Monthly Archives: February 2017

Mind and Buddhism: Lost in Translation

Buddhist scriptures and commentaries are richly stocked with references to “mind” and its affiliates — consciousness, thoughts, awareness, and so on. Indeed, cultivating the mind is the primary focus of some schools of Buddhism. Buddhists of other schools will tell you there is nothing but mind, and phenomena are merely projections of mind.

So, mind is pretty darn important to Buddhism. But what do we mean by mind?

Lost in Translation

To English speakers of the cultural West, the word “mind” usually is associated with intellect. To say that someone has a “fine mind” usually means he’s smart, educated, and understands poetry. Mind also connotes free will — we “make up our mind” when we make decisions. When we speak of “the mind,” we are usually referring to consciousness combined with higher brain functions, such as reasoning and calculation.

In Asian languages, the equivalents of “mind” can mean those things also, but they can mean other things as well. Further, Buddhist scriptures and the seminal commentaries were written a long time ago by people who understood “mind” very differently from the way we do in the 21st century West.

For example, when we speak of mind in English, we usually are leaving out emotions and body sensations. We think those aren’t part of “mind,” but something else. But very often, in Buddhist texts, “mind” includes sensations — vision, hearing, touching, tasting — and emotions.. The mind referenced in the sutras sometimes includes all of our sensory and psychological functions, including subconscious ones.

Intellect and free will are in there, somewhere, and they are not unimportant. But they are only a small part of the meanings of the words the translators render as “mind.” The cultures that produced the great sutras and other teachings did not separate intellect and emotions, mind and body, the way we do.

Before we yell at the translators, we must acknowledge that they don’t have an easy job. The old Sanskrit and Pali texts, not to mention early Chinese, are just about impossible to render into sensible English. Many words have no English equivalent, so translators take a stab at getting as close as they can. As a result, the same word can be rendered variously in different translations as “mind,” “consciousness,” “heart,” or “thoughts.” And the original word probably doesn’t precisely mean any of those things.

Examples of Mind

The Vedic sages of India had developed elaborate models of mind long before the life of the Buddha. The Buddha and the sages who came after him adopted parts of these models, changed other parts, and added to them.

Buddhist scholars developed a remarkably sophisticated understanding of the processes we might call neurological as well as mental, including the many ways sense organs respond to sensory objects and our several subtle layers of consciousness. A vocabulary developed to label these separate processes, which in English mostly are lumped together as “mind” or “consciousness.”

For example, three words found In the Sutta-pitaka all get translated as “mind” (or heart, or awareness, or intellect, etc.). These are (in Sanskrit) citta, vijnana, and manas. In the Sutta-pitaka, often citta is used to refer to the mind that experiences subjectivity, manas is the mind of cognitive functions, and vijnana is the mind of sensory consciousness. But to fully appreciate how that is understood requires considerable time and study. And, unfortunately, most English translations don’t distinguish one from another.

Missing the Mind Boat

The relentless focus on mind — whatever that means — in many seminal Buddhist texts has led to a lot of misunderstanding. For example, when western scholars began to take an interest in Buddhism in the 19th century, they seem to have interpreted “mind” in the western sense.

Some then assumed this guy Buddha must have been a purely rational philosopher, and all that mystical stuff about karma and rebirth and nirvana and whatever must have been introduced to his teaching by later, lesser followers. And there’s still a strong whiff of that attitude in parts of academia and among some popular western authors of books on Buddhism.

But if you go back to the oldest Sanskrit or Pali texts and try to understand the words in the context of the cultural assumptions in which they were spoken — as much as that’s possible — a different picture emerges. There is a strong streak of rational philosophy in the Buddha’s teaching, yes, and I suspect he could have held his own with any philosopher the West might have thrown at him. But to limit him to the purview of the western discipline of philosophy, as many try to do, puts him in much too small a box.

Sometimes people misunderstand Buddhism in the other direction. One of the most uninformed opinions about Buddhism ever expressed in human history came from the late Christopher Hitchens, in his book God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. Hitchens recalled a sign he had seen in the meditation room of a Hindu ashram — ‘Leave your shoes and minds at the door’ — and extrapolated from this that eastern religions are like institutionalized brain-sucking zombies. He specifically called out Buddhism as “A faith that despises the mind and the free individual.” And he told an interviewer,

“My objection was to the sign [at the entrance to one tent] saying, “Shoes and minds must be left at the gate.” It’s the idea that the whole effort of meditation is to try and dissolve your mind, which is the only thing you’ve got that’s unequivocally worth having.”

There is so much misunderstanding packed into that anecdote that it would take heavy machinery to sort it out, but the primary issue is that Hitchens lazily assumed that “mind” was used to mean intellect and free will, and that’s hardly ever the case in the eastern religions.

For the record, I do not know what the sign-writer meant by “mind.” My understanding is that the various phenomena that get labeled “mind” in Buddhism cannot be left, intentionally, anywhere, Some forms of “mind” cannot be separated from body, although other kinds may drop away sometimes. Or not.

Also for the record, Buddhism does not despise the mind and has no problem with reason and free will. In fact, the Buddha encouraged his followers to discern things for themselves and not accept doctrines on faith (see, for example, the Kalama Sutta).

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Perfection of Knowledge

We don’t talk about knowledge all that much in Buddhism. The emphasis is on wisdom, which is something else. But in the Mahayana Ten Perfections, the Perfection of Knowledge — Jnana Paramita — is number ten.

Before we plunge into a discussion of jnana, let’s clarify the difference between wisdom and knowledge. In his book What the Buddha Taught, the Buddhist scholar Walpola Rahula wrote,

“According to Buddhism there are two sorts of understanding: What we generally call understanding is knowledge, an accumulated memory, an intellectual grasping of a subject according to certain given data. This is called ‘knowing accordingly’ (anubodhd). It is not very keep. Real deep understanding is called ‘penetration’ (pativedha), seeing a thing in its true nature, without name and label. This penetration is possible only when the mind is free from all impurities and is fully developed through meditation.”

Read More: The Perfection of Discerning Wisdom.”

In the more commonly known Mahayana Six Perfections, the sixth and last item is Prajna Paramita, or the Perfection of Wisdom. In Mahayana Buddhism this is equated with realization of the truth of sunyata, or emptiness. It’s understood that sunyata is not something that can be completely understood intellectually.

Later, Mahayana Buddhists would add four more perfections to the original six. These are skillful means (upaya); aspiration or vow, especially bodhisattva vowsspiritual power; and knowledge — to make a list of ten.

Knowledge does  have a place, then, in Buddhist practice. So let’s look at what that place is.

What Do We Mean by Knowledge?

In his book Faces of Compassion: Classic Bodhisattva Archetypes and Their Modern Expression (Wisdom Publications, 2012), Soto Zen teacher Taigen Dan Leighton wrote,

“Knowledge (jnana in Sanskrit, etymologically related to the Greek gnosis) is contrasted with wisdom, as this knowledge refers to practical understanding of the workings of phenomena in the conventional world — not useless knowledge just learned for knowledge’s sake, memorizing facts and information by rote as is done for regurgitation on tests in some unimaginative educational systems. As the flip side of wisdom, the perfection of knowledge can be seen as the function or implementation of wisdom — but fully informed by wisdom’s insight into the essential. This knowledge, also referred to as the perfection of truth, is at the service of wisdom, putting wisdom to work in the world.”

An example of jnana in this sense would be knowledge of medicine, to heal people. As the last of the Ten Mahayana Perfections, knowledge ties together the rest of the perfections — generosity, morality, patience, energy, meditation, wisdom, skillful means, vow, and powers — to help relieve suffering in the phenomenal world.

Knowledge of the Teachings

This may not be a traditional understanding of Jnana Paramita, but I’d like to add that it doesn’t hurt to study what the Buddha and other great Buddhist teachers have taught. As interest in Buddhism has grown in the West, much of the focus has been on meditation and mindfulness. And that’s fine. But there’s more to Buddhism than meditation and mindfulness.

It’s sometimes the case that we don’t appreciate doctrines such as the Four Noble Truths right away. But if you’re reading this I assume you have some interest, so don’t hold back. Knowledge of doctrine by itself isn’t the Buddhist path, but the doctrines act as markers on the path. They can sometimes lead you and sometimes show you you’ve gone off into a cul-de-sac.

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Perfection of Determination

Adhitthana is a Pali word that usually is translated into English as “determination” or sometimes “persistence.” It is composed of Pali root words that mean “foundation,” “will,” or “resolve.” As the eighth of the Ten Perfections of Theravada Buddhism, it describes the determined resolve to walk the Buddha’s path.

Determination is sometimes called the backbone of the Ten Perfections. Without determination, the Path can seem too difficult and demanding, and the seeker will fail.

The historical Buddha spoke of adhitthana as things that are willed. Probably the earliest mention of adhitthana is in the Sangati Sutta of the Pali Sutta-pitaka (Digha Nikaya 33). Here the Buddha spoke of adhitthana as four qualities to be willed or resolved: to develop insight, to realize truth, to relinquish hindrances and to dwell in tranquility.

The Buddha’s Example

The story of the Buddha’s enlightenment illustrates determination. As Prince Siddhartha sat under the bodhi tree in deep meditation, it is said he was tempted by the demon Mara. Mara sent his most beautiful daughters to tempt Siddhartha, but Siddhartha did not move. He then sent a vast army of demons hurtling toward Siddhartha, and even then Siddhartha did not move.

Mara then claimed that seat of enlightenment rightfully belonged to him and not to a mortal. Mara’s demon soldiers cried out, “I am his witness!” Mara challenged Siddhartha — These soldiers speak for me. Who will speak for you?

 Siddhartha reached out his right hand to touch the earth, and the earth itself spoke: “I bear you witness!” At this, Mara disappeared.

We might reflect on this story when we feel discouraged, and when our determination wavers.Enlightenment is not something that belongs only to a few, special people. In a way, it’s a birthright of every being.

Determination as a Perfection

The Perfections are in a particular order because one perfection leads into the next one. However, it’s also the case that all Perfections support all the other Perfections. One doesn’t progress by completely mastering one before moving on to the next one, because all of them are required to master each of them.

In many Theravada commentaries it is said that Determination follows the Perfection of Truthfulness because truthfulness is perfected by determination, and because unshakable realization of truth leads to greater determination. After determination comes the Perfection of Loving Kindness, or metta. Loving kindness strengthens determination to practice for the benefit of others and to work to liberate them from suffering.

However, it cannot be stressed enough that all of the Perfections depend on determination, just as determination is strengthened by the other Perfections. Determination without the direction and context of the other Perfections could easily lead one the wrong way.

Determination and Right Effort

The Perfection of Determination is related to the Right Effort of the Eightfold Path. Although determination needs to be strong, the teachings of Right Effort show us that skillful practice is not about burning ourselves out.

The Buddha taught that practice should be like a well-tuned string instrument. If the strings are too loose, they won’t play a sound. If they are too tight, they will break. Practice should be nourishing, not draining. Striving and exertion are not always fruitful but must be guided by wisdom and compassion, including compassion for ourselves.

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

The Perfection of Truthfulness

The Perfection of Truthfulness goes beyond merely not telling lies. It is better described as a lifelong practice of being open to truth, including truth about ourselves. And it’s a lifelong practice of expressing truth for the benefit of all beings.

The Perfection of Truthfulness (Sacca Parami in Pali) is the seventh of the Ten Perfections of Theravada Buddhism. It follows the Perfection of Patience, or Khanti Parami.  Khanti means “unaffected by” or “able to withstand,” and it could be translated as tolerance, endurance and composure as well as patience or forbearance. Developing Khanti is essential to building a foundation of truthfulness.

Deep Self-Honesty

Why does truthfulness require endurance or forbearance? For one thing, truthfulness is not generally our default reaction whenever life challenges us. We all go through life with a narrative in our heads about who we are and how our life is supposed to unfold. When events clash with our expectations, one of the first things we do is “edit” the narrative to protect our beliefs or our egos. We find ways to explain reality that exonerates us from blame, for example. This is not truthfulness.

Self-deception takes many forms. Psychologists use terms like “confirmation bias” and “subjective validation” to describe strategies for making reality seem more to our liking. But genuine truthfulness requires being honest with ourselves about ourselves.

Speaking truth comes from a practice of truthfulness, or deep honesty. Through practice, we see that whatever shtick has gotten us through life is a crutch and a hindrance, and the myriad little lies and rationalizations we tell ourselves about ourselves fall away.

Another aspect of deep honesty is remaining open to truth. So often we “make up our minds” about the way things are, and then we are closed. Certitude is a dead end.

Always leave room for new understanding, even if you like your current understanding. Especially if you like your current understanding. Be particularly mistrustful of “facts” that fit too neatly into your worldview. Stay open to the realization that your worldview is an illusion, even if it doesn’t seem to be an illusion.

Ultimately, speaking truth can only be built on a practice of truth. Deep honesty does not try to protect our ego, serve our self-interests or confirm our biases. And if we’re not being sincerely honest, how can we be truthful?

Without Deception

Another way to think about truthfulness is that it is without deception, either of ourselves or others. Not deceiving is not always exactly the same as not being factual. Any good propagandist can build an argument from facts and still be deceitful.

For example, we can deceive by taking words or facts out of context in a way that gives a false impression. This sort of lie seems particularly common in advertising and politics. A government program that proved to be ineffectual might be praised for “staying under budget” — because hardly anyone used it. A reviewer might write that a film was “only passably entertaining,” and the film poster might shorten this to “entertaining!” Many people defend these practices as “not really lying.” But it’s still deception, with self-serving ends.

Mindfulness, Right Speech and the Four Noble Truths

Sacca is the same word translated as “truth” in the Four Noble Truths. It’s important to understand that the truths are not doctrines to be believed. Rather, they propose that we may be liberated from dissatisfaction, fear, and suffering by deep realization of the truth about ourselves and our lives.

The Fourth Noble Truth is the Eightfold Path, or the path of practice that leads to truth. One part of the path is Right Speech. Right Speech includes truthfulness, and it also teaches us to use speech in a way to encourage harmony rather than disharmony. We must also not be selfish in our speech by denigrating others to enhance ourselves. Right Speech and the Perfection of Truthfulness are, obviously, closely intertwined. And without a foundation of truthfulness, the other parts of the Path can easily collapse.

How does one perfect honesty? Most teachers will say that the most essential practice is Right Mindfulness, another part of the Eightfold Path. Mindfulness is being fully aware of the present moment, without judging and without conceptual filters. It might be called a practice of honesty of the present moment.

The Perfection of Truthfulness begins with self-honesty and putting aside selfish concerns, and it continues to a practice of manifesting honesty for the benefit of others. This leads to the next Perfection, the Perfection of Determination.

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

The Perfection of Discerning Wisdom: A Theravada Buddhist Teaching

Both Theravada and Mahayana Buddhism have lists of “perfections” (paramitas or paramis) that are important guides for spiritual development and practice. The lists have many items in common, including the Perfection of Wisdom. However, in this case, what is meant is slightly different.

This article will be about the Theravada perfection, Panna Parami. For the Mahayana perfection, Prajna Paramita, see “Sunyata, or Emptiness: The Perfection of Wisdom.”

For more about the Theravada Perfections, see “The Ten Perfections of Theravada Buddhism.”

Theravada Wisdom

All Buddhism makes a distinction between wisdom and knowledge. In his book What the Buddha Taught, the Buddhist scholar Walpola Rahula wrote,

“According to Buddhism there are two sorts of understanding: What we generally call understanding is knowledge, an accumulated memory, an intellectual grasping of a subject according to certain given data. This is called ‘knowing accordingly’ (anubodhd). It is not very keep. Real deep understanding is called ‘penetration’ (pativedha), seeing a thing in its true nature, without name and label. This penetration is possible only when the mind is free from all impurities and is fully developed through meditation.”

“Wisdom” in Theravada Buddhism usually is understood to be discerning or penetrating insight into the Three Marks of Existence and the Four Noble Truths. As Walpola Rahula explained, this

penetrating insight is not about an intellectual or conceptual understanding of these doctrines. It is not about being able to write an essay about the Three Marks or Four Truths and explain them on a test. This penetrating insight is one’s own personal and intimate insight into the dharma. Dharma is a word used to mean many things, but in this case it refers to the true nature of reality.

Read More:What Is Dharma in Buddhism?

The 5th century scholar Buddhaghosa wrote (Visuddhimagga XIV, 7), “Wisdom penetrates into dharmas as they are in themselves. It disperses the darkness of delusion, which covers up the own-being of dharmas.”

Edward Conze explained, “Objects are not what they appear to be. Their true reality, in which they stand out as dharmas, is opposed to their appearance to commonsense, and much strength of wisdom is required to go beyond the deceptive appearance and to penetrate to the reality of dharmas themselves.” Penetrating or discerning wisdom, then, is this penetration of the true nature of dharmas, or phenomena, themselves. It’s “seeing” things for what they are, not for what they appear to be.

Cultivating Wisdom

Now that we have a basic definition of panna, or wisdom, the next question is, how is it developed? The historical Buddha taught for about forty years after his enlightenment, and in one way or another everything he taught was about developing wisdom.

For example, in the Eightfold Path, the “wisdom” path is Right View and Right Intention. Right View is the “first” item on the Path and is ultimately about viewing reality as-it-is. So the Path might be said to begin with wisdom. But Right View is built on an understanding of the Buddha’s teaching. Studying what the Buddha taught is essential. Right Intention is the second item on the Path, and it refers to a kind of purification as one commits oneself to the Path.

This leads to the Ethical Conduct part of the Path and then to the Mental Discipline Part. The last two items on the path are the mental disciplines of Right Mindfulness and Right Concentration. It is through mindfulness and concentration in particular that direct insight happens, concentration in particular. But all parts of the Path relate to and support all other parts.

And the wheel turns, and after Right Concentration one comes to Right View again.

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Dhyana Paramita: Perfection of Meditation

Even if you know nothing else about Buddhism you probably associate Buddhism with meditation. Dhyana Paramita, the fifth of the Mahayana Six Perfections, is the perfection of meditation.

The Sanskrit word dhyana, or jhana in Pali, means “concentration” and is nearly synonymous with samadhi. Another Sanskrit word for “meditation,” bhavana, is more literally translated “mental culture.” This underscores the understanding of meditation as a means of training the mind to realize enlightenment. Dhyana also is associated with the Right Concentration aspect of the Eightfold Path.

The Role of Meditation in Buddhism

In the West, Buddhist meditation is more popular than Buddhism itself. It has been adopted as a means to relieve stress and treat behavioral disorders. Scientific study of the effects of Buddhism on the brain are underway, and this may lead to other therapeutic uses of meditation in the future.

But meditation in the Buddhist sense is a discipline, not a treatment. The historical Buddha sat in meditation to realize enlightenment and liberate himself from suffering, or dukkha.

In the Six Paramitas, dhyana paramita comes before prajna paramita — the perfection of wisdom. And wisdom, the late Robert Aitken Roshi wrote, is “the raison d’être of the Buddha way.” The order of the paramitas is not random; in many schools of Buddhism, wisdom is thought to emerge from meditation.

Through dhyana, the practitioner quiets and clears the mind to enable the realization of enlightenment. For many this is a gradual process. Although one may experience bliss, one may experience many other things as well — frustration, sleepiness, boredom, pain, contentment. That doesn’t mean you are doing it wrong; that’s just the way it is.

With all the focus on meditation one sees in the West, however, it might surprise you to learn that lay Buddhist practice in many parts of Asia is mostly about keeping the Precepts and supporting the monastic sangha, but not meditation. And in some schools of Buddhism, notably Pure Land and Nichiren, silent meditation has largely been replaced by a focused chanting practice.

Forms of Meditation in Buddhism

The schools of Buddhism that teach meditation do not all teach it in precisely the same way. But broadly speaking, Buddhist meditation takes two forms — samatha and vipassana.

Samatha means “peaceful abiding” or “tranquility.” Samatha practices develop concentration to the point of samadhi — single pointedness of mind. In many schools of Buddhism, wisdom is said to be grounded in samadhi.

Samatha practice usually begins with a focus on the breath called anapana-smrti or anapanasati. As thoughts arise, they are observed and released. In time, the mind becomes quieter, no longer yanked around by desires and passions. (See also “Buddhism and Equanimity.”)

Vipassana means “insight.” There is more than one approach to insight meditation, but very generally the practitioner is directed to contemplate a particular teaching, thought or perspective to alter his basic mental orientation.

For example,the meditator might be directed to contemplate a saying such as “All equally experience suffering and happiness. I should look after them as I do myself.” In time, thinking of the welfare of others becomes second nature.

You can find many books, web sites, and videos that teach some kind of basic samatha meditation. But for advanced meditation it is best to work with a teacher who will direct your practice to best suit your particular spiritual barriers.

Meditation and Mindfulness

“Mindfulness mediation” is in vogue at the moment, so let’s look for a minute at the difference between mindfulness and dhyana. Mindfulness in Sanskrit is smrti (in Pali, sati), which can also mean “retention,” “recollection,” or “alertness.” Mindfulness is a whole-body-and-mind awareness of the present moment.

Dhyana, like samadhi, is more about concentration on one thing — a teaching, an image, a koan, breath. Beginner samatha meditation is mindfulness of the breath, but as samadhi develops the practitioner is able to enter a state of deep absorption in which awareness of self disappears.

Read more:Right Mindfulness: A Foundation of Buddhist Practice.”

Meditation and Life

A daily meditation practice can impact your life in countless ways. The experienced meditator responds more skillfully to life’s difficulties as well as its joys. It helps us break free of destructive habits and overcome obstacles. In time, many of our fears and confusion fall away.

Zen teachers sometimes say that meditation is a way to find our long-lost home. “It doesn’t take much time to find that home,” Robert Aitken Roshi wrote in The Practice of Perfection. “In fact, if you lower your eyes and breath quietly in and out, your distractions disappear and your long-lost home is right here.”

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Zen’s Northern and Southern Patriarchs

Some very old Zen texts refer to the “northern and southern schools,” or sometimes to the “northern or southern patriarchs.”  This refers to a doctrinal split that came to a head in 7th and 8th century China. The resolution of this disagreement determined Zen’s development from that time on, making this a genuinely critical moment in the history of Zen Buddhism.

Zen had emerged as a distinctive school of Mahayana Buddhism early in the 6th century. It was born in China, where it is called Chan. The name “Chan” is derived from the Sanskrit dhyana, which refers to stages of meditative absorption.

The earliest phase of Chan history was marked by the leadership of the Six Patriarchs. Before he died, Chan’s founder and First Patriarch, the legendary Bodhidharma, is said to have passed his robe and alms bowl, and leadership of Chan, to his student Huike (487–593), the Second Patriarch, establishing a tradition that would continue until the beginning of the 8th century.

Read More: Introduction to Zen

Sudden or Gradual?

Early in the 7th century a disagreement  arose about Buddha Nature. Buddha Nature is the fundamental, enlightened nature of all beings. But does Buddha Nature abide in us as a potential to be cultivated, or is Buddha Nature complete and pure enlightenment, already present?

These two positions came to be called “gradual enlightenment” versus “sudden enlightenment.” “Gradual” and “sudden” do not necessarily refer to passages of time, nor did one school insist that enlightenment must be realized in stages while the other said realization must happen all at once.

The “sudden” school insisted that enlightenment is not something separate from us that must be obtained. Instead, we are all already enlightened; enlightenment is our fundamental nature. However, because of our greed, anger, ignorance and other defilements we do not experience ourselves as enlightened, so practice is required. And note that although we are all already enlightened, if we practice realization of enlightenment may not happen all at once.

The “gradual” school, on the other hand, saw enlightenment as something separate from most of us that must be acquired or ripened through practice.

The Poetry Challenge

Our story begins during the time of the Fifth Patriarch, Hongren (or Hung-jen; 601–674). Hongren was the abbot of a monastery in the mountains of what is now Hubei Province in eastern central China. According to a classic story, one day Hongren challenged his monks to compose a verse that expressed their understanding of the dharma. If any verse reflects the truth, Hongren said, the monk who composed it will receive the robe and bowl and become the Sixth Patriarch.

Still according to the traditional account — among Hongren’s monks were his senior disciple Shenxiu and a novice monk named Huineng. Shenxui wrote on a wall —

The body is the bodhi tree.
The heart-mind is like a mirror.
Moment by moment wipe and polish it,
Not allowing dust to collect.

This was an expression of gradual enlightenment. Huineng thought he could do better, but he was only a novice, and an illiterate one at that. During the night he asked another monk to write his verse for him —

Bodhi originally has no tree,
The mirror has no stand.
Buddha-nature is always clean and pure;
Where might dust collect?

Huingeng’s poem was an expression of sudden enlightenment. The lines were drawn.

Somehow Hongren recognized that Huineng had written the second verse, and in secret he transmitted the deepest teachings to Huineng and gave the novice the robe and bowl. And to make a very complex story a great deal shorter, Huineng became the patriarch of the so-called Southern School, and his gradualist challenger Shenxiu was the patriarch of the Northern School.

But the Southern School prevailed, and today all teachers of Chan or Zen trace their lineage back to Huineng, the Sixth Patriarch. All surviving Chan, or Zen, today is “sudden enlightenment” Zen.

The Historical Record

The story presented above is from the Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch, a classic Zen text that appears to be Huineng’s autobiography but which was probably written by a disciple, or disciples, after the patriarch’s death. Modern historians say this version of history is probably not accurate, however. For example, there is doubt Shenxiu and Huineng lived at Hongren’s monastery at the same time.

Further, Shenxiu didn’t exactly drop off the map. He was a widely admired scholar who had received dharma transmission from Hongren and later dedicated himself to teaching. Toward the end of his life he became a teacher to the Emperor. The Northern School received the patronage of high-ranked members of the Court and was respected and popular. Shenxiu and his successors were considered the Chan mainstream for a time.

The Southern School was more obscure and stuck out in the boonies, so to speak. A dharma heir of Huineng’s named Shenhui (670-762) became quite the polemicist, relentlessly attacking Shenxiu’s Northern School and it’s “backward” views on gradual enlightenment. Shenhui argued that Huineng was the legitimate Sixth Patriarch and Shenxiu a usurper. It’s thought one of Shenhui’s monks wrote the Platform Sutra as part of the campaign to establish Huineng as Bodhidharma’s true heir.

Shenhui’s campaign initially appeared to fail. Shenxiu’s heirs had influence in the Chinese Court, and in time Shenhui was forced into hiding. But then came the An Lushan Rebellion (755-763), which threatened to topple the Tang Dynasty. Monks were called to the capital to help raise money by sellling ordination certificates. Shenhui did such a brilliant job selling ordination certificates that for a time he was given a privileged position at Court. From this position Shenhui was able to more effectively challenge the Northern School and revise the lineage charts to leave out Shenxiu.

Both Shenxiu’s and Shenhui’s direct lineages appear to have been wiped out in 845, when the Emperor ordered the persecution of all foreign religions in China. After that time, there was no more Northern School or Southern School. But Chan survived, and since that time it has been entirely “sudden,” even when realization comes gradually. And in Zen history, Huineng is remembered as the Sixth (and last) Patriarch.

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]