Goroku no shisōshi: Chūgoku Zen no kenkyū (“An Intellectual History of Chinese Zen's Dialogue Records”) is a contribution to the field of Zen (Chinese Chan) Studies by one of Japan's leading new Zen scholars, Ogawa Takashi (Takashi Ogawa) of Komazawa University. Ogawa's work, following in the venerable tradition of Japanese Zen scholarship established by domineering figures like Yanagida Seizan 柳田聖山 and Iriya Yoshitaka 入矢義高, not to mention Shiina Kōyū 椎名宏雄, Tanaka Ryōshō 田中良昭, and Ishii Shūdō 石井修道, seeks to fill big shoes indeed, and may be regarded as an attempt to continue Japan's scholarly prowess in an area that it has clearly dominated. To an extent, Ogawa has succeeded and this alone warrants our considered attention to his work.
In many respects, Ogawa has set for himself a daunting task, bringing expertise from multiple disciplines – Chinese thought, Chinese religious history, Buddhist Studies, Zen history, Chinese linguistics and the decoding of Zen sources – to the reading and interpretation of key Zen documents. Written in Japanese, the book is divided into four parts, an introduction (“The Oak Tree in the Courtyard: On How to Read Zen Dialogue Records”) and three chapters: (1) “The Zutang ji 祖堂集 and Tang Dynasty Zen”; (2) “The Blue Cliff Record 碧巌録 and Song Dynasty Zen”; and (3) “Hu Shi and Daisetsu: Twentieth Century Zen.” Two things initially struck this reviewer as problematic: the apparently essentialist paradigm that structured the book's contents, equating the Zutang ji (“Patriarch's Hall Anthology,” Jpn. Sodō shū) with Tang dynasty Zen and the Blue Cliff Record (Biyan lu, Jpn. Hekigan roku) with Song dynasty Zen; and the connection (or lack thereof) between the contents of Chapters 1 and 2 with the two personalities most responsible for internationalizing Zen and Zen Studies and for bringing Zen to the West, the Chinese scholar and diplomat, Hu Shi 胡適, and the Japanese Zen proselytizer, Daisetsu (referring to Suzuki Daisetsu 鈴木大拙, or D. T. Suzuki). Happily, these misgivings did not bear fruit upon closer examination. The Zutang ji, compiled in 952, is properly treated as a text reflecting developments in Zen from the late Tang and Five Dynasties periods. Chapter 1 is not solely concerned with the Zutang ji at the expense of other early Zen transmission histories and other texts that reflect understandings of Zen as it emerged from the late Tang dynasty, Five Dynasties, and early Song dynasty periods, when Zen first imagined itself as a unified tradition in terms that have continued in many respects down to the present day. Similarly, Song dynasty Zen is not reduced simplistically to the Blue Cliff Record in Chapter 2, and the text serves merely as a focus for comparison with other texts that contain gong'an 公案 (Jpn. kōan) or gong'an-like episodes in an attempt to reveal intrinsic aspects of gong'an teaching and practice. Hu Shi and D. T. Suzuki are treated as the most influential modern proponents of the seminal Zen texts and gong'an practices considered in Chapters 1 and 2, thus bringing the arch of Zen and its interpretation down to the present day. Indeed, the entire work, taken in total, may be reduced to the question, “How to read a Zen kōan,” with distinctive perspectives put forward for the texts, periods, and figures in question.
Goroku no shisōshi is a work too rich in detail to be treated fully in a short review such as this, and I am able to provide here only the slightest window into the merits of its contents. Two things, in particular, struck me as noteworthy: the linguistic insights that Ogawa brings to the reading and interpretation of notoriously difficult and impenetrable Zen colloquialisms, and the methodology with which Ogawa compares similar Zen fragments redacted in different sources. The work is commendable in both regards, and should serve as a model for future scholarship to follow.
The work is built around a series of gong'an/kōan investigations across different sources, stemming from episodes in gong'an collections, but also including “transmission histories” (denglu 燈錄, Jpn. tōshi) where the gong'an episodes are first recorded, as well as other works like the Zongjing lu 宗鏡錄 (Jpn. Sugyō roku) that contain relevant fragments pertaining to the study of Chan yulu (Jpn. goroku). In this light, it might be better to think of the work as actually a Kōan no shisōshi (“An Intellectual History of Kōan”), though the structure of the work clearly suggests that what can be determined about the evolution and transformation of kōan – how they were understood, how they were used and interpreted, etc. – is applicable to the goroku genre as a whole.
The discussion in the Introduction is developed around “the oak tree (or “cypress” in some interpretations) in the courtyard” kōan, Zhaozhou Congshen's 趙州從諗 famous response to a student's question: “Why did the patriarch (i.e., Bodhidharma) come from the west?” featured in case #37 of the Wumen guan 無門關. Through the introduction, Ogawa stresses two main points that are at the center of his argument. First of all, the interpretation of “the oak tree in the courtyard” kōan has not been static, but has evolved and transformed over time. Beneath the overly simplistic Tang Zen vs. Song Zen rubric is a highly nuanced and sophisticated discussion of how the kōan, and others like it, function in several historically rooted Zen works (none of which date before the Zutang ji, compiled in 952). Secondly, modern readings of kōan rely on interpretations fully developed in the wake of the Song dynasty kanhua 看話 technique of Dahui Zonggao 大慧宗杲, systemized in the kanna zen 看話禅 method of Hakuin Ekaku 白隠慧鶴 in Edo period Japan, and perpetuated by D. T. Suzuki and Kyoto School philosophers in modern Japan, through whom it spread to the West. This reading evolved over time, and does not reflect the way kōan were read and interpreted earlier. Non-Japanese specialists, at least, will be surprised that Ogawa invokes the work of the Japanese linguist Izutsu Toshihiko 井筒俊彦, whose meta-analytical interpretation of kōan is taken as epitomizing the continuation of this trend in Japan. (Professor Izutsu was a specialist in Islam and comparative linguistics for many years at Tokyo's Keio University, until his death in 1993. Much of his work was based on developing a meta-philosophical approach to comparative religion based upon a rigorous linguistic study of traditional metaphysical texts, including Zen texts). Izutsu's interpretation, according to Ogawa, is built on an intuitively presupposed structure of existence and perception whereby the named “thing” (i.e., the oak tree) is affirmed at first as existing, only to be nullified through the application of prajñā negation, and ultimately reaffirmed as transcending the limitations of its provisional and unreal nature, to assume its status as absolute, or “true suchness.” As persuasive and attractive as Izutsu's explanation is to Ogawa, he contends that it presupposes a latent structure inherent in Zen dialogues that reduces their meaning in stereotypical ways, defying the original, actual and realistic scenario of Zen kōan as the active words of living people. Further, Izutsu's theory is wrapped up in the attempt to systematically present a totalistic Asian philosophy that as far as Zen's contribution is concerned, actually reflects an historical formalization that occurred in the Song dynasty with the systemization of kōan in the Linji faction, in other words the kanhua Zen of Dahui Zonggao. In fact, the universalization of kōan interpretation is the product of a particular age (which Ogawa identifies with Dahui's), and was not necessarily inevitable. The problem with this tendency to interpret kōan as transcendent in meaning, according to Ogawa, is that it extracts the dialogues from the meaningful correspondence between question and answer. Ogawa uses the analogy of the chessboard in the game of go, where the interaction between the stones is viewed as a function of the board in its entirety, not as the interaction between individual stones in relation to each other. Song kōan collections are viewed as uprooted and disconnected fragments, just as the stones on the go board are objectified and treated in terms of systematic patterns removed from their original meaning and context. This abstraction of kōan study as a universal “method” rather than a particular interaction suggests to Ogawa a fundamental difference between Song and Tang approaches to kōan.
In Chapter 1, “The Zutang ji and Tang Dynasty Zen,” Ogawa focuses on the teachings attributed to the two great Chan figures who serve as conduits through which all future Chan lineages allegedly descend: Mazu Daoyi 馬祖道一 and Shitou Xiqian 石頭希遷. In the case of Mazu, the focus is on well-known teachings attributed to him: “mind is Buddha” (ji xin shi fo 即心是佛), “functioning is nature” (zuoyong ji xing 作用即性), and “every day with nothing to do” (pingchang wushi 平常無事), and how these teachings are portrayed (and evolve) through their rendering in different textual representations. Ogawa maintains that while each of the slogans is indicative of Mazu's teaching, of the three, “mind is Buddha” is the kernel and the other two are manifestations or applications. In a word, Mazu's teaching represents an affirmation of oneself as one is – nothing else need be accomplished. Shitou's teachings are contrasted as essentially critiques of Mazu's, whereby Shitou's is “the shop that sells true gold” (zhenjin pu 真金鋪), Mazu's is “a shop of miscellaneous sundries” (zahuo pu 雜貨鋪) – based on a line recorded in the Zutang ji. Ogawa uses this to focus on the intellectual pretexts through which members of the Shitou lineage distinguished themselves from the Mazu faction in their critiques. The crux of these critiques is that Mazu, by stipulating that every action (“raising an eyebrow, moving an eye”), no matter how minuscule or mundane, is the functioning of the Buddha-nature, mistakes this superficial activity for the real, original Buddha-nature (i.e., they mistake miscellaneous sundries for real gold). As Ogawa points out, the gist of this critique harkens back to Zongmi's complaint against the Hongzhou 洪州 school for obsessing over peripheral activities while losing sight of the Buddhist models that anchored and guided them.
Chapter 2, at nearly two hundred pages the longest in the book, focuses squarely on the kōan tradition that culminates in the collection, the Blue Cliff Record, compiled in its current form by Yuanwu Keqin 圓悟克勤 (1063–1135) and used prominently by Yuanwu's successor Dahui Zonggao. Kōan cases that figure prominently in this chapter include: “Baizhang's Wild Duck” (# 53), “Zhaozhou's Seven Pound Cloth Jacket” (# 45), and “Zhaozhou's Four Gates” (# 9). The explicit purpose of the chapter is to investigate kōan in the Blue Cliff Record in order to expose the process of transformation in their interpretation from Tang to Song dynasty Zen. In addition to the standard version of the Blue Cliff Record emanating from the republication of Zhang Mingyuan 張明遠 in the Yuan dynasty, Ogawa has also availed himself of the “One Night Blue Cliff” 一夜碧巖 version (also known as the “One Night Text” 一夜本), which Dōgen 道元 allegedly copied in a flurry on his final night in China before returning to Japan. Through careful analysis, Ogawa establishes his main thesis that Song dynasty interpretation of kōan cases differed substantially from Tang ones. Ogawa charts the beginnings of this change from the compilation of the Tiansheng Guangdeng lu 天聖廣燈錄 in 1036, and consolidated in full form with the compilation of the Blue Cliff Record. There is no doubt, according to Ogawa, that Yuanwu completely transformed the way in which kōan cases were understood, criticizing Mazu's “do nothing Zen” 無事禪, characterized as the Tang Zen approach, and replacing it and recasting Zen kōan as means to induce a complete and transformative awakening experience 太悟徹底. The new method through which this is accomplished is the focus on the “critical phrase” of the kōan, or huatou 話頭. Ogawa characterizes this turn as the systemization of awakening, or “the transformation of the awakening experience into a methodology” (kaigo no “hōhō” ka 開悟の「方法」化). Ogawa's analysis leads him to postulate the evolution of kōan interpretation in the Song dynasty through different stages: the trend of “words and letters Zen” (wenzi chan 文字禪) in the Northern Song, Dahui Zonggao's “kanna Zen” 看話禪 (kanhua Chan) stretching from the Northern Song to the Southern Song, with Wumen Huikai's Wumen guan viewed as a transitional text that avails itself of inducing awakening through kanna Zen, while using “words and letters Zen” for explanation. With the transformation of awakening (satori 悟り) into a normative concept and prescriptive method, according to Ogawa, Zen's unique vitality waned and there were hardly any new intellectual developments thereafter. With this normative concept and prescriptive method, Zen was propagated throughout East Asia, and in the twentieth century, transmitted to Europe and America.
Chapter 3 focuses on the interpretation of kōan, and by extension the interpretation of Zen in the twentieth century through an examination of the works of Hu Shi and Suzuki Daisetsu. Hu Shi's attraction to Zen was initiated through his interest in the history of colloquial literature (baihua wenxue shi 白話文學史) in China, as part of an early twentieth-century movement toward expressing ideas in vernacular Chinese rather than the arcane Classical idiom. Ogawa also notes the influence that John Dewey's Pragmatism and “pragmatic method” (jikkenteki hōhō 実験的方法) had on Hu Shi, as well as the influence of techniques employed in the evidential scholarship of the Qing dynasty (shinchō kōshōgaku no shuhō 清朝考証学の手法), both of which informed Hu Shi's spirit of scientific inquiry. Ogawa infers that Hu Shi's preoccupation with modern scientific method (recall that Hu Shi authored a book entitled The Development of the Logical Method in Ancient China) was also exhibited in his concern regarding the use of methodology in Zen, particularly the peripatetic style allegedly employed by practitioners in classic sources while somewhat literally treading the path to enlightenment. While the impact of Hu Shi on Zen scholarship in Japan, and elsewhere, is readily conceded (Ogawa references Hu Shi's influence on Yanagida Seizan, and himself, for example), Suzuki's influence, so well known in the West as to not need explaining, has been minimal according to Ogawa. He admits to a certain embarrassment over his interest in Suzuki, and presents his work as if it is being introduced to much of his audience for the first time. This is largely due to the status that Suzuki occupies in the West as a seminal figure in the transmission of Zen, whereas in Japan he plays but a minor if important role in a long and illustrious tradition. In his discussion, Ogawa sounds familiar themes found in Suzuki's works – satori, Zen “consciousness,” the logic of negation, realizing things “as they are” (“sono mama”), discrimination which transcends discrimination (or “the discrimination of non-discrimination”), and the miraculous functioning of true emptiness – most of which Western students of Zen are amply familiar with.
This work is a welcome addition in two respects. On the one hand, it covers a period of Zen history, the Song dynasty, which is beginning to receive the attention it deserves as the crucial period for the development of Zen identity. For a Japanese work, it is unique in being essentially non-sectarian in nature, with neither an eye toward Rinzai or Sōtō orthodoxy or developments. In many respects, it represents the views of an “outsider,” with little or no vested interest in how the sources impacted a “true” or correct interpretation of Zen. Coupled with this is an acumen for which Japanese scholarship has become deservedly famous, and Ogawa's expertise in the reading of primary Zen goroku texts serves as a wonderful primer on the latest advances in this area. Having said this, when Ogawa resorts to rather crude and essentialistic generalizations in his analysis (i.e., Tang Zen vs. Song Zen), no matter how refined and sophisticated in their execution, many will feel as if visited by the ghosts of a fading paradigm. While Ogawa is correct in applying an evolutionary scheme to the changing styles of kōan interpretation, the use of a model imposed by Confucian literati to preserve the verities of dynastic continuity (i.e., Tang vs. Song) is ill-suited to the specifics of Zen literary history. Better if Ogawa had adopted a literary-historical approach that was text specific rather than dynastically determined, and tethered his examination to the specific texts themselves rather than the broad generalizations of a flawed paradigm. And while the Hu Shi/Suzuki discussion may be revelatory to his primary Japanese audiences, it is less so to those of us who have been nurtured on the debate between them since their introduction to Zen Studies. And while Suzuki and Hu Shi provoked Ogawa's interest in Zen interpretation, he seems similarly bound to the themes and episodes that animated their interest. In terms of production quality, the work reflects the high standards typical of Japanese academic publications, especially the venerable Iwanami publishing house. The only thing lacking, perhaps, is an abstract or summary of the work in English and especially Chinese, which could have improved accessibility of the contents to two important groups of scholarly readers.
