Baishui Zen

This chapter deals with certain aspects of the Buddha nature surrounding the Adamantine body. I think it’s a wonderful coincidence that we have some recent parallels between the Approaching the Path series and these sutra notes for the time being. Adamantine, to our contemporary ears, often is reminiscent of fictional metals with special properties, but here it is capitalized not because it refers to a special material, but because it is adamantine, in the sense that it is unbreakable, and capitalized because we capitalize lots of stuff related to the Tathagata. We have many long passages this chapter, which is otherwise pretty brief, so we’ll be doing a fair bit of cutting down to get to the good parts.

We begin with Kasyapa indicating to the Buddha that we as mortals do not perceive the Adamantine body. We see a normal body, which eats and grows old and eventually dies. Buddha, explain yourself. Where is your Adamantine body?

The Buddha said to Kasyapa: “Do not say that the body of the Tathagata is the same as that of common mortals. Know that the body of the Tathagata stands for countless billions of kalpas. It is neither the body of man or heaven. The body of the Tathagata is one that is not a body and yet is a body. It is one not born and one that does not die. It is one that does not learn or practice. It knows not and has no form to represent it. It is one ultimately pure. It does not receive, nor does it act. It does not abide, does not make. It is an “is” and yet is not something created. It is beyond Karma. It is not one made, not one that dies. It is no mind. It is not consciousness and is apart from mind. And yet it does not depart from mind. It is a mind that is all-equal. It is not an “is”; yet it is what is “is”.

I particularly enjoy this sentiment, that the Adamantine body is “unborn and undying.” It’s a Buddhist calling card across many sects of Buddhism that I find very elegantly encapsulates the eternal and transcendent nature of the Buddha nature. From the Transmission of the Lamp:

Yuan-kuei chose a cottage deep in the mountains as a site to practice a life of reclusion. One day, a strange man appeared in formal attire with a large retinue of attendants, asking to see the master. The master asked why the man had come. “Don’t you recognize me?” The master replied, “I see Buddha and all sentient beings as equal. What makes you any different?” The man replied, “I am the god of the mountains, and have the power to make you live or die. How can you regard me as just another being?” The master said, “I am originally unborn, and we see each other as without selfhood. Even if you can destroy this very emptiness, I will remain unborn and undying, so why should I believe you?” At this, the god was subdued and bowed down in deep reverence.

Across sects of Buddhism, this phrase is essentially synonymous with enlightenment obtained by seeing one’s nature, and fully internalizing that emptiness does not just apply to objects or situations or circumstances. We too are empty, and what a supreme form of liberation it is, to be unborn and undying. This should be mentally juxtaposed against the idea of entering nirvana as a form of ultimate death, e.g. death without subsequent rebirth. We’ve flirted with this issue throughout these notes on the Nirvana Sutra, and here I think it is addressed again. The death of the physical body coincides with the attainment of Nirvana, but to enter Nirvana is not simply to die. It is to realize that this death means nothing, as the Buddha nature within us was never born in the first place. It is not a mere “is,” yet it is all that is.

The passage continues for quite some time, expressing the non-dual nature of this body. I don’t feel the need to reproduce the whole text here. The next passage that feels noteworthy to me is as follows: the Buddha condemns those with a mere intellectual understanding of the dharma.

“There may be a monk who goes where he will, satisfies his personal needs, recites sutras, sits, and meditates. Should anyone come and ask about the Way, he will bestow sermons. He will speak about giving, observing the precepts, virtuous acts, and say that one should desire little and be satisfied. But he is not able to raise the lion’s roar of the doctrine, is not surrounded by lions, and is not able to subdue those who do evil. Such a monk cannot realize his own profit, nor is he able to assist others. Know that this person is indolent and lazy. Though he may well uphold the precepts and stick to pure actions, such a person, you should know, can do nothing.”

Absolutely scathing. This passage actually was a motivating factor in the starting of this very blog. It’s not enough to simply speak when asked. In the world, almost nobody will come to you and ask you to deliver a sermon about the dharma in some form or another. On the other hand, one should not just proselytize in public, especially with strangers. Most people in civil society consider it extremely rude to tell others about your religious beliefs, and standing on street corners talking about the Buddha is basically the worst of both “Buddhist” and “weird Christian apocalypse guy,” so we don’t do that. So what should we do?

To “raise the lion’s roar” and “to be surrounded by lions” is powerful imagery, and it is not so hard to understand what it means. It most often refers to the Buddha’s voice, as even in this sutra, there are instances when the Buddha speaks, that it echoes for all sentient beings to hear. We’ve talked on this blog about how the Buddha nature preaches the dharma through all things, if only it could be so easily heard. To raise the lion’s roar is to speak on the dharma, but not just to deliver sermons, it is to do so in a way that is truly powerful, through which one cannot help but be in awe of it. At the risk of being corny, it is as if the Buddha speaks through you. Perhaps this is why Zen practitioners have historically placed emphasis on “turning words.” To speak authentically and rebuff a rival in dharma combat is absolutely a roar. Furthermore, to be surrounded by lions is to have a community of practitioners you pursue the Way alongside. And of course, to be able to subdue evils and create change in the world is the whole purpose. In the Avatamsaka sutra, this is why Manjusri is depicted as mounted on a lion.

So for me personally, after reading this passage, it became completely clear to me that I needed to make more connections with other individuals on the path, and needed to learn to find these opportunities to raise the roar. Not in a preachy way, but to find ways to encourage others to do what is right in critical moments. I want to emphasize – this is not a political sentiment. In fact, it’s the opposite. By my view, subduing evils has next to nothing to do with what goes on at the ballot box, which is often a way of abdicating our responsibilities to large bureaucratic institutions. On the contrary, raising the roar means looking for short and punchy ways to help others make positive changes in their community right here, and right now. If I can slip in something about Zen in particular, that’s great, but more often than not, it’s better to let the dharma speak for itself. People are less likely to listen if they know you’re espousing something that feels religious to them. You have to sneak the cat the pill. Ironic, since we’re talking about roaring.

And, I suppose, this blog is my blank canvas to practice speaking about the dharma.

The Buddha continues by prophesizing that after his departure, there will come a time when the dharma will decline in the world. When this happens, people may try to join monasteries for the material comforts of a safe and secure life. The Buddha calls these people “bogus priests.” While the words are harsh, he does say a few things about what it means to be a good priest, which I’d like to highlight.

“Who is the pure priest? There is a monk, a priest whom 100 thousand-billion demons cannot break. Now, this Bodhisattva is pure in his nature and can train an ignorant or precept-breaking priest. and make them live among those who are pure. He is the unsurpassed great teacher, who protects Dharma well, who well upholds the precepts. He knows well what is light
or grave in the keeping of the precepts and adjusts and benefits people.
“What does he do to adjust beings? For example, in order to adjust people, the Bodhisattva always enters a village any time and visits the places where widows and prostitutes live. He lives there for many years. This is what listeners cannot do. This is what is called adjusting and benefiting beings.”

I’m not sure why widows are included here, except perhaps that at the time of writing, perhaps widows were poor because they’d lost their primary caretakers, so they were also living in squalor. In any case, the sentiment is clear. To be a good follower of the Way, a monastic should have no trouble seeking out those rejected by society and offering whatever they can to help. To adjust and benefit beings is to help these people find ways to get out of their rut, to practice and protect the Dharma, and to recognize which matters are fundamental and which are not. It doesn’t take a sage to understand that accurately knowing what to prioritize is essential to helping someone get their life together.

“The body of the Tathagata is adamantine and indestructible. You, Bodhisattva, now have the right view and right understanding. If you see clearly thus, you will see the adamantine and indestructible body of the Tathagata just as you see things reflected in a mirror.”

An excellent conclusion to this relatively short chapter. You will see the adamantine and indestructible body of the Buddha at the same moment you can see it in yourself, as in a mirror. It is difficult to see, as the eye does not perceive itself, and mind has seemingly great difficulty seeing mind. Nevertheless, it is unborn and undying, passing unfettered anywhere for the benefit of all beings. Seemingly hidden, of no mind, and yet, with us always, as soon as we are ready to see it. Kasyapa asked at the outset where the Adamantine body is. It turns out, it’s within you. just on the other side of the mirror.