Four Voices on One Case
Every chapter sets an old exchange, a poem on it and a commentary on both side by side. How far a commentary can go on talking about a teaching that warns against words is the question the book keeps answering in practice.
Wansong opens each case with a few words to the assembly, quotes the exchange, gives Hongzhi's verse, and then talks: he cuts into case and verse with short asides, tells the background, and reaches for whatever helps, the Daoist Zhuangzi and Liezi, Confucius, a carpenter whose axe can take plaster off a man's nose without touching it. He says himself that his eyes were failing and he dictated. The result is no system. It is a teacher reading a poem aloud to monks and refusing to let either the case or the poem settle into a doctrine.
- interpretation
- koan
- teaching
- teaching methods
- language
- lineage
- conceptual thought
- silence
Enter a dialogue
- Hongzhi wrote the verse, and you break into it with short asides every few words. Why interrupt a poem in order to teach it?
- You explain one case with the Daoist Liezi's sheep, lost where every fork in the road forks again. What did Chan monks need from that sheep?
- With your eyes failing, you dictated most of this commentary to disciples. What does a teaching gain or lose when it is spoken rather than written?
- Chan warns against leaning on words, and you wrote a hundred chapters about another man's poems. What do you say to a monk who calls that a contradiction?
- The Buddha takes his seat, says nothing and steps down, and Manjushri declares the teaching given. Why begin your book with a sermon that never happens?