Problematizing Dōgen’s Relation to Ju-ching and Chinese Ch’an

Abstract: According to traditional accounts, the foundation of Dōgen’s approach to Zen was formed during his travels to China from 1223 to 1227 and through the attainment of enlightenment under the tutelage of master Ju-ching. How much do we really know about this trip that is not rooted in Sõtõ sect hagiography? Why are there contradictions in modern biographical studies of Dōgen about whether he traveled between the Five Mountains temples in China by land or by a sea route? Are accounts of Dōgen’s trip not similar to the “Travels” of Marco Polo, another thirteenth-century visitor of China and observer of Chinese religions, which has been questioned by recent historiographical studies? This paper examines a variety of documents and materials, including the Tokugawa-era Teiho Kenzeiki zue as interpreted by Nara Yasuaki and the recent award-winning book by He Yansheng on Dōgen’s relation to China, in addition to cataloguing a variety of works by Dōgen dealing with his journey and impressions of Ju-ching.

In sending them away [Ju-ching] said, “If they are lacking in the essentials, what can they do? Dogs like that only disturb others and cannot be permitted to stay in the monastery.” Having seen this with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears, I privately thought to myself the following: Being natives of this country, what sin or crime must they have committed in a past life that prevents them from staying among us? What lucky star was I born under that, although a native of a remote foreign country, I was not only accepted in the monastery but allowed to come and go freely in the abbot’s room, to bow down before the living master and hear his discourse on the Dharma. Although I was foolish and ignorant, I did not take this superb opportunity in vain. When my late teacher was holding forth in Sung China, there were those who had the chance to study with him and those who did not. Now that my late teacher, the old master, is gone, it is gloomier than a moonless night in Sung China. Why? Because never before or since has there been an old master like my late teacher was an old master. Dōgen, SBGZ “Baika” (DZZ II, pp. 71–72)

Marco Polo’s description of places in China and beyond form, perhaps, his most lasting contribution to our knowledge of the East in the thirteenth century. The first, traditionally “eyewitness,” account of the great cities of China is of special signifcance because many of the places he describes have either vanished…or been transformed beyond recognition. (Wood 1986, p. 81)

Similarly, Dōgen’s depictions—and criticisms—of the Sung Ch’an monastic system are one of the key historical sources for examining that period (Foulk 1987). His literary citations and allusions to Sung texts remain a major vehicle for interpreting Chinese Ch’an materials that became increasingly popular in Japan as their use diminished in China. The main sources include the records of Ts’ao-tung predecessor Hung-chih and mentor Ju-ching—both of whom Dōgen (1200–1253) refers to as “old master” (kobutsu)1—as well as voluminous transmission of the lamp and kōan collections.

One of the main common features in the narratives about Marco Polo and Dōgen is that an inexperienced, uninformed foreigner is plucked from obscurity and placed in a position of great respect and responsibility by the mainstream system, whether that is secular/political or religious/monastic, which gives their observations of the Chinese religious and social orders great weight and authority. The respective narratives are driven by the high status of the foreign visitors awarded by China, and this element is what also makes them rather questionable. Could it really have happened in this way? In Dōgen’s case, is it plausible that a young monk from Japan, who was at ³rst not even allowed into the summer retreat program because he lacked the prerequisite precepts, was at the time of his mentor Myõzen’s death, which left him in an even more vulnerable position in terms of the monastic system, invited by the abbot of a Five Mountains temple to come to his private quarters and offered the chance to become the head monk?

The title of this paper emulates Wood’s recent controversial, thought-provoking revisionist tract, Did Marco Polo Go to China? Among numerous parallels in the accounts of the two travelers, it seems that in both cases some of the claims that are most basic and central to the narrative of their journeys have become suspect when examined in light of modern historiography. For example, Marco Polo’s descriptions contain some misleading or inaccurate passages and exaggerations as well as glaring oversights such as not mentioning the Great Wall. Also, he probably did not bring back noodles and ice cream to Italy, despite the widespread legends that are still frequently told to schoolchildren. Wood concludes, “Beginning with the negative, The Descriptions of the World [or Travels] is not an itinerary or a straightforward account of travels” (p. 140). Wood speculates that the book was a fiction woven together in 1298 by Polo’s prison-mate Rustichello with an eye toward commercial success, based on stories Polo had heard and the writings of other thirteenth-century adventurers to the East.2

In Dōgen’s case, the most famous saying that he attributes to his mentor as the epitome of Ch’an teaching—shinjin datsuraku X�õ% or “casting off body-mind”—was almost certainly not something Ju-ching or Sung Ch’an masters ever uttered (Heine 1986).3There are many other aspects of Dōgen’s relation with and citations of Ju-ching that are questionable. Dōgen also probably did not bring back to Japan the “one-night Blue Cliff Record” (ichiya Hekiganroku), an edition of the Pi-yen chi (J. Hekiganroku) kõan collection he supposedly copied in a single night with the help of the deity of Hakusan, the major mountain in the region where Eihei-ji was established. This story, which appears in numerous traditional biographies along with other supernatural tales and embellishments, forms a central part of Sõtõ sect’s portrayal of the founder’s journey and its impact on Japanese Zen (Satõ Shunkõ 1990–1991; Takeuchi 1992). How much do we really know about Dōgen’s trip, and what are the problems in examining the records? 4 To what extent is the trip an “invention of tradition” (Hobsbawm 1983)? To look at the issue from another angle, for the sake of upholding Sõtõ-shð’s religious claims and basic sectarian concerns did Dōgen have to have gone to China, or can this belief be maintained despite historiographical objections?

In Dōgen’s Manuals of Zen Meditation, Carl Bielefeldt overturns conventional theories about the dating of the Fukanzazengi, generally considered one of Dōgen’s earliest writings that was composed in the year of his return to Japan. Bielefeldt points out the following about the trip to China:

Perhaps this is what happened [in China], but the account I have summarized here depends heavily on the hagiographic literature of early Sõtõ. This literature includes considerable material not confirmed by earlier sources and introduces many fanciful elements into its story of Dōgen’s life. Though modern biographers now reject at least the most obvious of these latter [fanciful elements in the story], they have yet to question seriously the basic account of Dōgen’s itinerary in China. (Bielefeldt 1988, pp. 24–25)

The aim of this paper is to take up the challenge by reconsidering the traditional sources and conventional conclusions concerning what Takashi James Kodera has called “Dōgen’s formative years” (1980). My goal is not so much to question or deny the veracity or historicity of the basic events or of the notion that Dōgen received direct transmission from Ju-ching in 1225.5 Evidence that supports the trip includes a couple of artifacts, such as stele at Mt. T’ien-t’ung (though these are clearly of more recent vintage, including a marker installed in the 1990s to commemorate the eight-hundredth anniversary of Dōgen’s birth), a poem written on Dōgen’s return trip supposedly inscribed on a boat, Dōgen’s shishou (transmission) document, and a portrait of Ju-ching held at Hõkyõ-ji temple.6 Other evidence includes the exchange of visitors, such as the monk Jakuen, Dōgen’s Dharma-brother in China who joined his community at Kõshõ-ji, and the disciple Giin, who traveled to China after Dōgen’s death to show his collected sayings to the Mt. T’ien-t’ung monks who remembered him. Yet it is Dōgen’s considerable literary production and its remarkably extensive reliance on Sung texts that makes the most compelling argument for his intimate familiarity with Chinese Ch’an.

Rather than debunk the trip, my aim is to show how problematic it is for us to understand convincingly or to present as factual the most fundamental details of the journey, including the itinerary and key aspects of Dōgen’s meetings and experiences. On the one hand, the title of this paper is deliberately yet playfully provocative, in part to mock those who would take historical deconstruction to its extreme by denying just about any religious claim. At the same time, it is important to recognize that even when we eliminate the blatantly hagiographic references in the narrative—such as to the Hakusan deity, Inari (another Japanese god who supposedly helped heal an ailing companion of Dōgen), and Küan-yin (J. Kannon), who helped Dōgen navigate back to Japan during a typhoon—there remain signifcant discrepancies in accounts of the dates and locations of his travels in China.

For example, as illustrated in the maps on the following page, there are two theories about Dōgen’s supposed lengthy period of itinerant travels (tangaryõ) 7 to various temples in pursuit of an authentic master before he settled on studying with Ju-ching at Mt. T’ien-t’ung in 1225. One is a “land-route” theory, which suggests that Dōgen traveled in circular fashion from Mt. T’ien t’ung westward to Mt. Ching, the leading Five Mountains temple, and then to Mt. T’ien-t’ai in the south and back to the first temple (Imaeda 1976, p. 52).8 The other is a “sea-route” theory, which suggests that Dōgen actually made two trips, one to Mt. Ching and back by land and another to Mt. T’ien-t’ai by sea.

Kagamishima Genryð has proposed the sea-route theory, in part because of the forbidding mountain terrain located between Mt. Ching and Mt. T’ien-t’ai, although other scholars suggest that this area could have been crossed by horse or in a small caravan (Kagamishima 1985, p. 310). Would Dōgen have traveled by himself or with a group? The sea-route theory rests on the idea that Dōgen visited Mt. P’u-t’o Island, considered the earthly abode of Küan-yin, in 1224, as a port of embarkation to the south. However, the only evidence for the side trip to the island is an undated kanbun poem (Eihei kõroku no. 10.45). But this could well have been written at some other time, such as either on the way to or back from China. Or, it could even refer to an island just off the coast of Japan that borrowed the name and goddess worship from China.9

In addition to the issue of how and where he traveled, there is also a dispute about when Dōgen journeyed to various temple locations. Did the itinerancy begin in the fall of 1223 during Dōgen’s first year in China, or in the following year? Or, perhaps, as the sea route theory suggests, there were two trips that occurred in different years. What are the sources for the respective theories, and how are they documented and argued by scholars today? There are numerous other problematic aspects of Dōgen’s journey to China. These include a controversy concerning his qualifcations for receiving admission to the summer retreat and challenges to the Ch’an monastic system; his viewing of a variety of shisho documents; conversations with a number of masters and monks he encountered; a series of prophetic dreams that steered his path to ³nd Ju-ching; apparitions of the moon that he saw at Mt. A-yü-wang on two separate occasions; and the conditions of his departure from China relative to the death of Ju-ching as well as tales of supernatural occurrences during the return trip.

A careful examination must acknowledge that the conventional chronology of Dōgen’s trip to China has been derived by modern scholarship through piecing together snippets of clues amid scattered references in a wide variety of writings, such as Hõkyõki, Tenzokyõkun, Shõbõgenzõ zuimonki, and SBGZ “Shisho,” as well as the traditional biographies Denkõroku (Taishõ vol. 82, no. 2589) and Kenzeiki (Kawamura 1975). This process has created a compelling, if not necessarily accurate, narrative of Dōgen’s quest for the true Dharma. The narrative encompasses a series of dialogues, visions, and dreams that led him to connect with Ju-ching, who had taken over as abbot of Mt. T’ien-t’ung in fall of 1224 upon the death of Wu-chi after serving at several Five Mountain temples in the early 1220s. Most modern approaches to Dōgen’s biography have been greatly influenced by hagiographical elements in the eighteenth-century Teiho Kenzeiki, Menzan Zuihõ’s elaboration on the fifteenth-century Kenzeiki. This has Dōgen encountering various deities in addition to other embellishments during his pilgrimage to China (Kawamura 1975). A series of ukiyoe-style illustrations known as Dōgen zenji go-eden (or Teiho Kenzeiki zue) created in 1806 is fascinating but compounds the gap between history and hagiography.10

One basic concern is that all the sources used to reconstruct the journey either are attributed to Dōgen or are sectarian biographies written generations or even centuries after his death, and there are simply no objective, third party accounts to verify traditional claims. There are no independent property or travel records to consult. Because no particular source of evidence is strongly supported, once key elements of the account are effectively challenged, such as the visit to Mt. P’u-t’o Island in the sea route theory, much of the rest of the narrative begins to unravel, at least in terms of the standards of historiographic verifcation. It is possible to question whether the whole idea of itinerancy was invented by the Sõtõ tradition to link Dōgen with the most prestigious Five Mountains temples and leading patriarchs of the day.

There are several main issues involved in interpreting Dōgen’s relation to China and Chinese Ch’an, many of which are discussed in a recent award-winning book by a scholar from China currently conducting research in Japan (He 2000).11 The controversy surrounding the historicity of Dōgen’s travels to China is directly linked to an examination of his attitudes toward Chinese Buddhism. These range from high praise to a devastating critique of doctrines and practices he apparently found there, especially in the laxity of monks regarding the trimming of nails and hair, washing of face and hands, and wearing of the robe.12 The controversy also sheds light on the inμuence Dōgen received from Hung-chih, Ju-ching, and other sources, as well as the impact of the Chinese legacy on his handling of sectarian disputes in Japan. These issues, including Dōgen’s views on such topics as Buddha-nature and mind (vs. form), language and the sutras, the precepts and monastic routine, or the various Ch’an lineages and the notion of the “unity of three teachings” (sankyõ itchi), are especially important for understanding the period when Dōgen was evangelizing the group of followers who converted to Sõtõ Zen from the proscribed Daruma-shð ò$; school. The mass conversion took place in 1241, shortly before he moved to the Echizen mountains and established Eihei-ji nearby Hajaku-ji temple, which was a Daruma-shð stronghold.13

Around the time of this move, Dōgen began to eulogize Ju-ching and the Ts’ao-tung lineage and attack the Lin-chi school leader Ta-hui, under whose lineage the Daruma-shð followers were ordained (Faure 1987). Dōgen stressed that experience of a direct, unimpeded, and unmediated “face-to-face” transmission (menju) is the only legitimate way to earn and to perpetuate the transfer of a lineage.14 This was unlike the case of Daruma-shð founder Dainichi Nõnin, who sent disciples to China to gain transmission in the Ta-hui lineage but never himself had a personal encounter with a Ch’an master. After an investigation of Dōgen’s itinerary in China and what this shows about his relationship with Chinese masters, I will focus on how Dōgen appropriates the texts and perhaps invents the signifcance of his mentor in the crucial transitional, evangelical period of the early 1240s. A key factor here, as He’s book shows, is the question of the corruption of the Ju-ching records and the extent to which they were heavily edited or fabricated by Tokugawa-era Sõtõ scholastics (pp. 111–40).

One of the first main points that become evident in examining Dōgen’s trip to China is the diversity and the questionability of sources that have served as the mainstay of modern studies of this period. The source that might be considered the most likely candidate for learning about the travels is the Hõkyõki, a record of about fiffty dialogues Dōgen had with Ju-ching over a two-year period lasting from 1225 to 1227, or the first through the third year of the Pao-ch’ing era (J. Hõkyõ). This text is translated in Kodera’s book. However, it turns out that the Hõkyõki is not particularly useful or reliable as a historical source for several reasons. First, the text simply does not deal with the initial two-year period before his meetings in the abbot’s quarters began, when Dōgen apparently became Ju-ching’s most intimate disciple.16 Also, even for the period of Dōgen’s training under Ju-ching during his last two years in China, the Hõkyõki is questionable because the date for the composition of the text is highly uncertain. The text was discovered posthumously by Ejõ several months after Dōgen’s death in 1253, as indicated by the first colophon, but was not noticed again until Giun rediscovered it in 1299 at Hõkyõ-ji temple, according to the second colophon (DZZ VII, pp. 48–51). 17

The Hõkyõki was long thought to have been a journal kept by Dōgen in China or transcribed from notes shortly after his return to Japan. Perhaps it even preceded the Fukanzazengi. But, based in part on the posthumous discovery of the text, the main theory held today, which has been put forth by Mizuno Yaoko (1980), is that the Hõkyõki was actually written near the end of Dōgen’s life. Another possibility is that it was composed in the early 1240s, after Dōgen received a copy of the recorded sayings of his mentor, the Ju-ching yü-lu, which was edited by I-yüan and then transported from China in 1242. According to this theory, Dōgen was disappointed that the recorded-sayings text was not truly representative of his mentor’s teachings, so he felt that he needed to amplify the record based on his own personal conversations. This was the time when Dōgen developed a new, or at least renewed, interest in Ju­ching as reflected in numerous citations and allusions in a variety of other texts from this period, which will be discussed more fully below. However, there remain significant discrepancies with the doctrinal content of the mentor’s recorded sayings.

Once the Hõkyõki is set aside as authoritative, there is nothing that resembles a single sustained narrative source prior to the Kenzeiki, which was composed over two hundred years after Dōgen’s death. Rather, there are a host of references to the trip scattered among as many as two dozen sources. These are auto­biographical observations or reminiscences contained in sermons, journals, lineage records, or sectarian biographical works, in which there is some mention, however brief or ambiguous, of conversations, dreams, or transmission documents. Modern scholarship, in trying to track down the sources for the accounts in the Kenzeiki and Teiho Kenzeiki, has culled and pulled all of these together to create a sense of how the traditional biographers came up with the sequence of events. The problem occurs when modern scholars merely echo the traditional account instead of critically evaluating it. It is particularly important to note that there are very few sources that are considered to have been written by Dōgen while he was in China. The only ones available are a couple of short remembrances for Myõzen, his teacher at Kennin-ji who died in China in 1225, and a selection of kanbun poems that are included in the tenth volume of the Eihei kõroku (DZZ IV, pp. 246–97).

Year: 1223

Year: 1224

Year: 1225

Year: 1226

Year: 1227

1. Leaves by boat from Hakata with Myõzen and others, after departing on 2/22 in 1223 from Kennin-ji
2. Still on ship at Ming-chou port in the ³fth month, meets the cook from Mt. A-yü-wang
3. Joins Mt. T’ien-t’ung following the summer retreat, though still lacking Hinayana precepts, with Wu-chi as abbot
4. Ranking of monks—as foreigner, Dōgen is kept at end of line even if he has seniority in terms of when he took the precepts
*5. Petitions the emperor for a reversal of the ruling about seniority
6. Robe ceremony—while doing zazen at Mt. T’ien-t’ung another monk every morning places the robe on his head and recites the kasaya gatha *7. Visits Mt. Ching (lead temple in the Five Mountains monastic system) during the following year’s summer retreat
*8. Talks to an old monk, and hears about greatness of Ju-ching
9. Visits Wan-nien szu temple at Mt. T’ien-t’ai, site where Eisai practiced
*10. Dream at Mt. Ta-mei about receiving plum blossoms foreshadowing a great encounter
*11. Ju-ching’s dream of meeting a new embodiment of Tung-shan
12. Face-to-face meeting with Ju-ching—their spiritual encounter
13. Death of Myõzen and attendance at his funeral
14. Experience of shinjin datsuraku based on Ju-ching’s strict style of training
15. Prostrates in appreciation of Ju-ching
16. Sees at Mt. A-yü-wang the image of the patriarchs manifested as a round moon for the second time
*17. Legend of subduing the tiger through the power of the Dharma
*18. Healing of Dõshõ through the benefcence of Inari
19. Receives Shisho zu in winter of 1227 before return to Japan; becomes the fifty-first generation patriarch
*20. Copying of Ichiya hekiganroku with assistance of Hakusan Gongen Myõri
*21. Appearance of One Leaf Kannon during monsoon at sea while returning to Japan

1. Fa-yen of the Yang-ch’i branch from the chuan-tsang-chu monk, with the assistance of the Japanese monk Ryðzen, in fall of 1223 at Mt. T’ien-t’ung
2. Yün-men branch from Tsung-yüeh Ch’ang-tao, later to become abbot of Mt. T’ien-t’ung after death of Wu-chi Liao-p’ai, in 1223 [Dōgen remarks that this document “looks different”]
3. Shih-kuang, the director of Mt. T’ien-t’ung monastery under Wu-chi, shown secretly from Chih-sou, a junior monk who smuggled it out on 1/21 in 1224 [Dōgen notes that this is magni³cently adorned and written by Te-kuang, Wu-chi’s teacher]
4. Kuei-shan from Yüan-tzu, successor to Tsung-chien as abbot of Wan-nien monastery at P’ing-t’ien on Mt. T’ien-t’ai, in 1225 [the abbot tells Dōgen about his dream of an eminent monk who resembled Fa-chang of Mt. Ta-mei to whom he handed a branch of plum blossoms, and said, “if you meet a true man you should not hesitate to give him this branch”; the document was written on plum silk, and Dōgen feels it conveys the “invisible favor” of bud­dhas and patriarchs]
5. Fa-yen branch from Wei-yi Hsi-t’ang of Mt. T’ien-t’ung, formerly head monk of Kuang-fu known for teaching laymen and from the same region as Ju-ching in 1225 [Dōgen notes that it is a “rare privilege” to see this kind of ancient writing]

In weighing the historical as well as the religious implications of the fascicle, it is interesting to note that “Shisho,” which links Dōgen to the Lin-chi school without actually providing him with the necessary credentials (although he had already had a connection through Myõzen), was composed on 3/27 in 1241, just around the time that a number of Daruma-shð followers joined Dōgen at Kõshõ-ji.21 This fascicle (edited by Ejõ on 2/15 in 1243) was firsta written record rather than a sermon. It was subsequently delivered as an oral sermon two times, on 12/12 in 1241 at Kõshõ-ji (edited on 10/23 in 1243 at Yoshimine-dera in Echizen) and on 9/24 in 1243 at Yoshimine-dera (no information available on the editing). This shows that discussing lineage became increasingly important as Dōgen collected disciples and then entered new territory in Echizen. This is especially important when we consider that two other fascicles focusing on the face-to-face transmission with Ju-ching were from this same transitional period—“Busso” delivered on 1/13 in 1241, and “Menju” on 10/20 in 1243.

The next part of the traditional account of Dōgen’s trip focuses on his tangaryõ travels and conversations with leading masters and anonymous monks at various locations. The aim of the itinerancy was to visit the places where Eisai had trained and to look for a true teacher since Wu-chi was ailing. The goal of the narrators of the itinerary seems to be to place Dōgen in proximity with prominent Ch’an monasteries and figures, particularly at Mt. Ching, and to show how he was left unimpressed with some of the famous abbots, especially Che-weng.

The dialogue with Che-wang did not satisfy Dōgen’s need for an authentic teacher but instead became emblematic of his dissatisfaction with China. “According to the Denkõroku,” Nara writes, “the first discussion with Che­weng developed as follows”:

Che-weng, serving as head monk of Wan-shou monastery, said, “When did you arrive in the land of Sung China?” and Dōgen replied, “In the fourth month last year.” Che-weng said, “Did you come here following the crowds?” and Dōgen replied, “Well, I came here with my companions; is there something wrong with that? I think this is a good thing.” Che­ weng said, clapping together the palms of his hands, “You are a young novice who is never at a loss for words.” Dōgen replied, “Maybe it is so. But what is the matter with that?” Che-weng said, “Let’s sit down for a while and drink a cup of tea.” Dōgen was disappointed with Che-weng and his experience at the Buddhist temple on Mt. Ching. (Nara 2001, p. 57)

Dōgen had another disillusioning meeting with P’an-shan of the Ta-hui lin­eage whom he met at Hsiao-ts’ui-yen and asked, “What is Buddha?” The master responded, “He is inside the temple,” and Dōgen said, “If he is inside the temple, can he be in every grain of sand in the river?” The master replied, “He is in every grain of sand in the river.” “The matter is settled,” concluded Dōgen, meaning that he was disturbed by the lack of a compelling response from the master (Nara 2001, p. 63).

As with the two cooks met shortly after arriving in China, Dōgen was learning the most not from abbots but from anonymous monks who showed a simple, single-minded determination to pursue the Dharma. In Shõbõgenzõ zuimonki no. 1.4 he tells us that he met a monk from Szechuan in Sung China who came east to the temples of Chekiang with no provisions or possessions (DZZ VII, pp. 54–55). Somebody recommended that he return to his homeland to get properly clothed but he refused due to his determination to stay at the Five Mountains. Dōgen comments that this monk is typical of Buddhist trainees in China—unlike the case of Japan—who do not worry about poverty or any other obstacle to their practice.

In no. 3.15 of the same text, Dōgen relates the story of another monk from Szechuan who asked why Dōgen was studying recorded sayings and kõan collections (DZZ VII, pp. 90): “What’s the use of reading these Zen sayings?” Dōgen responded, “To understand the old masters,” and the monk said, “What is the use of that in the long run?” Dōgen comments that he stopped reading the Zen sayings and other writings because “you don’t need to use a single word [to express the Dharma], and I was able to gain a great awakening to the great matter.” In a postscript to Shõbõgenzõ entitled “Kesa kudoku” Dōgen notes that he was also impressed when he met two Koreans, Chi Hyun and Kyung Oon, “who had come to Ching-yüan in 1224, not as monks but scholars from a[nother] small, out-of-the-way country” (SBGZ, in DZZ II, pp. 330–31).

According to the traditional account, Dōgen was so discouraged by the lack of wisdom in the famous masters—although he was impressed by the integrity of some but by no means all of the rank-and-file—that he was contemplating returning to Japan in 1224. As Nara explains, during his itinerancy Dōgen thought to himself, “No one in China and Japan is my equal.” Then a remarkable event happened when he was at Mt. Ching with a monk who was standing at the Arhat Hall, or who was himself the incarnation of an Indian arhat, according to Keizan’s presentation. Nara writes:

According to the Tõkokuki (from the selected writings by Keizan, at one time Dōgen met an old man in front of the hall of the arhats on Mt. Ching. He was called Rõshin [Japanese pronunciation]. The “shin” (from Rõshin) means jewel. It was a name that makes us somehow imagine a pilgrim coming from India or the lands to the west of China.
They started to have a lively chat. Dōgen explained that, although he had gone all the way to Mt. Ching, he felt sad that he had not found someone in whom he could place all his con³dence as a teacher. Rõshin said, “In the country of the great Sung dynasty the only one who possesses true insight for teaching the Dharma is Ju-ching. If you go see him, that will be a great opportunity for your training in Buddhism.” That is the way the conversation is recorded in the Denkõroku.
Yet, Dōgen was doubtful. He didn’t feel like going off to visit Ching-tz’ü temple where Ju-ching was then residing as abbot, which was some distance away from Mt. Ching. The Denkõroku states, “More than a year passed before he had the time to study with the master.”
Then, Dōgen decided to return to Mt. T’ien-t’ung, and he would begin summer retreat there for the first time. He immediately left Mt. Ching. (Nara 2001, p. 59)

At this point in the traditional account, the controversial issues involving dating and itinerary make it difficult to pin down exactly where and when Dōgen was traveling, especially as the narrative begins to involve more out-of­the-ordinary experiences following on the arhat episode. The occurrence of three dreams guided Dōgen to find the ultimate teacher, Ju-ching. The first dream was told by Yüan-tzu at Mt. Ta-mei, and was kept secret until it was finally disclosed by Dōgen in Shõbõgenzõ “Shisho” in 1241. According to this account, Dōgen had an overnight stay at Hu-sheng monastery on Mt. Ta-mei on his way back to Mt. T’ien-t’ung from Mt. T’ien-t’ai. A key question is, how did Dōgen get from Mt. Ching, where he met the arhat, to Mt. T’ien-t’ai? Was it by land or by sea, and when did this happen, since the sea route theory would then require two trips to Mt. Ching? In some accounts, the old monk at the Arhat Hall recommends Ju-ching after Dōgen has learned of Wu-chi’s death in late summer or fall of 1224, although at that time Dōgen would not have realized that Ju-ching was soon to be appointed abbot of Mt. T’ien-t’ung.22

In any case, the Mt. Ta-mei patriarch handed Dōgen a branch of plum blos­soms because he had a dream in which a master he supposed to be the disciple of Ma-tsu, who founded the monastery, told him to give a plum tree twig to an authentic seeker who would come by boat to study in China. That night, Dōgen reports, he also had a mystical dream in which the original Mt. Ta-mei patri­arch handed him a branch of blooming blossoms that were more than a foot in diameter as reµected in the patriarch’s mirror, which is “the most reliable of instruments,” and Dōgen takes this to be the flowers of the udambara (udonge in DZZ I, p. 433).23 The third dream occurred, Dōgen learned, when the night before his arrival back to Mt. T’ien-t’ung, where Ju-ching had been installed as abbot for just about a month in the fourth month of 1225, the Chinese master dreamt that Tung-shan appeared in the form of a reincarnation (Nara 2001, p. 65).

Another episode with supernatural implications is Dōgen’s account in the SBGZ “Busshõ” fascicle of a vision of the round full moon at Mt. A-yü-wang temple while looking at portraits of the thirty-three patriarchs. This section of the fascicle follows a lengthy philosophical discussion of an anecdote in the Ching-te ch’uan-teng lu vol. 1, in which Nagarjuna is manifested as the moon. Dōgen says that “in former days, while traveling as a cloud,” he went to Mt. A-yü-wang in the first year of his journey to China but when he saw the paintings he did not understand the meaning (SBGZ I, pp. 31–33). Then he returned to this site about two years later, during the summer retreat of 1225, apparently a short time after his enlightenment experience under Ju-ching. This time he alone among the monks understood the vision, whereas the others either took it too literally or did not see it at all. Dōgen sensed the deficiency of the others, for whom there is “no nostrils in their complexion” and “no sword in their laughter.” This episode marks the moment in the traditional account of when Dōgen becomes clear and confident of his spiritual authority and superiority.

Before 1242, when Dōgen supposedly received a copy of the Ju-ching yü-lu, there were two main examples of references to his mentor. The firstis a rewriting of Ju-ching’s “windbell” poem that is cited in Hõkyõki as a “supremely excellent teaching unlike anything found” in other Ch’an writings. Dōgen also cites the verse in “Makahannyaharamitsu” that was first delivered in 1233 and edited in 1242, and he again cites and rewrites it in Eihei kõroku no. 9.58 in 1236 (DZZ IV, p. 220; Heine 1997, p. 141).25 Ju-ching’s original verse reads:

The bell looks like a mouth, gaping,
Indifferent to the wind blowing in the four directions;
If you ask it about the meaning of wisdom,
It only answers with a jingling, tinkling sound.

Dōgen’s rewriting provides more rhetorical flourish with an emphasis on the continual ringing of the bell and the elimination of any trace of duality between instrument and sound:

The bell is a voice articulating emptiness,
Playing host to the wind blowing in the four directions,
Expressing in its own elegantly crafted language
The tintinnabulation: the ringing of the ringing.

The other prominent example of pre-1242 writings on Ju-ching is a series of references in the Shõbõgenzõ zuimonki collected from 1236–1238 that emphasize Ju-ching’s commitment to ongoing, persistent zazen meditation practice. In no. 2.16 Dōgen says, “While staying in China in the assembly under Ju-ching we had lengthy discussions during which I came to know of his life and teachings, but I realized the truth by practicing zazen day and night with a real Zen teacher” (DZZ VII, p. 74). In no. 2.9 he says that Ju-ching would strike the monks with his slipper to keep them from dozing off during zazen and scold them (DZZ VII, p. 69–70). They were grateful for the reprimand; and then he lectured them about removing delusions and when he finished his lecture the monks all wept. Also, no. 3.30 in Shõbõgenzõ zuimonki states that Ju-ching practiced zazen until about eleven o’clock at night, and then got up at two-thirty or three, and started in again (DZZ VII, p. 99). In this lengthy passage, Dōgen praises Ju-ching for not being easygoing with regard to zazen, and for shaming monks and striking them or striking a bell or summoning an attendant to stir and awaken them. Also, during a candlelight lecture before the whole assembly, an attendant asked if exhausted monks could sleep and Ju-ching replied, “Absolutely not!”

Dōgen notes receiving Ju-ching’s recorded sayings in Eihei kõroku no. 1.105 on 8/6 in 1242 (DZZ III, p. 69),26 although the first indication of renewed interest was in SBGZ “Gyõji” (part 2), which was written several months before this and contains four citations of Ju-ching (DZZ I, pp. 196–202). This indicates that a main factor may have been the arrival at Kõshõ-ji of the erstwhile Daruma­shð followers. But it seems clear that the most important factor contributing to the appropriation of Ju-ching was Dōgen’s move to Echizen, which is when he began citing Ju-ching extensively and in some cases exclusively. The list on the following page shows that in addition to SBGZ “Gyõji” (part 2) all the Shõbõgenzõ fascicles containing multiple citations of Ju-ching stem from this period (the asterisk indicates that the passages are not found in the Ju-ching yü-lu).

Of the compositions from the critical transitional period focusing on Ju-ching, three fascicles consist almost entirely of commentary on the mentor’s teaching, with a strong emphasis on lyrical imagery as a symbol for enlightenment in SBGZ “Baika” and “Ganzei.” The fascicles in which Dōgen cites passages that are not found in the Ju-ching yü-lu deal to a large extent with a sectarian agenda of criticizing the Ta-hui lineage in SBGZ “Shohõ jissõ” and the other branches of Zen in SBGZ “Butsudõ” and SBGZ “Bukkyõ” (Buddhist Sutras). In these passages, which Dōgen may have misquoted or invented, Ju­ching sounds considerably more partisan and combative in tone than in passages that can be traced back to the Ju-ching yü-lu.27

The main image of Ju-ching that emerges in the writings of this period is a deliverer of dynamic, often spontaneous sermons, or as a master who breaks out of the mold of the formal monastic setting. He gave lectures not only in the Dharma Hall at a fixed hour but at any time of day or night when the inspiration struck. Shõbõgenzõ “Shohõ jissõ” was presented by Dōgen in 1243 after “eighteen years had swiftly passed” since the original occurrence in the fourth watch of the night in the third month of 1226 (SBGZ I, pp. 457–70). At that time, Ju-ching gave a midnight sermon in the abbot’s quarters, and the drum was beating with signs hung around the temple announcing the occasion. Monks were burning incense and waiting anxiously to hear, “You may enter [the abbot’s room].” Dōgen says that this was a unique method of intense, personal training not practiced in other districts.

Dōgen’s detailed description of the layout of the interior of the temple, of how he climbed the stairway between chambers, and where the monks were congregating in relation to the private quarters of Ju-ching known as the Miao­kai-t’ai is interesting because this varies from what was known about the typical Five Mountains temples. Tokugawa era Sõtõ monks apparently were concerned and questioned his description, assuming it was a later, off-base invention, but modern investigation tends to confirm that it was accurate, thereby lending credence to Dōgen’s first-hand knowledge of the Chinese monastery.

In Eihei kõroku no. 2.128, which was presented in 1244 as an evening sermon that resonates with what is said about Ju-ching, Dōgen describes the excitement that was so unusual and unique in his teacher’s approach:

Regardless of what the regulations in monastic rules manuals actually prescribed, at midnight, during the early evenings or at any time after the noon­day meal, and generally without regard to the time, Ju-ching convened a talk. He either had someone beat the drum for entering the abbot’s quarters (nyðshitsu) to give an open talk (fusetsu) or he had someone beat the drum for small meetings (shõsan) and then for entering the abbot’s quarters. Or sometimes he himself hit the wooden clapper in the Monks Hall three times and gave an open talk in the Illuminated Hall. After the open talk the monks entered the abbot’s quarters. At other times he hit the wooden block hanging in front of the head monk’s quarters and gave an open talk in that room. Again, following the open talk the monks entered the abbot’s quarters. These were extraordinary, truly exceptional experiences! As a disciple of Ju-ching, I am also conducting evening meetings that are taking place for the very firsttime in our country. (DZZ III, p. 72)

Perhaps the emphasis Dōgen put on the extraordinary sermon style of Ju-ching was but a device to conceal an awareness that Ju-ching’s sermons were not so remarkable in terms of the content or substance of what he said. 28

Nakaseko Shõdõ (1997) suggests that by analyzing differences in the teachings of master and disciple we see contradictions in Dōgen’s appropriation of Ju-ching. According to Nakaseko, there are two sets of doctrines—one is how Ju-ching is portrayed in Dōgen’s writings, and the other is how he is expressed in the Ju-ching yü-lu (assuming its authenticity). As seen in the works of Dōgen, Ju-ching was a strict advocate of intensive zazen training, which was the only form of religious practice he consistently followed since he began his training at the age of nineteen, according to SBGZ “Gyõji” (part 2). Ju-ching was also portrayed as a severe critic of reliance on kõans as well as the corrupt lifestyle of many of his contemporary monks.

In addition, according to Dōgen, Ju-ching criticized a variety of doctrines that found currency in Chinese Ch’an. The objects of his criticism include a variety of factors:

1. the unity of the three teachings (according to SBGZ “Shohõ jissõ”)
2. the kikan or developmental, intellectual approach in the notions of the three phrases of Yün-men
3. the four relations of Lin-chi, the five ranks of Tung-shan, and numerous other doctrinal formulas (SBGZ “Butsudõ” and “Bukkyõ” [Buddhist Sutras])
4. the sectarian divisiveness of the five houses of Ch’an that defeats the unity of all forms of Buddhism (SBGZ “Butsudõ”)
5. the autonomy of the Zen sect (Hõkyõki)
6. a view that advocates the separation of Ch’an from the sutras (Hõkyõki)
7. the “naturalist fallacy” that affirms reality without transforming it (Hõkyõki), and
8. the tendency in some forms of Ch’an thought toward the negation of causality and karmic retribution (Hõkyõki).

Furthermore, Dōgen puts a strong emphasis on lyrical poetic imagery as the key to Ju-ching’s approach in the citations in SBGZ “Baika” and SBGZ “Ganzei,” which were written while Dōgen stayed in temporary mountain hermitages, such as plum blossoms blooming amid the late winter snow as representing the emergence of enlightenment within the world of samsara.

As Nakaseko points out, much of this stands in contradiction with the thought that is seen in the Ju-ching yü-lu, which is for the most part a conventional recorded-sayings text reµecting the doctrines and literary styles of the period (Nakaseko 1997, pp. 206–9; Kagamishima 1983). In this text, there is not so much emphasis on zazen or the rejection of kõans, or criticism of a laxity in the lifestyle of monks. Furthermore, Ju-ching did not dismiss Confucius or indicate that the other teachings were inferior to the Buddha Dharma, and he did not express concern with the ³ve houses, or the autonomy of Ch’an, or the view that separates Ch’an from the sutras. He did not criticize the kikan formu­las or the naturalist heresy. Nor did he stress causality or emphasize lyrical imagery in a way that varies from what was typical for Sung Ch’an masters appealing to an audience of literati.

Dōgen’s view of Ju-ching is complicated by an approach found in several Eihei kõroku fascicles from this period, in which he shows an independent, irreverent attitude. Throughout the text he criticizes and rewrites the words of his Chinese Ch’an predecessors, including Hung-chih, whose work is cited most frequently.29 Even his mentor is not immune to this treatment, as seen in Eihei kõroku no. 3.194 (DZZ III, p. 132):

[Dōgen] said, “I remember, a monk asked an ancient master, ‘Is there Buddha Dharma or not on a steep cliff in the deep mountains?’” The master responded, “A large rock is large; a small one is small.” My late teacher T’ien-t’ung [Ju-ching] said, “The question about the steep cliff in the deep mountains was answered in terms of large and small rocks. The cliff collapsed, the rocks split, and the empty sky filled with a noisy clamor.”
The teacher [Dōgen] said: “Although these two venerable masters said it this way, Eihei [Dōgen] has another way of putting it. If someone were to ask, ‘Is there Buddha Dharma or not on a steep cliff in the deep mountains?’, I would simply say to him, ‘The lifeless rocks nod their heads again and again. The empty sky vanishes completely. This is something that exists within the realm of the buddhas and patriarchs. What is this thing on a steep cliff in the deep mountains?’”
[Dōgen] pounded his staff one time, and descended from his seat.30

Concluding Remarks

At the end of Did Marco Polo Go to China? Frances Wood comments on the value of the travelogue, even if “Marco Polo himself probably never journeyed much further than the family’s trading posts on the Black Sea and in Constantinople, and was not responsible for Italian ice-cream or Chinese dumplings…” (Wood 1986, p. 150). According to Wood’s assessment, when combined with other sources the work attributed to Polo is significant for its useful descriptions and for inspiring latter day travelers like Aurel Stein who remained dependent on Polo centuries later. This is like the case of “Herodotus who did not travel to all the places he described and who mixed fact with fantastic tales, but whose work is nevertheless not to be discarded lightly” (Wood 1986, p. 150).

However, Dōgen must be evaluated not as a historian or adventurer/tradesman but as a religious thinker whose central tenet about lineal transmission is the requirement of direct, first-hand, face-to-face experience. For any devotee, a particular gap or lacuna in the tradition’s account may not be a serious detriment to an acceptance of the religion’s claim that stands behind and yet does not depend on historical veritability. Since Albert Schweitzer’s The Quest of the Historical Jesus (1906) nearly a century ago, it is commonly recognized that there is an interconnection but ultimately a separation between what Van Harvey calls “The Historian and The Believer” (1966).

In the case of Dōgen, debunking from a historiographical perspective much, if by no means all, of the traditional account of his journey to China may not have an impact on the believer. To suggest that Dōgen’s presentation of Ju­ching, especially in the Hõkyõki, says more about Dōgen’s own positions than his mentor’s is not necessarily enough in itself to negate that the trip took place or the religious claims based on its veracity. After all, the Kenzeiki and other sources dealing with Dōgen’s Buddhist pilgrimage are far from the mythology of Journey to the West in terms of a distance from and distortion of historical reality. Some aspects of the trip have become the subject of literary imagination, such as a recent kyõgen play on his meeting with the cook from Mt. A-yü­wang (Momose and Sugita 1999, p. 63). Yet, maintaining a belief in Dōgen’s transmission despite doubts about its historicity does not require the same degree of acceptance of the “offense” of belief in the incarnation of Christ as found in Kierkegaard’s view of subjective religious truth.

In any case, the construction of an image or a simulacra may well eclipse the importance of what is portrayed or (partially) remembered. Like “a painted rice cake that satisfies hunger,” according to SBGZ “Gabyõ,” an impression of reality is often more real than reality (DZZ I, p. 273).

Abbreviations

DZZ Dōgen zenji zenshu, 7 vols., 1988–1993, Tokyo: Shunjðsha. Vols. I (1991) and II (1993), ed. Kawamura Kõdõ; vols. III (1988) and IV (1988), ed. Kagamishima Genryð; vol. V (1989), ed. Suzuki Kakuzen, et al; vol. VI (1989), ed. Kosaka Kiyð and Suzuki Kakuzen; vol. VII (1990), ed. Suzuki Kakuzen, et al.
SBGZ Shõbõgenzõ in DZZ, vols. I and II.

Sources

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Foulk, T. Griffith 1987 The Ch’an School and Its Place in the Buddhist Monastic Tradition. Ph.D. Dissertation. University of Michigan.
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Notes

1. Dōgen also referred to Ju-ching as “former teacher” (senshi).
2. According to Jonathan Spence, “the book is a combination of verifiable fact, random information posing as statistics, exaggeration, make-believe, gullible acceptance of unsubstantiated stories, and a certain amount of outright fabrication” (1998, p. 1).
3. Note that although Dōgen frequently refers to shinjin datsuraku as a notion that Ju-ching stressed, there is no direct testimony in Dōgen’s writings mentioning his having had this experience while training in China.
4. For a comprehensive study of the main events in Dōgen’s travels and studies in China, see Satõ Shðkõ 1996 and 1998.
5. Other topics mentioned in the traditional biographies that are problematic range from birth to death, including his aristocratic family background and parents, meeting with Eisai in 1215, trip to Kamakura in 1247–1248, declining of the imperial offer of a purple robe in the late 1240s, and final return to Kyoto with illness in 1253.
6. Despite the claim in Eihei kõroku no. 1.48 that Dōgen returned from China “empty-handed” (kðshu genkyõ), the “Shari sõdenki” indicates that he returned with the relics of Myõzen, which were given away to a lay female disciple before Dōgen’s arrival in Kyoto (DZZ III, p. 34 and DZZ VI, pp. 216–18). However, as William Bodiford has pointed out to me, the shisho document supposedly given to Dōgen by Ju-ching and now designated a national treasure by the Japanese government most certainly is a medieval forgery. It is noteworthy that the document Dōgen describes is a long, thin scroll just like modern Chinese Ch’an “Dharma Scrolls” depicted by Holmes Welch, which is completely different from the shisho attributed to Ju-ching.
7. A period of itinerancy is called so because the monks arrived in the evening and left in the morning (tanshin).
8. The ranking of the Five Mountains temples was: 1. Mt. Ching-shan Wan-shou Ch’an szu, of Hang-chou; 2. Mt. A-yü-wang-shan Kuang li Ch’an szu, of Ming-chou; 3. Mt. T’ai-pai-shan T’ient’ung Ching-te Ch’an szu, of Ming-chou; 4. Mt. Pei-shan Ch’ing-te ling-yin Ch’an szu, of Hang-chou; 5. Mt. Nan-shan Ch’ing tz’u pao en kuang hsiao Ch’an szu, of Hang-chou. The system actually consisted of some fifty temples in a three-tiered ranking. Japanese temples were influenced by a small handful of Sung Chinese temples, which are depicted with diagrams in the Gozan jissatsu zu held at Gikai’s Daijõ-ji temple in Kanazawa and in the Kenchõji sashizð based on Mt. T’ien-t’ung (Collcutt 1981, pp. 175–77).
9. The heading of the verse that precedes this one in the Eihei kõroku collection refers to Shimane Prefecture.
10. These have been reproduced and re-released by Sõtõ-shð in two different editions edited by Sakai (1984) and Nara (2001), the latter in conjunction with the text of the Shushõgi in honor of memorials for Dōgen’s 800th birth and 750th death anniversaries. See also the recent “manga” version of Dōgen’s life (Nakano 2001).
11. For other important studies of Dōgen and Chinese Ch’an, see also Ishii 1987, 1988, and 1991; Yanagida 1984.
12. See especially SBGZ “Senmen,” “Senjõ,” “Den’e,” and “Kusa kudoku.”
13. Ejõ was the first Daruma-shð follower to join Dōgen; he visited him in Fukakusa in 1228 and then became a permanent fixture and key recorder (jisha) at Kõshõ-ji in 1234. Also, in the early 1240s Enni Ben’en returned from China and with the aid of the government established Tõfuku-ji as the leading Rinzai-shð temple in Kyoto modeled on Sung temples. Tõfuku-ji was placed nearby, and it dwarfed, Kõshõ-ji.
14. Note that this fascicle was written at a hermitage in the Echizen mountains during the eleventh month of 1243.
15. According to Takeuchi (1992, p. 136), a third of the dialogues in the text focus on doctrine, a third on zazen, and the rest on rituals, precepts, ceremonies, people, and texts.
16. According to Shõbõgenzõ zuimonki no. 1.1, as a foreigner Dōgen declined Ju-ching’s offer to be his personal attendant (DZZ VII, pp. 52–53).
17. Both colophons talk about having a mixed sense of joy at the discovery and of loss because there may be other undiscovered or missing works.
18. Jðfuku-ji in Kamakura, established by Eisai at the behest of the shogun, had an even greater emphasis on esoteric, thaumaturgic rituals.
19. Dōgen’s dual lineage stemming from Myõzen (Huang-lung branch of Lin-chi school) and Ju­ching (Ts’ao-tung school) was one of several such examples in Japanese Sõtõ, including Ejõ and Keizan who had mixed Daruma-shð and Sõtõ-shð transmission affliations.
20. Also, “Bendõwa” refers brieµy to Myõzen, and in Shõbõgenzõ zuimonki no. 6.15 Dōgen discusses Myõzen’s decision to leave Japan while his teacher was dying, as Dōgen was the only one to encourage him by valuing pursuit of the Dharma and the need to not waste precious time over human life. In the same text he eulogizes Eisai in nos. 1.14, 2.1, 2.8, 2.21, 3.2, 3.3, 3.7, 3.9, 4.4, 5.8, 5.10, and 6.9. In Eihei kõroku, Dōgen memorializes Eisai on 7/5 in 1251 (no. 441) and 1252 (no. 512). Note that the numbering system used for Shõbõgenzõ zuimonki citations is based on Ikeda 1993, rather than DZZ (which does not number the passages).
21. Following Ejõ’s arrival at Kõshõ-ji in 1234, the next wave of Daruma-shð followers to come to Dōgen appeared in 1241, including Gikai, Gien, Giin, and Gijun, who were all associated with Ekan and the temple at Hajaku-ji in Echizen.
22. It is interesting to note the significance of deaths surrounding key experiences in Dōgen’s life, including his father in 1202 (when he was 2), mother in 1207 (he was 7), Eisai in 1216 (a year after their supposed meeting), Kõin in 1216 (shortly after their meeting), uncle Ryõkan in 1217, Wu-chi in 1224, Myõzen in 1225, Che-weng in 1225, Jien in 1225, and Ju-ching in 1227 (or 1228).
23. Plum blossom imagery is especially important in SBGZ “Baika” and throughout the Eihei kõroku; see also SBGZ “Udonge.”
24. In both the Hõkyõki and Shõbogenzõ zuimonki, Dōgen mentions the influence of four collections of the transmission of the lamp, namely, the Ching-te ch’uan-teng lu, the T’ien-sheng kuang-teng lu, the Chien-chung ching-kuo hsü-teng lu, and the Chia-t’ai p’u-teng lu. He does not, however, mention the Tsung-men t’ung-yao chi or the Tsung-men lien-teng hui-yao, although Ishii argues for the importance of these texts, especially the former (1988). SBGZ “Kokyõ” is an example of a fascicle that cites numerous kõan cases beyond what is found in the main transmission of the lamp records.
25. The Ju-ching verse was later mentioned in SBGZ “Kokð” in 1245 and also alluded to in the “Immo” fascicle of 1242.
26. Senne, the compiler of this volume of the Eihei kõroku, notes that, “Many words were not recorded.” Presumably, Dōgen spoke more, but Senne only wrote down what is included here. This sermon is also notable for Dōgen’s emphasis on the role of language in relation to silence in communicating the Dharma. He mentions Tan-hsia (Hung-chih’s teacher), who once reported that Te-shan said, “There are no words and phrases (goku) in my school…” but Tan-hsia said, “In my school, there are words and phrases….” Dogen adds, “I would not have spoken like this. Great assembly, do you want to hear what I have to say? In my school there are only words and phrases (yui-goku) [emphasis added]….”
27. For example, in SBGZ “Butsudõ” Ju-ching says, “In recent years the truth of the patriarchs has degenerated into bands of demons and animals” (DZZ I, p. 481).
28. For other comments on the role of giving sermons and related topics in introducing Zen monasticism to Japan, see in addition to Eihei Kõroku no. 2.128 on the first evening discourse (bansan) in Japan the following: no 2.138 on Dōgen’s being the first to transmit the role of the chief cook (tenzo) to Japan; no. 3.244 in which Dōgen says, “I am expounding Zen discourse all over the country”; no. 4.319 on dedicating the Monks Hall on Mt. Kichijõ in Echizen; no. 5.358 on Japanese monks “listening to the name of jõdõ sermons for the first time since I transmitted it”; no. 5.378 about Dōgen’s delivery of sermons being “the most extraordinary thing”; no. 5.406 on ceremonies in Japan to celebrate the birth of Sakyamuni Buddha, in which Dōgen says, “I, Eihei, imported [this ritual] twenty years ago and held it. It must be transmitted in the future.”
29. Although influenced by Ju-ching, Dōgen clearly favored Hung-chih as the model for the formal, Chinese, jõdõ-style sermons in the Eihei kõroku.
30. According to Shohaku Okumura and Taigen Dan Leighton, who are preparing a translation of the Eihei kõroku to be published by Wisdom, the phrase, “The lifeless rocks nod their heads again and again,” is a reference to Tao-sheng, Kumarajiva’s great disciple and early Chinese Buddhist scholar, who, based on a passage in the Mahāparinirvāna Sutra that all beings can become a buddha, went to the mountain and preached the Dharma to the rocks, which nodded in response.