a group of leaders from business and industry. The Dalai Lama spoke to them of acting with compassion to others as part of their missions. In response, the business leaders explained something of the nature of their work. Taking this in, the Dalai Lama smiled, thanked them, and said he had spoken without actually understanding their work. With the agreement of others, one of the business leaders present said it was truly refreshing to attend such a meeting when someone brought an open mind. Apparently, it fostered a genuine conversation.
Where others brought conclusions, the Dalia Lama did not. He sat down and spoke, and he listened.
Case 44 of The Gateless Barrier goes like this:
The priest Pa-chiao said to his assembly: “If you have a staff, I will give you a staff. If you have no staff, I will take a staff from you.”
Aitken, Robert. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-Men Kuan (Mumonkan) (p. 326). Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Kindle Edition.
In his commentary on the case, Aitken offers another story as well:
Yen-yang said, “I don’t bring a single thing. How about that?” Chao-chou said, “Put it down.” Yen-yang said, “If I don’t bring a single thing, what should I put down?” Chao-chou said, “In that case, carry it away.”3
Aitken, Robert. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-Men Kuan (Mumonkan) (p. 328). Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Kindle Edition.
Each of these stories offers a visceral image off of the mind road. Giving, taking, bringing, putting it down, taking it away. These are not stories of another time, they are mine and yours now. Where is there room for giving, and bringing, or putting it down as we are washed by the light of day as it is, the dirt on our shoes, and soreness of our bodies? Light, dirt, soreness are no different than a question about cause and effect. Are you subject to the light of the day?
There was a time in Hakuin’s life when he was quite taken by his own understanding. Regarding this period in Hakuin’s life, Yamada described it in this way:
Young Ekaku, certain that no one in the past three hundred years had ever achieved such a splendid satori, was unable to stay still. Myriad thoughts rushed through his mind. He felt that no one could possibly understand the vast realm, greater than heaven and earth itself, he had experienced. He marveled at the universal blindness in others. “But isn’t that all right too!” he reflected. “How could they possibly understand the unprecedented satori I have achieved?” His mind became filled with pride and arrogance. The very sight of other people grated on him.
Mumon Roshi, Yamada. Hakuin’s Song of Zazen: Yamada Mumon Roshi on Zen Practice (p. 13). Shambhala. Kindle Edition.
Perhaps Hakuin knew enough to seek consultation rather than resting here. Or perhaps he was shooting for more confirmation of his brilliance. Either way, he ended up sitting before Shōju Rōjin. After several of Shōju’s uncompromising responses to Hakuin, their encounter continued in this way:
Without an instant’s hesitation, Shōju thrust back, “How do you see Chao-chou’s Mu?” “No way to get a grip on Mu,” Hakuin countered with what he thought was a fine riposte. But Shōju was faster. His large hand, gnarled and knotted like a hard lump of pine resin and clay, grabbed the bridge of Ekaku’s nose and wrenched it mercilessly. “I got a good grip on it, didn’t I? Hahahaha!”
Mumon Roshi, Yamada. Hakuin’s Song of Zazen: Yamada Mumon Roshi on Zen Practice (pp. 18-19). Shambhala. Kindle Edition.
Hakuin came with something, and Shōju took it away, much to the benefit of us all. We could also say that Hakuin didn’t bring a single thing, and Shōju helped him put it down.
Returning to the story of Pai-chang and the fox, Pai-chang the younger surprised the assembly by finding the body of a fox under a rock and conducting the ritual for a priest’s funeral without explanation. The text continues like this:
That evening [Pai-chang] took the high seat before his assembly and told the monks the whole story.
Huang-po stepped forward and said, “As you say, the old man missed the turning word and was reborn as a fox five hundred times. What if he had given the right answer each time he was asked a question—what would have happened then?”
Pai-chang said, “Just step up here closer, and I’ll tell you.” Huang-po went up to Pai-chang and slapped him in the face.
Pai-chang clapped his hands and laughed, saying, “I thought the Barbarian had a red beard, but here is a red-bearded Barbarian.”
Aitken, Robert. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-Men Kuan (Mumonkan) (p. 30-32). Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Kindle Edition.
Aitken assures us that Huang-po was respectful of his teacher and only mimed striking Pai-chang – but Huang-po’s point remained. Huang-po was not distracted by missing the turning word, or right and wrong answers. He found his way to avoid the trap. Pai-chang was rightfully pleased with this exchange.
I won’t ask whether Huang-po answered the question or not. I won’t ask whether you are subject to the law of cause and effect or not. I only ask that you recognize the slap to your own face from every sound and every bell today.
In teisho by the comedian, Steven Wright, he said:
I went to a tourist information booth and said “Tell me about some people who were here last year.”
We’ve all seen a sign that says, “tourist information” and immediately understood it in context, concluding its meaning. That’s convenient of course. Steven Wright sees tourist info sign before cause and effect. Now, what does it say?
Just as Andy Warhol saw a Campbell’s soup can and realistically painted it for our benefit so that we could see it as it is, before looking at its salt content, and considering its best wine pairings.
I’ll finish with the commentary by Wu-men:
“Not falling under the law of cause and effect.” Why should this prompt five hundred lives as a fox? “Not evading the law of cause and effect.” Why should this prompt a return to human life? If you have the single eye of realization, you will appreciate how old Pai-chang lived five hundred lives as a fox as lives of grace.
Aitken, Robert. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-Men Kuan (Mumonkan) (p. 32). Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Kindle Edition.
Whether giving the right answer or not, in the last line Wu-Men describes the five hundred lives as a fox as lives of grace. Wu-Men is pointing to the grace of this life on this day. Look no further than Samish Island.