Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 1994 21/4

REVIEW ARTICLE Linjis Evergreens

Burton WATSON, trans., The Zen Teachings of Master Lin-chi. Boston, London: Shambhala, 1993. xxx + 140 pp. Introduction, appendix, glossary. Paper $10.00; ISBN 0877738912. WHEN THE EDITORS of the JJRS asked me if I would like a review copy of this new translation for the purpose of writing this piece I gladly said yes, even though I had earlier received a complimentary copy from the author. Knowing how often I look into the Linjilu (or the Lin-chi lu for those who prefer the Wade-Giles romanization), I thought a spare might come in handy. When it arrived I sat down and prepared to go through the brand-new book. A bit unruly like many new paperbacks, the book kept ipping pages and closing by itself, until I gently applied a bit of pressure in order to tame it: Crack! went its back. For a book, a broken back means the very opposite of paralysis: the owner soon faces lost pages, vanished stories, lack of coherence, dispersal, and possibly even more serious consequences. When my new book had been opened a few times, the word Shambhala on the back began hiding among white ssures, as if ashamed. Indeed, looking through my sizable collection of translated Zen texts, I was struck by a pattern: most of the Shambhala paperbacks have similar backaches, and the ones I consult with some frequency have pagessometimes bundles of pagessticking indecently out from top and bottom. But this is the rst time that a spine has broken during the books rst minutes in my hand; what a curious contrast to the beautifully preserved ancient Chinese and Japanese texts, with their low-tech bindings of string that last for centuries! But paperbacks neednt be imsy eithermy Demiville translation of the Records of Linji, in frequent use for almost fteen years, has a few wrinkles and a respectable suntan, but its binding is as strong as ever. The difference is good glue that, unlike the Shambhala kind, bends willingly, and good old thread

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that holds the pages in their proper sequence. I can handle that book with some abandon, unlike my second copy of the new Watson translation. The books broken back was unfortunate, since I had hoped to use the volume as my cross-reference copy, in which I add what most publishers and translators notoriously omit: page and line numbers from the Taish edition of the Buddhist canon. Many Western classics, like the Bible and Platos works, contain numbers (chapters, verses, etc.) that allow for easy cross-reference and consultation between the numerous versions of the original as well as the various translations. Finding passages in Eastern classics, on the other hand, is usually a time-consuming chore. Translators of the Record of Linji usually divide the text as they see t (Watson, for example, uses the chapter divisions and numbers of AKIZUKI 1972). This habit makes comparison of translations and original texts unnecessarily difcult: the famous stor y about Rinzai planting pine trees, which I will bring up later, forms chapter 49 in Watson and Akizuki, chapter 67a in SCHLOEGL (1975), chapter 2 in SASAKI (1975) and IRIYA (1989), chapter 67 in DEMIVILLE (1972), chapter 39 section 1 in Y ANAGIDA (1972), and so on. Two German translations take the liberty one step further, mercilessly hacking apart the original text to produce an entirely new sequence, so that the pine-planting story is found at the very beginning of BRUN (1986) and in chapter 57 of MRTH (1987) (too bad these books arent bound Shambhala-fashionthey could use a bit of reshufing). A simple trick makes nding the story rather easy: numbering all the translations according to the Taish text, where the story begins in vol. 47, p. 505, section a, line 5, and ends at line 9 (T 47.505a59). Once the beginning and end of each page has been marked in terms of the Taish lines, all texts and translations dance to the same rhythm, and any story can be found in a snap. To my knowledge, Watsons translation of the Linjilu is the third in English. The translator mentions in his twenty-page introduction (which also includes biographical and textual information) that he rst read the text in the fties while working part-time for Ruth Fuller Sasaki, the American foundress of a small research center in Kyoto. Intending to improve her late husbands English translation of the text, she organized a study group headed by two Japanese professors: Iriya Yoshitaka, an expert in Tang colloquial language, and Yanagida Seizan, an expert on Zen texts and history. Copious notes were taken and entire days spent on details, with the result that when Sasaki died in 1967 the work was still unnished. Yet it bore fruit even before its publication in 1975: in 1972 Yanagida published his ground-breaking

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Japanese translation, and the same year the great French sinologist Paul Demivillewho had visited Sasaki and consulted with Yanagida and Iriyaproduced the rst translation in a Western language. The above-mentioned translation by Akizuki also appeared in 1972. Three years later Irmgard Schloegl, who relied heavily on Japanese work and even more (though not nearly enough) on Demiville and draft versions of Sasaki, published the rst English rendition. Since then a steady stream of translations has appeared on the market, especially in Europe, the most recent being a German rewording of Schloegl by a gynaecologist-turned-Zen-master named Zernickow, alias Stetsu YZEN (1990). Dr Zernickow apparently reads neither Chinese nor Japanese but lays claim to being a Zen master certied in writing independently by two Zen masters as well as a Chinese and Tibetan abbot (pp. 14546). In contrast to these intimidating credentials, Burton Watson can cite only several decades of experience translating Asian texts and a long list of highly acclaimed renditions of some of the deepest and most beautiful literature that China and Japan have to offer (unpretentious as he is, he would hardly mention that he is also a long-time practitioner of Zen). There seem to be two distinct groups of Zen text translators in the West today: academics who have learned how to read the score (that is, the particular kind of Classical Chinese or Japanese in which Zen texts are written), who are more or less sympathetic to the subject matter, and who try to render it as best they can; and Zen teachers or practitioners who have little or no ability in these languages yet claim that their grasp of the essence of Zen allows them to translate. Question: If you wanted to listen to a Beethoven sonata, would you choose a trained pianist who knows how to read musical scores or someone who cannot do this but claims that his perfect musicality gives him the ability to play the sonata without ever having heard it? Luckily for both reviewer and readers, Watson is an accomplished and quite musicalrepresentative of the rst group.1 But why one more translation of the Record of Linji? Arent there plenty of Zen texts that have yet to be translated? Yes, there are. But of the numerous scores that Mozart wrote there are several that get recorded over and over again: symphony no. 40, piano concerto no.
1 Achim Seidl, a German who claims to translate Zen texts, boldly states in his preface to a hamburgerized version of Wilhelm GUNDERTs rendition of the Blue Cliff Records (1979) that Classical Chinese is a completely intuitive language lacking in subject-object distinctions and xed laws of grammar: a kind of picture script that unfolds its meaning to those who seek it (SEIDL 1988, p. 15). I suspect that Seidls book would probably read like an answer sheet to a Rorschach test if he hadnt based his translation on Gunderts (thats the beef).

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25, piano sonata no. 13. Why not, if they are masterpieces? The analogy can be pushed further: Mozart also wrote a kind of textthe scorethat has been transmitted with variations and changes, just like a Zen text. If this text is to resonate in our hearts, someone needs to interpret it and give it his or her voice. The translators task is thus not unlike the musicians: he or she has to breathe life into a dead score and attempt to convey its essence. Let us now have a look at several important passages from the Linjilu, comparing some of the various renditions in an attempt to see how the complex problems of translation have been met. I should preface my comments by noting that, although Watsons versions of these particular passages are not the ones I most prefer, overall the quality of his translation is excellent. His is a wonderful attempt to breathe life into the old text. Much more uid than the sometimes stiff pioneer Sasaki translation, and much more accurate than Schloegls, it generally stays close to the Chinese text and occasionally shows well-founded condence in going against Japanese scholarly opinion as well as earlier English renderings. There is no doubt that this book will far outlast its present bindingor, if I may express myself more unequivocallythat this book deserves both a classic hard cover and a very sturdy and pliable paper back. (I do feel, however, that consultation with Demivilles version [and possibly less reliance on Akizuki] could have brought some improvement both to text and notes.) Let us start with three versions of a passage that I consider central to the Record. First I give the Chinese text; the rst English rendering is Watsons, the second Sasakis, and the third Schloegls. The original text is found in T 47.497b24: H, 4, m^-# [R^, 4#1^# , n]I# [Watson] Followers of the Way, the outstanding teachers from times past have all had ways of drawing people out. What I myself want to impress on you is that you mustnt be led astray by others. If you want to use this thing, then use it and have no doubts or hesitations. [Sasaki] Followers of the Way, the eminent predecessors we have had from old all had their own ways of saving men. As for me, what I want to point out to you is that you must not accept the deluding views of others. If you want to act, then act. Dont hesitate. [Schloegl] Followers of the Way, the old masters had ways of making men. Do not let yourselves be deluded by anyone; this is all I teach. If you want to make use of it (genuine insight), then use it right now without delay or doubt.

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Well, did the old masters draw people out, save them, or make men of them? Did they, as BRUN (1986, p. 56) has it, know the way of becoming something specialor had they, as MRTH translates (1987, p. 96), (the truth of) their own way to help people escape from the world of delusion? DEMIVILLE (1972, p. 55) stays almost as close to the Chinese as Watson does, saying that they had their ways of making people get out, while IRIYA translates they make them go out and beyond (1989, p. 34). YANAGIDAs modern Japanese translation adds some weight by using the singular: They all had ways of drawing out the person (1978, p. 226). He points out (p. 229) that this refers to bringing out the original strength in every person. Although these variations may seem minor, they set the stage for what follows. After Linji tells his audience not to be misled, he makes a statement that is rendered far differently in the respective translations. What exactly does Watson mean by, If you want to use this thing, then use it and have no doubts and hesitations? Does this thing refer to genuine insight, as Schloegl says in parentheses? The Chinese text does not mention any object to the verb yong , so that Sasakis rendering seems closest to the original. Y ANAGIDA (p. 226)2 adopts a similar line: If you want to do it, do it without hesitation, while Iriya species, If you want to do it on your own. CLEARY translates Act when you need to, without further hesitation or doubt (1989, p. 4).3 The pivotal question is what yong means in this context and whether it implies any object. MRTH chooses to charge it with additional meaning: If you want to let (the True Self) work, so let it work and notes that yong is here used both in the passive sense of to let act and the active one of to act (p. 96). Brun, as every so often when his translation makes sense, simply reproduces DEMIVILLEs quite different approach to this phrase: If you have any use (for this advice), make use of it; but dont hesitate and doubt! (1972, p. 55). Just like a musical score, the Chinese text forms a kind of telegram whose meaning the interpreter must decipher: Want to use then use, but not hesitate doubt. And as in music, the melodic and dramatic
2 The paperback edition of this pioneer colloquial Japanese translation of the Linjilu (and of various other Chan texts) is one of the rare Japanese books with as fragile a backbone as the volume reviewed here. 3 As usual, Cleary does not mention where the twenty fragments of Linjis sayings that he translated come from. Can you imagine a musician who specializes in playing melodies written by others but who refuses to tell his listeners what he is playing? Any record review would blast both him and his record company. I simply see no valid reason to withhold source information from the readershipit is an integral part of the service that an interpreter must render to the audience and to the authors. Linji will not sue and the readers have no choice, but on behalf of both I protest this extremely bad and annoying habit.

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context plays an important role. To express the matter in musical terms, what Linji has said so far is a prelude that introduces a major theme of the speech, emphasizing that all the master is about to say is aimed at helping the listener to nd his or her own path. Just like many musical preludes, the masters introduction culminates in a kind of take it or leave it that forms the essence of a good lead-in. Thus, in my view, Demivilles rendering, below, is most natural and truest to the setting and dramatic structure of the speech (the translation from the French is mine):
Adeptes de la Voie, tous nos anciens ont eu leurs routes pour faire sortir les hommes. Quant moi, ce que je leur montre, cest ne se laisser abuser par personne. Si vous avez usage (de ce conseil), faites-en usage; mais plus de retard, plus de doute! (1972, p. 55) (Adepts of the Way, all our predecessors had their ways of making people get out. As for me: what I show them aims at not letting oneself be misled by anyone. If you have some use [for this advice] then use it; but no more delay, no more doubt!)

The Linjilu then continues as follows (497b47; the fourth rendition is Clearys, but I wont tell you where it can be found):
#, $d# $#=# =#, G# s, n!, ## [Watson] When students today fail to make progress, wheres the fault? The fault lies in the fact that they dont have faith in themselves! If you dont have faith in yourself, then youll be forever in a hurry trying to keep up with everything around youand you can never move freely. [Sasaki] Students today cant get anywhere: what ails you? Lack of faith in yourself is what ails you. If you lack faith in yourself, youll keep on tumbling along, bewilderedly following after all kinds of circumstancesand never be yourself. [Schoegl] But students nowadays do not succeed because they suffer from lack of self-reliance. Because of this lack, you run busily hither and thither, are driven around by circumstance.You cannot nd deliverance thus. [Cleary] People today cant do thiswhat is their afiction? Their afiction is in their lack of self-condence. If you do not spontaneously trust yourself sufciently, you will be in a frantic state, pursuing all sorts of objectsunable to be independent.

With this, the theme of trust or faith in oneself gets into full swing,

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starting with an analysis of the disease that prevents students from getting [it] or attaining. This appears to be more than just a fault, as Watson puts it; the text has bing (ailment, illness, disease), which the other translations at least allude to. The transition between the students and you is also a bit abrupt and could be smoothed by [You] students; I prefer the classic translation by Sasaki here. Cleary connects this phrase directly with what I called the prelude; thus his people cant do this implies acting when they need towhich is off the mark if one accepts Demivilles reading of the lead-in. Mrth translates, They themselves do not believe, thus revealing an ignorance of the laws of position that play so important a role in Classical Chinese grammar. Linji uses the two-character compound to refer to the goal of the quest he is talking of; this term probably originated in the parlance of Tang-period Zen masters. In a note to an earlier passage, YANAGIDA (1972, p. 72) explains that this term is characteristic of such early Chinese Zen texts as the Lengjia shiziji, the Platform Stra, and the Record of Baizhang. Watson apparently wanted to convey some notion of movement (move freely); DEMIVILLE points out that it means following only oneself, and is used in East Asia today to express the Western concept of freedom (1972, p. 57). If one uses the modern Western term, the Chinese text of this last and crucial phrase simply reads: [You] do not attain freedom. The various translators, obviously not satised with this, offer a range of interpretations: Sasakis never be yourself; Schloegls you cannot nd deliverance thus; Clearys unable to be independent; Demivilles you will not nd independence; Bruns Demiville-inspired you will not stand on your own feet; and Mrths you do not reach freedom. Overall, I prefer Clearys rendering of this line; both object for and independent for are close to the Chinese text. (Okay, its on page 4 of Clearys Linji medley in Zen Essence.) But sometimes something more than mere adequacy or closeness to the source text is needed. To return to our performing-arts analogy: It is not enough for a musician to play all the notes in the score, or for an actor to pronounce all the words of the script. Similarly, a good translation of ancient Chinese texts appears to involve more than a simple transfer of text into another language according to the rules of grammar and style. Some acting ability is needed, some abandon, some type of performing skill. Several years back I witnessed a Russian woman, a sixty-year old singer, transform herself into a twentyve-year-old maiden at the rst note of a love song written by Tchaikovsky. Every ber of her body, every movement of her face,

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every modulation of her voice expressed youthful longing and the promise of love; in one magical moment she brought a song to life and made life into a song. But how much life can our Linji translators breathe into a bunch of dead old Chinese characters? We will now look at the famous story that was so hard to locate and that Watson translates as follows (pp. 107108; corresponding to T 47.505a59): , ;, L[:-6VY# , s,[6O, ,9^6# U, wGX4# ;, `5, {C 7XYU# :PwGX4, 6 # ;, 7;k, #
The Master was planting pines when Huang-po asked, Why are you planting so many of them way off here in the mountains? The Master said, First, to improve the appearance of the temple grounds. Second, to mark the road for people who come after. When he had nished speaking, he took up his grub hoe and hacked at the ground three times. Huang-po said, That may be, but youve already tasted thirty blows of my stick! Again the Master took his hoe and hacked at the ground three times, blowing out his breath with a loud noise. Huang-po said, When my teaching line passes along to you, it will prosper greatly in the world.

Although there is some variation in the renderings of this episode (such as Schloegls Ill give you thirty blows of my stick), they all tell essentially the same story. Why does the story remain somehow lifeless? What, for example, is the signicance of Linjis hacking three times? This is a good example of the necessity of footnotes, but only Demiville and Yanagida offer anything of value here. The episode as a whole appears to deal with the theme of Zen education (marking the road for people), so that Linjis hacking the ground three times would allude to his own education at the hands of Huangbo. DEMIVILLE (1972, p. 206) points to this in his note, where he refers to the three beatings that Linji had earlier suffered at the hands of Huangbobeatings that ultimately drove him on to his breakthrough; Demiville also notes the link between this story and another where Huangbo comments that Linji will surely become a ne big tree that will provide cool shade for the people of the world. In a case such as this, a footnote can bring life to a text that would otherwise remain more enigmatic than necessary. A singer or actor can express such an allusion by a voice modulation, facial expression, or gesture, but the

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translator must often take refuge in square-bracketed text or footnotes.4 But regardless of the overall meaning of this episode, why did Zen Master Huangbo praise his disciple Linji so highly after Linji hacked at the ground three times, blowing out his breath with a loud noise? Since Linji had already hacked the ground three times before, we must assume that the loud breathing carries some pivotal signicance. After listing the available translations of this phrase, I arranged them in three categories. In terms of acting or music performance, these would be: 1. splendid performances that bring the text to life and catch the viewers or listeners heart; 2. performances that reproduce the text or score but somehow lack the power to convince; 3. performances that deliver the text correctly but leave you cold. In my view, only YANAGIDAs translation belongs to the rst category:
Again, the master struck the ground three times with his hoe, uttering: Heave-ho! (1972, p. 240)

Yanagidas yoisho, yoisho, (which sounds less clumsy than my heaveho) is the sound one utters when making a great effort, which seems to be the point hereLinji, perhaps remembering Huangbos three blows, is conveying his determination to keep digging away, planting evergreens and thus marking the road for those who will tread this path. No wonder Huangbo praised him so highly. In the second category I would put the renderings by Demiville, Chang Chung-yuan, and Iriya:
Again, the master struck the ground three times with his hoe, saying hio-hio. (DEMIVILLE 1972, p. 212)
Notes: *Struck the ground three times: he digs in order to plant the tree that will [by its shadow] bring freshness [to the people of the entire world] [Demiville refers to section 66b of his translation]; *Hio-hio (Tang pronunciation): to exhale air with effort.
4 For publishers suffering from phootnotophobia: this is the most convenient kind of note. Footnotes interfere only minimally with the main text (a small superscript number) but are a very convenient source of information for those who choose to read them. Those who dont are not bothered by their presence. Everybody is tired of looking for notes at the end of a book and using pens and post-it notes and dog-ears as markers. Footnotes look good on a page. They dont look academic, they intimidate no one, and book buyers love them. Watsons translation, by the way, features notes at the end of each section; this is not overly inconvenient since Akizukis sections tend to be rather short.

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Thereupon Lin-chi struck the ground three times with his hoe again, and puffed, Hsu! Hsu! (CHANG 1971 , p. 119) Again, the master struck the ground three times with his hoe, sighing deeply: Hy! (IRIYA 1989, p. 187)
Note: To produce a sharp sound while exhaling protractedly from the back of ones throat.

These three translations make an attempt at enacting this scene rather than just reciting it. Demiville comes closest to Yanagida, but only by way of a note that gains signicance only if one has seen Yanagidas interpretation. Footnotes can be of enormous help, but they lack simultaneity and are in that sense comparable to a gesture that follows a statement instead of accompanying it. In the other two translations, the gesture remains enigmatic: what will the reader associate with Changs Hsu! Hsu! or with Iriyas Hy!? Some kind of hiss? A ghastly cry of pain? A loud sigh? At any rate, none of these renderings quite succeed in making Huangbos reaction intelligible. The rest of the translations (including some from the Linji sections of Chan compendia) stay more or less in the descriptive mode and do not enact the text:
Lin-chi again punched the ground thrice, and then heaved a long sigh. (WU 1975, p. 196) Again, the master struck the ground three times with his hoe, sighing deeply. (SCHLOEGL 1972, p. 80) Again, Rinzai struck the ground three times with his hoe and sighed deeply. (YGEN 1990, p. 121) I Hsuan again struck the ground thrice and gave a sigh. (LU 1961, pp. 8889) Again Lin-chi thumped the ground with his mattock three times and breathed out a great breath. (SASAKI 1975, p. 52) Again, the master struck his hoe three times into the ground. During this he exhaled audibly. (BRUN 1986, p. 15)

Hearing these responses, Huangbo would probably also have sighed deeply and left. In spite of the growing number of translations, the Record of Linji is still little explored. While there are dozens of dissertations using tons of paper on, say, Heidegger, there are to my knowledge no Western monographs or dissertations devoted to Linji. We are still trying to understand at a very basic level what Linji said, and Watsons ne rendering is a most welcome aid for this task. But I am also looking forward to the next interpretation, and one more, and another one

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knowing full well that only the reader can be the true creator of Linjis text. For this task, the many evergreens he planted may serve as signposts. For example:
Here in this lump of red esh there is a True Man with no rank. Constantly he goes in and out the gates of your face. If there are any of you who dont know this for a fact, then look! Look! (WATSON, p. 13) REFERENCES AKIZUKI Rymin EP 1972 Rinzairoku r. Zen no goroku 7uB 10. Tokyo: Chikuma Shob. BRUN, Pierre 1986 Meister Linji. Begegnungen. Zrich: Ammann. CHANG Chung-yuan 1971 Original Teachings of Chan Buddhism. New York: Vintage Books. CLEARY, Thomas 1989 Zen Essence. The Science of Freedom. Boston, London: Shambhala. DEMIVILLE, Paul 1972 Entretiens de Lin-tsi. Paris: Fayard. GUNDERT, Wilhelm 1983 Bi-Yn-Lu: Meister Yan-wus Niederschrift von der smaragdenen Felswand. Frankfurt: Ullstein. IRIYA Yoshitaka 1989 Rinzairoku r. Tokyo: Iwanami Bunko. LU Kuan Y (Charles Luk) 1961 Chan and Zen Teaching, Second Series. London: Rider and Co. MRTH, Robert C. 1987 Das Lin-chi Lu des Chan Meisters Lin-Chi Yi-Hsan. Hamburg: MOAG Mitteilungen. SASAKI, Ruth Fuller, trans. 1975 The Recorded Sayings of Chan Master Lin-chi Hui-chao of Chen Prefecture. Kyoto: The Institute for Zen Studies. SCHLOEGL, Irmgard 1975 The Zen Teaching of Rinzai. Berkeley: Shambhala. SEIDL, Achim 1988 Das Weisheitsbuch des Zen. Koans aus dem Bi-Yn-lu. Mnchen, Wien: Carl Hanser.

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WATSON, Burton 1993 The Zen Teachings of Master Lin-chi. Boston, London: Shambhala. WU, John C. H. 1975 The Golden Age of Zen, Taipei: United Publishing Center. YANAGIDA Seizan ,[ 1972 Rinzairoku r. Tokyo: Daiz Shuppan. 1978 Zengoroku 7B. Tokyo: Chkronsha. YGEN, Stetsu 1990 Das Zen von Meister Rinzai. Leimen: Kristkeitz.