Chan by the Perilous Road
Daitō's sermons and verses are deliberately hard, and nobody in Hakuin's day read them. Why a teacher would make his words a thicket of thorns, and why a commentator would refuse to clear it, is the claim Hakuin builds his reading on.
Hakuin opens with a line he calls the hardest to enter: born on the same branch, not dying on the same branch. Such words are the fangs of the teaching, a talisman that takes the student's life. The old master Yuanwu had called verses on kōans a roundabout way of talking Chan; Hakuin replies that they are the perilous way, a golden hammer that smashes anyone claiming a realisation they lack. His own capping phrases, set after each of Daitō's lines, sharpen the thorns instead of explaining them.
- koan
- koan practice
- interpretation
- language
- teaching
- teacher-student relationship
- transmission
- zen dialogue
Enter a dialogue
- Yuanwu called verses on kōans a roundabout way of talking about Chan, and you answer that they are the perilous way. What makes a poem dangerous?
- Daitō's record, you complain, lay like unsold goods in a storehouse, soup of wooden planks and rice of iron nails. Why did you agree to serve it up?
- After each line of Daitō's you add a short capping phrase that explains nothing. How is a student helped by a commentary that refuses to comment?
- You ended these lectures by telling your monks to throw the commentary into the fire once they had read it. Why write a book meant to be burned?
- Someone reaches a sentence they cannot understand and wants a teacher to explain it. Why would you rather hand them a harder verse than an explanation?