Dao (2012) 11:21–37 DOI 10.1007/s11712-011-9255-9
Paradoxicality of Institution, De-Institutionalization and the Counter-Institutional: A Case Study in Classical Chinese Chan Buddhist Thought WANG Youru
Published online: 20 January 2012 # Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2012
Abstract This article examines the issue of the paradoxicality of institution, deinstitutionalization, or the counter-institutionalization in classical Chan thought by focusing on the texts of Hongzhou School. It first analyzes the problem of 20th century scholars in characterizing the Chan attitude toward institution as iconoclasts, and the problem of the recent tendency to return to images of the Chan masters as traditionalists, as opposed to iconoclasts. Both problems are examples of imposing an oppositional way of thinking on the Chan masters. The essay then introduces a new paradigm for interpreting the Chan attitude toward institution, the model of deinstitutionalization, which borrows certain insights from Derrida’s idea of the counter-institutional. However, the new model is supported by the Chan heritage of Mahayana Buddhist philosophy. This model can more consistently construe the Chan understanding of the paradoxicality of institution, the subtle Chan relationship of being “with and against” institution, and the Chan “middle way” to make institution remain open to its outside and to transformation. Keywords De-Institutionalization . Counter-Institutional . Chan Buddhism . Hongzhou School . Derrida
1 Introduction In this essay I will explore the philosophical issue of the paradoxicality of institution, de-institutionalization, or the counter-institutional in the understanding of classical Chinese Chan Buddhist thought. I will discuss the issue in two parts. The first part will start with the problems of the iconoclasm model used by 20th century
WANG Youru (*) Department of Philosophy and Religion Studies, Rowan University, Bunce Hall, 3rd Floor, 201 Mullica Hill Road, Glassboro, NJ 08028, USA e-mail:
[email protected]
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scholars to characterize or interpret the classical Chan attitude toward institution. My analysis in this part will then focus on the opposite of the iconoclasm model, the traditionalistic interpretation of the Chan attitude, a problem that reveals the limits of current critiques of the iconoclasm model. Based on the problematic of these two opposite models, the second part will introduce a new paradigm for understanding or interpreting this classical Chan attitude, the model of de-institutionalization, which borrows certain insights from Derrida’s discussion on the counter-institutional. The model of de-institutionalization is supported by the Chan heritage of Mahāyāna Buddhist philosophy of relationality and non-duality. This new model will better characterize the Chan understanding of the paradoxicality of institution and the subtle Chan relationship of being “with and against” institution. It should be noted, however, that my examination will only take the form of a case study, limiting itself to the major texts and teachings of the Hongzhou 洪州 school, one of the most influential schools in classical Chan Buddhism, since it would be impossible for this short article to examine the entirety of classical Chan thought on this issue. It should also be noted that, following contemporary philosophical discourse on institution or institutionalization, I will discuss the issue of institution or institutionalization in terms of the broad meanings of these terms, which go beyond the merely material side of social/ religious (or monastic) ordering/organization. They involve all kinds of established/ formalized social-cultural system or systematization, including ideology, philosophy, and religion and its canonized teachings.1 In addition, the use of the term de-institutionalization in this discussion should be distinguished from non-institutionalization, namely, from the sense of the absence of institutionalization. I will come back to the meanings of de-institutionalization with more details in the second part of this paper.
2 The Problematic of the Iconoclasm Model and the Limits of the Current Critique of the Iconoclasm Model Evolved from its Greek root, the word “iconoclasm” literally means “image breaking.” The word “iconoclast” literally means “image destroyer,” the one who deliberately destroys religious icons and other symbols from within one’s own religion, usually for the purpose of religious or political change. The term “iconoclast” or “iconoclastic” has thus been commonly applied to any person who breaks, attacks, or tends to overthrow what has been established, such as beliefs, ideals, customs, conventions, or institutions. Here I do not track the history of the usage of these
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According to the Webster’s Third New International Dictionary of the English Language Unabridged 1993, the verb institute involves the meaning of “to originate and get established,” “to organize,” or “to inaugurate.” Institution means “an establishment or foundation especially of public character,” for example, “an established society or corporation,” or “a customary relationship,” or something that is instituted as “a significant and persistent element in the life of a culture.” The word “institutionalize” involves the meaning of “to incorporate into a system of organized and often highly formalized belief, practice or acceptance.” Here the key meanings of these words are establishment, founding/foundation, ordering/organization, regulation, generalization/formalization, and so on, in the form of any social-cultural system, including ideology, philosophy, or religion. It is these root meanings that are examined by recent philosophical discourses such as Derrida’s, as you can see in the second part of my paper.
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terms,2 which is beyond the scope of this essay, but rather call attention to a philosophical-linguistic analysis on the main elements of the meanings of these terms, namely, on the meanings of “break/breaking” and “destruction/destroying” contained in these terms, which will be more relevant to my ensuing discussion. A quick survey of reliable dictionaries shows that the word “to break” often involves the meanings of “to separate,” “to cut clearly,” “to discontinue,” “to undergo a rupture,” “to bring to an end,” and “to destroy,” among others. As demonstrated by these meanings and their uses, the term “iconoclast” or “iconoclastic” is often assigned to people or actions of radical or even revolutionary nature, namely, people or actions that radically break with or destroy conventions and institutions without compromising. The use of iconoclasm, in the sense of radical breaking or destroying, thus presupposes and implies philosophically an either/or logic, or a dichotomy, between convention and non-convention, institution and non-institution, and so on, without any ambiguity, selfcontradiction, deferring or re-turn. It excludes paradoxicality and denies any underlying connection between two sides or any middle ground. What stands behind iconoclasm is thus an oppositional way of thinking, which inevitably leads to the privilege of noninstitution or non-convention over institution or convention, and to a radical separation from, or a destruction of, institution, convention or tradition. It is such a model of iconoclasm deeply rooted in the oppositional way of thinking that was used by 20th century scholars, both in the West and in East Asia, to characterize the classical Chan attitude toward conventions and institutions. One of the 20th century’s most prominent transmitters of Chan Buddhism in the West, John Blofeld, in his 1974 publication, plainly acknowledged that “[t]he recent widespread Western interest in Ch’an owes much to the appeal of … the sect’s seeming iconoclasm … as exemplified by the anecdote applauding a monk who chopped up a wooden image of the Buddha to provide a fire against the cold of a winter’s night” (Blofeld 1974: 118). This is very true of many of the 20th century’s books on Chan in the West, portraying enlightened Chan masters as radically rejecting all institutionalized teachings and practices. Although Blofeld is among those famous for their “openness to cultural and historical ideals quite other than their own” (Wright 1998: viii) and for their boldness in criticizing certain aspects of their own culture, he forgets here that he is picking up the term iconoclasm simply from his own culture without questioning its underlying assumptions. He looks at Chan through this lens of iconoclasm and is influenced by its oppositional way of thinking. With this lens, Chan becomes what he sees as iconoclast, and he neglects those historical-textual materials that do not support his iconoclast interpretation of Chan. Many modern Chinese and Japanese scholars, on the other side, did almost the same. For example, HU Shi unhesitatingly characterized classical Chinese Chan as 2 For the historical usage of these terms and their contexts, in addition to looking at the information in dictionaries such as Webster’s Third New International Dictionary of the English Language Unabridged 1993, it would be very useful to check on some books specialized in the study of iconoclast movements in the history of the Abrahamic religions, such as Bryer and Herrin 1977 and Freedberg 1977. However, my brief discussion of the usage of these terms focuses on how modern Chan interpreters use these terms. Their usage is obviously influenced by, and has its root in, the study of the Abrahamic religions. Although this essay does not refer to any details about how these modern Chan scholars are influenced by the study of Western religions, my philosophical-linguistic analysis of the meanings of these terms points to the common ground of an oppositional or dichotomized way of thinking that is shared by all these users.
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“revolutionary” and “iconoclastic,” as “a great liberation of thought and belief from the old shackles of tradition and authority” (Hu 1975: 679, 680). Hu quite plainly depicts Chan in radical iconoclast terms, admiring Chan for breaking free from tradition. In doing so, he falls prey to the mentality of privileging discontinuity over continuity, or clear-cut separation over ambiguous relation, which would have been un-thought of by classical Chan Buddhists. This mentality unfortunately guides Hu’s interpretation of historical Chan. YANAGIDA Seizan, the leading Japanese scholar on Chinese Chan, whose historical-textual studies of classical Chan were widely accepted in the West, thought too that MAZU Daoyi 馬祖道一 and the followers of his Hongzhou school broke with previous Buddhist tradition, and started a new type of religiosity that rejected all established forms of Buddhist practices, including the practices of meditation and scriptural exegesis (Yanagida 1969: 40 and Yanagida 1974: 53-6). Although Yanagida is an accomplished Chan historian, whose studies have shed much light on our re-thinking of early and classical Chan history, his interpretation of classical Chan stays basically on the same iconoclast track. More recently, however, scholars have started to question the appropriateness of applying this iconoclasm model to classical Chan, especially to the schools like Hongzhou. Such problems as whether the Hongzhou school is qualified to be iconoclast, and whether Chan iconoclasm is more a later addition to the Hongzhou school by some Song Dynasty Chan Buddhists or a familiar Western theme favored by modern interpreters of Chan than it originally was, are exposed by recent studies of classical Chan, even though the studies are done more by historians or philologists than by philosophers. For example, a recent article, in distinguishing MAZU Daoyi’s more reliable sermons from those “encounter dialogues” recorded under Mazu’s name, points out that there is a lack of consistency between the sermons and the dialogues regarding their literary formats, rhetorical styles, and religious contents. The format of the sermons is traditional, and their contents do not fit the radical image of a religious revolutionary who was determined to overturn established traditions and transgress conventional norms of monastic behavior. In the dialogues, however, instead of being portrayed as an abbot of a public monastery and an exemplar of proper moral behavior to a large monastic community, Mazu is depicted as a strikingly unconventional figure, an iconoclast who subverted the established mores of his time. Although this latter part was considered by many scholars to be the beginning of the classical tradition of “Chan encounter dialogue,” the author reveals that among these recorded cases of dialogue, only a few did appear in the late-Tang and Five Dynasty Chan texts. Most of them are the Song addition to the records of Mazu. The historical authenticity of these dialogues is suspicious (Poceski 2004: 53-79). Despite the concession, somewhere in his paper, that it is hard to verify the complete nonexistence of these dialogues in Tang history as well, the author concludes that this transformation of the text of Mazu, namely, the process of the refashioning of Mazu and his disciples into radical iconoclasts through these dialogues, reflects the changing beliefs of the Chan school and the sectarian needs of certain Chan factions (Poceski 2004: 71-2). It is not my position here to argue or judge whether the dialogue part of Mazu’s text still provides valuable information or not for the study of Mazu, his Hongzhou school, and Tang Chan Buddhism despite its historical inaccuracy. Nor is it the
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purpose of this essay to focus on the problems in the literary formats and styles of Chan texts. My focus is rather on the conceptual analysis of the ideas and thought of the Hongzhou school that are related to the issue of institution or institutionalization, and their interpretations. With this focus, I acknowledge that the article I mentioned above and other historians or philologists’ works do help us to see, through their analysis of the historical evidences, the various contradictions of using the iconoclasm model to interpret classical Chan, especially the Hongzhou school. My analysis will tend to utilize rather than neglect these historians’ contributions. However, my conceptual analysis will not rest content with providing further support to the claim of the problematic of the iconoclasm model and using the Hongzhou texts that these historians have proven reliable and safe.3 My reading and analysis of these Hongzhou texts, especially Mazu’s sermons, will discover more than what the historians have claimed as non-iconoclastic features, namely, those literary formats and styles of quoting or alluding to canonical scriptures and adding elaborations to the cited passages, the kind of thing that a traditional Dharma teacher would have always done (Poceski 2004: 60-1). My analysis will attempt to go deeper into the internal tension and contradiction of the textual contents even within the sermon part of Mazu’s Yulu 語錄, on which the historians have done very little examination.4 In a paper published recently on Hongzhou Chan’s deconstruction of the concept of karma and its paradoxical/aporetic dimension of the ethical, I referred to something extremely important, that at the end of one of Mazu’s famous sermons he plainly reminded his students of observing precepts and accumulating good karma, the traditional moral teachings of any Buddhist institution (Wang 2007: 88-9). This sermon is well-known for his notion that “ordinary mind is the dao.” In this sermon, he deconstructs the various conventional distinctions between the ordinary mind and Buddha mind, between right and wrong, grasping and abandoning, termination and 3
The Hongzhou texts I refer to in this study, based on some recent historians’ works, include Mazu’s sermons rather than his dialogues from the Mazu Yulu, DAZHU Huihai’s Discourse Records of Dazhu and Visiting Students from All Quarters (Zhufang Menren Canwen Yulu 諸方門人參問語錄) rather than his Essential Teachings of Sudden Enlightenment (Dunwu Yaomen 頓悟要門, see Jia’s critical examination of Dazhu’s texts, in Jia 2006: 61), and HUANGBO Xiyun’s Wanling Records (Wanling Lu 宛陵錄, see Poceski 2004: 56). In some cases of disagreement with the historians, I present my justification and argument for the use of these debatable materials. 4 Both Jia and Poceski, in their recent critical studies on the history and texts of the Hongzhou school, conclude that the sermons included in the Mazu’s Yulu are quite reliable, while most dialogues in the Yulu are not, and probably they are the later additions to the sermons of the early text (see Jia 2006: 53-6; Poceski 2004: 57-62). Although their studies confirm the contradictions of literary styles, formats and contents between the sermon part and the dialogue part within the text of the Yulu, they do not philosophically examine all the tension and contradiction of ideas involved even in the sermons themselves, due to the limited scope of their study. For example, one of Mazu’s sermons involves apparently conflicting ethical stances. Exploring if and how it is possible to solve this internal ethical tension and contradiction in the understanding and interpretation of Mazu and Hongzhou thus becomes a central theme of a recently published essay of mine, which is summarized and integrated into the ensuing discussion and can be seen as a supplement to Jia and Poceski’s historical-textual studies. However, I use this example, in the ensuing discussion, to serve the purpose of this essay that this tension and contradiction also foreshadows the tension and contradiction between the iconoclasm model and the traditionalistic model. In other words, the revealed tension and contradiction between Mazu’s teachings in one of his sermons strongly defies both models. Although the recent historical-textual studies have made great contributions to the criticism of the iconoclasm model, they fail, in my view, to keep a clear distance from the traditionalistic model, the opposite of the iconoclasm model, as my ensuing discussion will indicate. My critique of the both models moves toward a middle ground, a new model of de-institutionalization, and in this way tries to overcome the limitations of some historians’ works.
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permanence, worldly and holy, cultivation and non-cultivation, sitting meditation and non-sitting, and so on (see HTC 119: 406a-407a). When we see Mazu’s bold proposal of “not cultivating and not sitting,” it is easy and convenient for us to connect it with a radical iconoclastic attitude, as is supported by those stories of encounter dialogues involving Mazu. However, different from those “encounter dialogue” stories/legends which could be taken out of context, the context of this sermon, if we read it correctly, does not permit us to label Mazu’s teaching as a kind of iconoclasm. Probably to the surprise of many modern interpreters, after de-familiarizing the traditions and conventions, Mazu returns to the familiar theme of good karma, morality, purification, and precepts.5 This is prominent evidence that lends strong support to our questioning of the appropriateness of the iconoclasm model. The Hongzhou masters’ attitude toward institution, as showed here, is much more complicated than an iconoclasm model can characterize. The Hongzhou masters never intend to abolish institutionalized teachings and practices, nor do they prefer a full break with the traditions and conventions. If the so-called iconoclastic attitude cannot be proven true to the Hongzhou Chan masters, can a traditionalist attitude be their true portrayal? Here I define the meaning of being traditionalist as someone who adheres to, gets stuck with, or tends to stabilize the established system of doctrines and practices. It is exactly the opposite of the iconoclastic. The two attitudes are polarized, as one cuts itself off from the institution and the other encloses itself within. They both conform to a kind of extremism and conceptual hierarchy. This question occurs to me for good reason, as I see recent studies on classical Chan by some historians have run the risk of falling on one side instead of the other. For instance, back to the article on Mazu I mentioned earlier, in exposing the inconsistency between the sermon part and the dialogue part of Mazu’s Yulu and the problems of the iconoclasm model, the author repeatedly uses such terms as “traditional teacher,” “conventional format,” “standard Buddhist ideas,” “conservative image,” and “conservative disposition” to characterize Mazu and his sermons. Having mentioned only in passing that Mazu’s sermons “exhibit a conception of religious doctrine and a direct rhetorical style that were characteristic of the Hongzhou school,” the author’s emphasis is that nothing in the sermons is “unique to the Chan school,” nor even “unique to Chinese Buddhism.” “[M]uch of the sermons’ contents is little more than a string of canonical quotations and allusions, accompanied by Mazu’s further elaboration of the cited passages” (Poceski 2004: 60-2, 67, 70). It seems to me that the author jumps to his conclusion a bit too quickly. His neglect of a detailed and careful analysis of the sermons’ contents, despite his right recognition of their literary format, leaves the impression that Mazu and the early followers of his Hongzhou school are not iconoclastic but rather traditionalist. This impression could be equally misleading and would not do justice to the text itself. Unfortunately, the historians seem to rest content with the exposure of the contradiction of the literary format in refuting Chan iconoclasm without paying enough attention to the danger of falling into another extreme.6 See Jia’s Appendix to her book, “Annotated Translation of MAZU Daoyi’s Discourses,” Sermon 4, in Jia 2006: 123-126. I do not intend to deny the merit of the author’s criticism of the iconoclasm model, among other things, in his historical study of Mazu. The point of my argument is to call attention to the possible danger of a traditionalistic interpretation of Hongzhou Chan as far as his 2004 paper is concerned. The interpretations presented in his 2007 book are more balanced. 5
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My philosophical analysis would like to begin where the historians’ work ends. My argument is that Mazu and the early followers of his Hongzhou school are neither iconoclasts nor traditionalists. The fact that Mazu and his early followers are not iconoclasts does not necessarily entail the point that they are traditionalists. An either/ or logic or an oppositional distinction simply does not work here. It is true that the Chan masters retain the institution, but they describe and interpret the institutionalized teachings and practices in heterogeneous terms. They do various things that destabilize and de-familiarize the tradition. They interrupt or suspend the traditional conceptual hierarchies, displace the established norms and forms, and challenge the conventional understandings at the very moments they give sermons. Here I limit my discussion to the sermons or the so-called more traditional forms of Chan discourse, to distinguish them from most of the encounter dialogue texts that have been considered by the historians as the Song Dynasty Chan re-fashioning of early masters into iconoclasts. In short, although the Hongzhou Chan masters do not go so far as to disconnect themselves from the institution and be qualified as iconoclasts, they do perform a kind of deconstructive operation upon the system to make it open to changing circumstances, to connect the inside and the outside, and to transform the institution. We have plenty of examples to illustrate this point. Much light has been shed recently on interpreting the Chan strategy of eschewing oppositional hierarchies and being open to the elusive third possibilities in terms of the paradigm of deconstruction. As I mentioned above, Mazu and other Hongzhou Chan masters deconstruct the various conceptual hierarchies between Buddha mind and the ordinary mind, right and wrong, pure and impure, knowing and not-knowing, cultivating and notcultivating, sitting meditation and not-sitting, and so on. One of their displacements of the institutionalized norms and teachings is their deconstruction of the concept of karma. The discourse of karma is part of the institutionalized teachings of Buddhism. The Buddha himself distinguishes good and bad (sometimes he also calls “white” and “black”) karma in terms of the relationship between deeds and volition and between deeds and consequences. Under the division of good and bad, the deeds included in the noble eightfold path—intellectual understanding, discipline, meditation, cultivation, and purification—are obviously on the side of good karma or ultimate goodness. The opposite side includes wrong views or wrong understanding, violation of discipline, impurity, and so on. The same line of division also separates karmic bondage and final freedom—the soteriological goal of Buddhism. The separation is clear-cut. In each pair, one is in sharp contrast with the other, and the order cannot be reversed. In the texts of Mazu’s early disciples such as DAZHU Huihai 大珠慧海7 and HUANGBO Xiyun 黃檗希運, what is traditionally placed on the side of good karma or ultimate goodness is instead seen as bad karma, deleterious to the final goal. In the eyes of these masters, purification, observing precepts, following the path, studying, devoting, seeking 7 In DAZHU Huihai’s Discourse Records of Dazhu and Visiting Students from All Quarters (in Chanzong Jicheng 1968, vol. 1), we found the following discussion on karma: “Question: ‘How can Mahāparinirvāna be attained?’ Master: ‘By avoiding all those karmas that keep you in the circle of birth and death.’ Question: ‘What are these karmas of birth and death?’ Master: ‘Seeking Mahāparinirvāna is the karma of birth and death. Abandoning impurity and grasping purity is another. Harboring attainments and verifications of attainment is another, and so is failure to detach from disciplines and precepts’” (see Blofeld 1962: 63).
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Buddha and the Dharma—all kinds of practices of Buddhism—are simply creating bad karma or the karma of birth and death. Even seeking the final goal—nirvana, realization of enlightenment, or verification of attainment—creates bad karma. Huangbo calls it the “karma of demons.” Here the Chinese word “mo 魔 (demons)” designates evil spirits, or Mara, the embodiment of death, desire, and the hindrance to enlightenment. “Moye 魔業 (karma of demons)” symbolizes all bad karmas (See Huangbo Xiyun’s Wanling Lu, in Chanzong Jicheng, vol. 13. Cf. Blofeld 1958: 91). It is therefore evident that these Chan masters are overturning or interrupting the traditional distinction and conceptual hierarchy of good and bad karma, the privileging of good karma over bad, and even the soteriological goal over karmic bondage (Wang 2007: 83-84).
When the Buddha makes those distinctions of good and bad karma and teaches the noble eightfold path, he bases these distinctions on practical situations and uses them to serve soteriological purposes. One of these purposes is to guide people, or get people on to the path. The Buddha adapts himself to different people and different situations for that purpose. He is sensitive to the fluidity of the circumstances, the possible violence or injustice to any singular situations when establishing norms and generalized teachings, and the attachments to these distinctions and concepts as the inevitable consequences of institutionalization, and the need to overcome them. Therefore, he warns people about these things. One form of attachment, among others, is to reify these distinctions, making them into the closure of conceptual hierarchy, taking them out of evolving practical context, and separating them from all living connections. The Hongzhou masters would agree that the Buddha’s teachings and his definitions of good/evil are all related to and function in the situations of this everyday world. Separating them from the dynamic world and concrete everyday activities makes them into a kind of conceptual closure. Apart from the transformation of the ordinary mind through concrete everyday activities, no “good” deeds, disciplines, cultivations, understanding of teachings, or seeking of attainments would do any real good for Buddhists. None of them deserve our pursuit, since they are all based on mental constructions or projections. They are reified, cut off from real connections. In terms of this analysis, the reified and privileged concepts of good karma, discipline, cultivation, and realization— including all reified concepts of Buddhist goals and practices—must be overturned. The suspension of these fixed distinctions aims exactly at de-reification and detachment, as a way to respond to the limits and inevitable negative consequences of institutionalization. The overturning is a deconstructive strategy used by the masters to shock people away from these mental constructions and to free their minds from the entanglements caused by these concepts. Having examined this aspect, my purpose here is not to pursue a further study on the Hongzhou masters’ deconstruction of karma, but to show the complicatedness, the internal tension, contradiction, and paradoxicality of the Hongzhou masters’ attitude toward institution. The texts present their attitude in such paradoxical terms that it makes it difficult to pin down into our categories of either iconoclastic or traditionalist. It is very difficult to elude this paradoxicality if we attempt to summarize and define their attitude. The Hongzhou masters typically say or do certain things, and then contradict themselves, saying or doing something opposite to what they have said or done, not just at different times but even at one and the same time. They never attempt to solve the contradiction, nor do they indicate the need to overcome
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it. This tendency is not just typical of the encounter dialogue texts but is also inherent in the more traditional forms of sermons and other texts discussed above. My question is: do we need to elude this paradoxicality? Is it a problem of these texts, a problem created by the Chan masters, or perhaps a problem caused by the projection of our own mentality? If we find the Chan masters are opposing the tradition or challenging the institution, we tend to think they behave like iconoclasts. But next we might find they retain the institution and never abandon the tradition, and then we tend to think they behave like traditionalists. Perhaps too often we swing between these opposites in terms of our principle of identity. Perhaps too many times and too quickly we impute our principles or our favorite theories to the Chan masters in our characterization without re-thinking why the Chan masters don’t. It seems quite true that in order to overturn the iconoclastic image, we tend to lean on its opposite, the traditionalist. We are driven by our way of oppositional thinking. But does this way of critiquing the false model of iconoclasm lead us any closer to a more justified and coherent interpretation of the Hongzhou attitude toward institution? The answer seems quite obvious that we need to re-think the way we represent this attitude. We need a new model, a paradigm, which can reflect the profound paradoxicality of that Chan attitude as it is, including the issue of the paradoxicality of institution itself. The recent development of historical studies on classical Chan does call for more philosophical reflection on various issues in Chan studies, some of which are quite fundamental and would determine, to a great extent, the future of such studies. Although recently there have been very few philosophical studies of Chan, Dale Wright, among others, has done some important philosophical examination with regard to the issue of Chan iconoclasm. A bit different from my questions, Wright asks if the two conflicting sides, the prominence given to regulation and authority, and the emphasis on individual spiritual freedom including necessary rule-breaking, can ever be reconciled. In answering his question, Wright provides an insightful discussion on the paradoxical relation between individual freedom and institutional constraints, between rejecting and following, and so on. Contrary to the modern Western way of oppositional thinking, Wright points out that the Chan masters seem to think these opposites are mutually conditioned, interdependent, and interchangeable (Wright 1998: Chapter 7). It seems to me that Wright is implying a new way of thinking or a new paradigm that is very much needed for the right understanding of the Chan masters, although Wright is not directly addressing the issue of institutionalization as I focused here. This leads us to the second part of my discussion in this essay. 3 On “Being With and Against” Institution—A Relational Perspective on Institution—and De-Institutionalization in Hongzhou Chan In this part I will discuss the new paradigm—de-institutionalization—and its use in interpreting the Hongzhou Chan attitude toward institution. I will begin with a brief survey of the insights I obtained from my reading of Derrida’s discourse on the counter-institutional. In his article “Force of Law” and other works, Derrida suggests that all human institutions or laws, from their founding moments, have always already involved
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blindness, injustice, violence, or force. Even at their origins or the origin of their origins, human institutions or laws have no justifiable ground and no meta-institution or meta-language. They are enforced customs or expedients no matter under what kind of name of justice or righteousness. This “mystical foundation” prior to any ensuing debates over what is right and wrong reveals the original limits of all human institutions. From that point it follows that all human institutions or laws are always deconstructible (Derrida 1992: 13-4). Many of Derrida’s very productive writings have also informed us that any human institution, philosophical or religious, has never been totally homogeneous. Its identity is always based on suppressed internal differences. Heterogeneity can never go away with each establishment or institution. It can never hold on to any ever-lasting stability, but rather involves itself in everlasting transformation. Thus in my reading of Derrida, institution or institutionalization is seen as an ever-renewing process of differentiation and deconstruction. How could one deconstruct institution? Derrida’s discussion on the counterinstitutional is illuminating. Derrida does not believe in non-institution or noninstitutionalization. Even in his early writings, Derrida does not believe in any decisive rapture or any unequivocal breaks with the tradition or institution. “Breaks,” he states, “are always, and fatally, re-inscribed in an old cloth that must continually, interminably be undone” (Derrida 1981: 24). Nor does Derrida believe in any full closure of institution as a locked box. For Derrida, if any institution tends to remain alive, it would inevitably struggle to be open to the outside, and transform itself toward what is called the other institution. To characterize this paradoxicality of institution or what he calls the “paradoxical institution,” Derrida coins the term “counter-institution” or “counter-institutional.” Here the word “counter” has a double gesture of being “with and against.” Derrida points out, as an adverb and/or a preposition, “[t]he word ‘contre’ … can equally and at the same time mark both opposition, contrariety, contradiction and proximity, nearcontact. One can be ‘against’ the person one opposes (one’s ‘declared enemy,’ for example), and ‘against’ the person next to us, the one who is ‘right against’ us, whom we touch or with whom we are in contact. The word ‘contre’ possesses these two inseparable meanings of proximity and vis-à-vis, on the one hand, and opposition, on the other” (Derrida 2004: 17-9). Hence for Derrida, to counter not only means to oppose or contradict, but also, inseparably, to engage, to meet, to make contact. This is the double meaning of what it means to be “against” when one “counters” something or somebody. An institution is thus a place both to divide, distinguish, discriminate, and to link, relate, conjoin; a site where values, terms, and tokens are exchanged (see Wortham 2006: 20-1). This paradoxical, double gesture of being “with and against,” turning toward and away from institution, this internal movement and structure of institution, this ambivalent relationship “between the critique of institutions and the dream of an other institution that, in an interminable process, will come to replace institutions that are oppressive, violent and inoperative,” is what Derrida calls the counter-institutional, the most permanent motif that has guided him in his works (Derrida 2001: 50-1). The notion of the counter-institutional prevents Derrida’s deconstruction from being radical iconoclast. Derrida acknowledges that deconstruction is an institutional practice. Deconstruction is parasitic on philosophy. Deconstruction inhabits philosophical culture and is inseparable from the latter (Derrida 2002: 15). But the counter-
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institutional or deconstruction makes sure that the institution is not totally closed or totally determined. It prohibits conformism. It borrows language from the institution or tradition, but then abuses it, taking it and then leaving it, in order to make the institution remain open to the outside. It works at an angle with or to the institution, an angle that allows the institution to take a distance from itself, in order to be open to institutional transformation (see Derrida 1995: 346). The counter-institutional is therefore neither inside institution nor outside it, neither conformism nor iconoclasm, neither this category nor that. This logic of “neither-nor” sounds so familiar that no one can deny its striking resemblance to the ambivalent classical Chan attitude toward institution. It inspires us to re-discover or take a fresh look at the Hongzhou Chan attitude toward institution despite the huge differences between Derrida’s project and the Hongzhou’s.8 The Hongzhou masters do not anticipate that a Derridean notion of the counterinstitutional would justify the appropriateness of their attitude. Their paradoxical attitude toward institution reflects a kind of relational perspective that has its own roots in Mahāyāna Buddhist philosophy and Daoist philosophy. It is a commonly acknowledged fact that Mahāyāna doctrines such as emptiness, skillful means, and two levels of truth all have a wide influence on Chan thought. The teachings of emptiness and skillful means imply a critique of institution or institutionalization. The teaching of emptiness indicates that all things and beings, including institutions, are devoid of self-identity, self-existence, or self-nature. They exist only in relation to others or in a web of relationality. This dynamic web of relationality defies the static either/or logic and undermines all conceptual hierarchies in terms of a philosophy of middle way. The notion of skillful means states that all institutionalized teachings and doctrines are expedients, adaptive to different situations, and therefore implies that there is no meta-institution or meta-narrative. While these teachings foster a critique of institution or institutionalization, the relational perspective underlying these teachings in no way encourages any extreme approaches to institution such as iconoclasm and others. However, the notion of the two levels of truth most clearly elaborates on the relationship of being “with and against” institution. When Nāgārjuna states that unless worldly convention is accepted as a base, the higher meaning cannot be taught, and that if the higher meaning is not understood, nirvana cannot be attained (Kārikā 24: 10, in Sprung 1979: 232), he clarifies that although the nirvanic or enlightened perspective involves a critique or transcendence of conventional views, institution, convention, or tradition needs not be abandoned. The two levels or realms are rather Elsewhere I have defined deconstruction as “a contextual strategy or a situational operation of overturning oppositional hierarchies with the characteristic of self-subverting.” I have also characterized Derrida’s project as one that “intended to dismantle all totalizing attempts to establish a closed conceptual system for all theorizing and truth-claims” (Wang 2003: 24, 19). Obviously, many Chan Buddhist masters in their recorded sermons or teachings used strategies very similar to deconstruction (Wang 2003: chapter 4). However, Chan Buddhist discourse cannot be confined to a kind of philosophical critique that Derrida often performed even from its well-claimed non-philosophical side. Chan Buddhist discourse performed the strategy of self-erasing in a different context, and more directly served its own soteriological-practical purpose. The similar strategy is used only as an expedient means among others, to help achieve practical non-attachment and realize enlightenment. In what follows, I will further reveal the unique background and intellectual heritage of the Chan de-institutionalization, which makes it other than Derrida’s counterinstitutional quite clearly. 8
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interrelated, inter-dependent, presuppose and condition each other, and are inseparable. This relational perspective on being “with and against” institution is further developed later by Chinese Buddhism, especially Chan, in the Chinese context. The Hongzhou notions of “ordinary mind is the dao” and “mind is Buddha,” with their emphasis on the interrelatedness and interdependence between the attainment of enlightenment and activities of the everyday world, underlie the Hongzhou masters’ attitude toward the institution. When Mazu states in one of his sermons: “That which speaks is your mind and this mind is called Buddha” (Taishō 1993, 48, 14: 492a. See Jia 2006: 1212), he is far from asserting that Chan Buddhists must terminate all uses of institutional language. In this connection, it is hard to imagine Mazu as a radical iconoclast. On a less visible level, the Daoist critique of institution or institutionalization and its insights into the paradoxical relation with institution also greatly influence the classical Chan attitude toward institution. The opening lines of the Dao De Jing—“The dao that can be described in words is not the enduring dao; the name that can be named is not the enduring name”—can be read as the earliest manifesto of the Daoist critique of institution. This is further supported by Laozi’s statement in Chapter 32: “The dao is enduring, nameless, the uncarved block.... Once there is human institution (the block is carved), there are names. Although there are inevitably names, we should know their limitations.” Having known the limitations of all human institutions, Laozi does not ask people to abandon them. Rather, his advices reflect the paradoxicality of institution. “Doing of non-doing,” or “teaching of non-speaking” starts a new wave of institutional transformation or plays at the boundaries of institution. The famous Chapter 2 of the Zhuangzi goes even deeper in the Daoist critique of institution. Zhuangzi discusses the issue of argument/dispute in particular and human institutionalization in general. The Chinese word bian 辨/辯 (dispute/discriminate) means both to decide (to judge) and to divide (to cut into half). According to Zhuangzi, wherever there is an argument for something, something else is left unseen. Wherever there is division, something is left undivided. Every doctrine, every philosophical position, every human institutionalization, in setting up a hierarchy, a system of right (shi 是) and wrong (fei 非), a fixed binary division, conceals something. Something else is being covered up by every seeing of something. This covering up, this closure, has no secure ground, not only because one thing and its other are mutually dependent or mutually conditioned, but also because it is always possible to shift the angles from which one looks at them (Wang 2003: 37). Zhuangzi’s advice is that human beings including human institutions should go with flow, not only being open to endless changes or transformations, but living along with these endless changes or transformations. Zhuangzi’s attitude of being “with and against” institution or institutionalization can be seen clearly in his dictum “walking on two roads” (Watson 1968: 41)—to harmonize seeming conflicting sides: not only working with the institution, borrowing things or language from it, but also de-stabilizing and undoing the closure and making its transformation possible. Zhuangzi’s influence on classical Chan is profound. “Walking on roads” has been one of the most favorable metaphors used by the Chan masters. HUANGPO Xiyun puts this metaphor in his famous saying “walking all day long without touching a piece of road” (Chanzong Jicheng 1968, 13: 8996b), which shares the same spirit of detaching oneself from fixation on any one-sided view, while going through different views. Nevertheless, the Hongzhou masters make their own contributions to the recognition of the paradoxicality of institution and to the understanding of the relationship of
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being “with and against” institution. I characterize their attitude and effort as deinstitutionalization. As I mentioned at the beginning of this paper, deinstitutionalization is not non-institutinalization in the sense of the absence of institutionalization. It is like the word “deconstruction” that is not destruction. Just as every reconstruction involves deconstruction, every re-institutionalization involves de-institutionalization. I define de-institutionalization as an internal movement of institution to interrupt institutionalization, to de-stabilize institutionalization, to expose the limits of institutionalization, and to make the institution remain open to transformation. De-institutionalization distinguishes itself from the extremes of either iconoclasm or conformism. It is a relational perspective on institution and a practice of the middle way. Although I have examined many details of the Hongzhou school’s de-institutionalizing maneuver and its paradoxical relationship of being “with and against” institution in previous parts of this essay, I shall summarize some of its most important aspects as follows. First, the Hongzhou masters’ de-institutionalizing effort is to de-stabilize the effect of generalization, formalization, and hierarchical structuring inevitably involved in the institutionalization of original Buddhist teachings. The de-institutionalization calls attention to, and performs a critique of, the violence such generalization, formalization, and hierarchical structuring have done to the singularity of all individual existential situations. It results in a kind of resistance to, and protest against, this violence and promotes the reinterpretation/rediscovery of the teachings in terms of different circumstances. The following story about Mazu and his famous disciple DAMEI Fachang 大梅法常 illustrates this point very well: When MAZU Daoyi heard that Master DAMEI Fachang lived in the mountain, he sent a monk there to ask, “What have you learned from Master Mazu so that you live in this mountain?” Damei answered, “Master Mazu taught me that mind is Buddha; accordingly I have settled here to live.” The monk said, “Nowadays Master Mazu teaches a different Buddha-dharma.” Damei asked, “What is the difference?” The monk said, “In these days he also teaches that there is neither mind nor Buddha.” Damei said, “This old man confuses people without an end. No matter how you insist on saying ‘There is neither mind nor Buddha,’ I will pay attention only to ‘Mind is Buddha’.” When Master Mazu heard the story after the monk’s return, he remarked, “Oh brothers, the plum is now ripe.” (For the Chinese word damei means big plum). (Taishō 1993, 51, 2076: 254c. See Sohaku 1990: 240)9
9 I am aware that Jia has pointed out that the teaching of “neither mind nor Buddha” appears in the dialogue part of Mazu’s Yulu, not in any of Mazu’s sermons, and therefore is a later creation (in Jia 2006: 56). Poceski also agrees that this dialogue appears in later sources. However, Poceski has argued, “[a]lthough it is uncertain whether it is a record of an actual conversation, in light of the other pertinent sources … there are no compelling reasons to doubt that it presents a summary of Mazu’s view on the subject” (Poceski 2007: 190). Poceski’s extensive use of the reliable historical sources from the records of Mazu’s disciples including Baizhang, Ruhui, Funiu, Nanquan and others strongly supports this position (Poceski 2007: 173182). In addition, Poceski’s analysis on the Hongzhou texts’ doctrinal content in this 2007 book moves in a direction that helps to look at the internal logic and underlying connection between this more apophatic teaching and Mazu’s other teachings. His argument and analysis justifies my use of this dialogue here and also the dialogue I will use in the next paragraph.
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Here Mazu’s different words—“mind is Buddha” and “there is neither mind nor Buddha”—are used under different circumstances and aim to help different persons in each unique situation. The first time or first few times these words are used, they are appropriate and make perfect sense to the person and to the situation. Once they are generalized and cut off from the unique situations, they are no longer meaningful and appropriate. That is why Damei dares to reject the generalized recommendation of Mazu’s new teaching. Both Mazu and Damei understand this point very well and therefore their minds can accord with each other (qihe 契合) or be harmonized.10 But note that Mazu and Damei do not think there should be no teaching at all. It is still institutional, not anti-institutional, and any resistance to the violence of institutionalization still works on what is institutional. Second, the Hongzhou masters’ de-institutionalization brings about the greater disbelief in any meta-institution or meta-narrative by placing a Sinitic emphasis on the expedient and contingent nature of all institutionalized teachings and practices. It highlights the theme that all institutions, teachings, or practices are situational and have their limitations, even though the masters do not intend to cancel the institution. The following conversation with Mazu is a good example of this tendency: Question: Why do you say that mind is Buddha (jixin jifo 即心即佛)? Answer: To stop children’s crying. Question: What do you say when they have stopped crying? Answer: It is neither mind nor Buddha (feixin feifo 非心非佛). Question: When there comes someone who belongs to neither of these two kinds, how do you instruct him? Answer: I tell him that it is not even a thing (bushiwu 不是物). Question: How about when you suddenly meet someone who has been on the Path? Answer: I teach him to experience and realize the great dao (tihui dadao 體會大道). (Chanzong Jicheng 1968 11: 7310b-11a. See Cheng 1992: 78) As we can see, there is a fluidity of both the teachings and situations. The problem is not whether Mazu’s teachings have any theoretical consistency but whether the master should stick to any single limited teaching and immobilize it even when situation has changed. The masters and his followers would favor a kind of harmony with the flow of things and circumstances rather than staying with rigidity or fixation of teachings and practices. In this sense they prefer fluidity to immobility. This leads us to another important point. Third, the Hongzhou de-institutionalization aims to make the institution remain open to the outside, to changing circumstances, and to institutional transformation. This open attitude can be seen very clearly through their discourse on “following along with the movement of all things (renyun 任運),” a central motif that underlies all of Hongzhou’s deconstruction of conceptual hierarchies, including the highly established teachings of good karma and morality. The basic meaning of renyun, as emphasized by the Hongzhou masters, is to flow together with ever-changing things or circumstances in everyday activities, including the routines of the Buddhist institution. The masters profoundly understand that the living process of change and flux ruthlessly undercuts every fixed position and de-stabilizes every hierarchical structure without ever stopping. Reality itself 10
For the relationship between enlightened mind and successful communication (qihe), see Wang 2003: 168.
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is flowing and deconstructing. The Buddhist institution cannot remain alive outside this flow, and cannot be something like a locked box isolated from any change, inter-action and transformation. The goal of Buddhist practices is in effect to be harmonious with impermanence, change, and flux. An enlightened person would find inexhaustible wonders in living a life of harmony with change and flux. The masters therefore propose to practice Buddhism and wear out one’s karma according to changing conditions as they are (Wang 2007: 90, 92)—a very convincing example demonstrating one of their approaches to institutional transformation. We should not consider this kind of “go-with-flow” attitude to be passive only. The main function of this attitude is freeing the mind from immobility and any institutional closure, and therefore makes the mind possible to be active or interactive with the necessary change and transformation of the institution. Since having this attitude is to take an approach of middle way and it is based on the profound understanding of flowing reality itself, the Chan masters would never over-act as well.
To conclude, I would quote another well-known passage from the Hongzhou master BAIZHANG Huaihai’s 百丈怀海 recorded sayings. Although contemporary Chan historians have thrown doubt on its historical accuracy, I think the spirit of the story I cite below is consistent with his attitude toward language and institution as is recorded in the more reliable text of his Guang Lu 廣錄. The story goes as follows. Baizhang faces a question of whether an enlightened master would still fall into the circle of cause and effect (luo yinguo 落因果) or the circle of suffering. As suggested by the text, the answers of both “yes” and “no” are rejected by Baizhang and considered the distortion of Chan. His answer is “Bumei yinguo 不昧因果.” It is commonly translated as “The master is not ignorant of cause and effect” (Chanzong Jicheng 1968, 11: 7312. See Cleary 1978: 22-3). Here the Chinese word “mei (昧)” means “being ignorant.” It also involves the meaning of “being covered up” or “being concealed.” Much can be said about this story. Literally, Baizhang refuses to answer the question. The question sounds like those metaphysical questions that the Buddha refused to answer. For Baizhang, to understand cause and effect is the most important but not to verify how the enlightened master is free from cause and effect. The understanding of cause and effect is the requirement and condition for enlightenment, as traditional Buddhist teaching would recommend. Traditional Buddhist teaching would also suggest that an enlightened person would be free from the circle of suffering, although this person’s physical body as the residue of the past karma would still suffer. Baizhang does not repeat these traditional teachings but rather presents a point of his own interpretation and what is most meaningful to him, namely, understanding cause/effect while living in this everyday world with an enlightened mind that nonetheless necessarily transcends all fixed distinctions including good/bad karma or cause/effect. It reflects Baizhang’s attitude toward the traditional Buddhist teaching of karma: it does not deny the traditional teaching of karma, nor does it confine itself to the traditional teaching of karma. The so-called elusive attitude is virtually an openness to the third possibilities. This story, then, in my view, can also symbolize or represent Baizhang’s and the Hongzhou school’s attitude toward the Buddhist institution in general. Baizhang’s attitude is neither single-minded conforming to the institutional nor rejecting the institutional, but is open to the third possibilities of the institutional. “Not being covered up” means openness, being open or responsive to the possibilities of different interpretations of karma and other institutional teachings and practices. This openness and readiness is
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one of the central points of the Hongzhou school’s attitude toward institutional transformation, a very relevant and illuminating point for the contemporary discussion on institution and institutionalization. Acknowledgments I would like to thank two anonymous reviewers for their comments on an early version of this article. Their comments helped to improve the quality of this article.
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