Tracking Bodhidharma Page 3
[The “Four Practices” are then summarized, and may be shortened as (1) accepting your karmic conditions, (2) endeavoring to practice with the conditions one encounters, (3) seeking nothing more than this, and (4) adhering to Buddhist teachings.]
“. . . Bodhidharma, with these methods, converted [the people of] the Wei [the dynasty that ruled North China]. The noble who recognized the truth honored him, and turned to enlightenment. Records of his teachings circulate in the world. He personally said that he was one hundred and fifty years of age. His task was traveling and teaching. It’s not known where he died.
A few things should be noted from this account. First, Bodhidharma was a real person, with a wide following, who taught in both Southern and Northern China. Second, the passage has no specific mention of Bodhidharma directly meeting any emperors or high officials, so his legendary meeting with Emperor Wu is not mentioned in this early, relatively reliable record.
Third, this account, as well as later texts, claims Bodhidharma arrived in China by sea. Although the Continued Biographies record doesn’t give a specific location, its statement that he “arrived in South China” supports the idea that the Indian holy man did indeed step ashore here in Guangzhou, the biggest port in South China of his age.
FIGURE 2. The most reliable account Bodhidharma’s time in China (Continued Biographie) indicates he arrived in South China before the year 479, then taught in both the Luoyang and Yang-tse River areas. Accounts of his disciples’ lives indicate he was in the Luoyang area around the years 488 to 494.
While in college, I was intrigued by the strange account of Bodhidharma “crossing the Yang-tse River on a single blade of grass” (usually depicted in paintings as a stalk of bamboo). Fleeing from Emperor Wu’s court, the old sage is shown floating over the wide Yang-tse’s blue waves, his bare feet balanced on the slender stalk of the plant. There are countless depictions of this legendary event in Chinese art, and Chinese who know little else about Zen are familiar with the scene. Bodhidharma’s ride over the waves, escaping from the influence of Emperor Wu, evokes a feeling of inspired defiance. Such depictions also suggest a rejection of the world’s folly and of crossing over the river of existence to the “other shore,” a Buddhist metaphor for liberation.
In Hong Kong during the 1970S and early ’8os, I perused Chinese antique stores for paintings or other depictions of Bodhidharma’s famous crossing. It was one of my two favorite Chinese artistic themes, the other being depictions of carp leaping through the Dragon Gate on the Yellow River. The latter, a very ancient story, is intimately connected to China’s birth as a civilization, but it has connections to Bodhidharma as well. The carp traditionally symbolize China’s first dynastic king, known as King Yu. In paintings and other arts that depict the scene, Yellow River fish turned to dragons if they successfully swim upstream and conquer the river’s rapids. Likewise, King Yu became the first “Dragon Emperor” when he conquered the Yellow River for the Chinese people by dredging and building dikes to control its notoriously silting and flooding currents.
Once during a visit to Hong Kong in 1982, I purchased works related to these legends. One was a tiny vase dated to the year 1915 that shows Bodhidharma, his jaunty face posed defiantly, riding his slip of bamboo across the Yang-tse’s bouncing waves. The other work I bought that day, a traditional painting, shows three carp, one of which has successfully leapt beyond the waves of the Yellow River to attain dragon status. The painting, dated with a signature of a famous Chinese painter of the late fifteenth century named Lu Zhi, is a fake. But it’s a very nice fake that is probably more than one hundred years old. Following Bodhidharma’s path will take me to where both of the events depicted in those two pieces of art took place.
Since Bodhidharma arrived here in Guangzhou, the Pearl River has changed its course many times. In his time, a maze of marinas and docks crowded the riverbank, using all available real estate for loading and unloading bundled trade goods that flowed to and from ancient kingdoms that surrounded the South China Sea and beyond. Now the container freight that passes to and from the waterway does so through immense terminals and wharfs located outside Guangzhou city proper, leaving the banks here less cluttered if also less scenic.
Sitting on a stair that leads into the water and serves as a landing for small pleasure boats, I shade my eyes against the sunset to watch a tugboat pass. I wonder how many of Guangzhou’s citizens, many of whom crowd the shore around me to enjoy the fall evening, are aware of who Bodhidharma was, and that he started his religious mission in China at this place.
3. Hualin Temple
AT NINE IN THE MORNING, a black SUV rolls up to the front door of the Like Home Hotel. I open the door behind the driver and hop in the backseat of the vehicle. There, next to me, sits abbot Yaozhi [pronounced Yow Jer] of Grand Buddha Temple. He greets me warmly. A monk sitting in front next to the driver also introduces himself; his name is Ruxin (pronounced Roo Sin), and he’s a senior monk at the temple. Yaozhi gives the instant impression of being a very friendly and humble individual. His round face holds sympathetic eyes and a quick smile. He welcomes me to Guangzhou and asks if everything at my hotel is okay. I tell him that the Like Home Hotel is fine and really does try to make you feel at home. Except, I say, it’s not really like home, because they’ll do your laundry for you. Yaozhi and Ruxin laugh politely at my lame joke, and Ruxin says that I shouldn’t feel bad, as in China husbands also have to do their own laundry these days.
It’s only a few blocks to Hualin Temple, the place where tradition says Bodhidharma started teaching in China. We soon exit the SUV and enter a pedestrian-only walkway called Jade Street, a place where locals and tourists buy jewelry and ornaments made from China’s most famous gemstone. In the midst of the tree-shaded street is a pretty fountain that sits before the front gate of the temple. Waiting at that gate is a middle-aged monk who will act as our guide.
After some introductions, I explain to the small entourage that I have visited the temple on some previous occasions but now want to dig deeper into the legend of Bodhidharma, to try to sort out facts from folklore.
There’s a part of Chinese culture and demeanor that I would describe as “no need to dig too deeply.” The idea is that it might be better not to investigate something too deeply just for the sake of doing so. This attitude is part of the immense patience that dwells deeply in China. It’s a practical view that exists to help maintain social harmony and face-saving. The attitude helps explain why the Chinese are in no hurry to excavate the tomb of Qin Shi Huang, the first emperor of China. They say that technology needs to improve before such a thing is attempted, and if that means waiting for a few score more years, then so be it. The idea is that “this situation will eventually change, so let’s not get too worked up about it.”
FIGURE 3. Guangzhou Temples: Hualin Temple, located a few hundred meters north of the Pearl River in downtown Guangzhou, is where Bodhidharma is said to have first taught in China. Legends say he also lived at Guangxiao Temple.
So, when a foreigner like me shows up and wants to poke deeper into some myths that are important to people, I may meet a bemused reaction. Who cares if the sign on the front of Hualin Temple says Bodhidharma came here in 527, even though this contradicts the most reliable historical sources about his life? Does questioning any of this change the Bodhidharma story or what he stands for? Just practice what he said and forget about the details!
Okay. Some other religions depend on the truth of their original teach er’s divinity to prove their worth. To Christians, Christ must be the Son of God and to have risen from the grave after three days. But Buddhism doesn’t require such validation. Zen doesn’t direct its belief system to something outside (well it can, but that’s not the important bit). What does it matter if some particular person was the one who said some truth ? Someone said it, so who cares who it was? In light of this viewpoint, which is admittedly hard to contest, what’s the difference if the old stories about Bodhidharma are a litt
le contradictory and confused?
What makes Bodhidharma’s story interesting is that it appears to express a desire for freedom in the Asian context. The fuzzy contradictions and mystical bits of Bodhidharma’s life may detract from taking the story seriously. But his life and its aftermath cover too much ground and tell too much about how the world works. It touches territory spreading from the dark corners of human ignorance to the leading edge of science. It’s a good narrative for looking at some old questions in a new light.
FIGURE 4. The Bodhidharma Memorial Hall at Hualin Temple.
Our guide leads us into the Five Hundred Arhats Hall, where five hundred life-size “arhats” (Chinese: lohan), disciples of Buddha, are displayed. There are no genuine records, of course, that list five hundred disciples of Buddha who directly studied with him, and the figures here are accretions that showed up over the centuries. All of them have associated stories that convey moral object lessons of one sort or another. The figures in the hall are full-size and displayed in various poses and expressions related to their legends. The guide explains that all the original statues were destroyed during the Cultural Revolution, but the hall and the stands remained, so after the temple was reopened, the statues were replaced.
While the Cultural Revolution was an orgy of senseless destruction, it was certainly not the only time that Buddhism has been persecuted and nearly wiped out in Chinese history. Similar, if less extreme, episodes were not uncommon even in Bodhidharma’s time. Around the year 600, the situation for Buddhism appeared so precarious that many important monks like Daoxuan thought that Buddhist teachings might soon disappear. To prevent this, Buddhists started a project to carve the entire Buddhist canon, literally hundreds of books of scripture, onto stone tablets. The stone tablets were then placed in sealed caves so that after Buddhism had been outwardly destroyed, the scriptures could again be found. This immense project, involving the carving of thousands of large stone tablets, continued over an eight-hundred-year period and was perhaps the longest single project ever undertaken in human history. I often accompany groups to view the tables, at a place called Yunju Temple, about an hour outside of Beijing. So, while the destruction of the Cultural Revolution was severe, it is only a blip in the long timeline of Chinese Buddhist history. After the Cultural Revolution spent itself, the tablets of Yunju Temple were uncovered to a country again open to Buddha’s teachings.
At one side of the Five Hundred Arhats Hall, there is an odd statue sitting among the many Chinese-looking figures. The guide points to it and says, “There’s Marco Polo.” Sure enough, sitting next to Dizang, one of the four great Chinese bodhisattvas, there is an odd-looking statue with exaggerated Western features. It’s strange to see the famous Venetian adventurer sitting in a pantheon of Buddhist legends. Yet it is not too surprising. Chinese have always welcomed foreigners, so the fact that they’ve given Marco Polo the status of an arhat, one of Buddha’s disciples, is not extraordinary. After all, he came from the “West,” someplace in the sacred direction of the Western Paradise, where Buddha lived, and the source of the sacred scriptures! Anyway, this religious inclusiveness between East and West has worked both ways. During the early days when the Roman Catholic Church sent missionaries to China, the pope recognized the Buddha as a Catholic saint. It seems that the Holy See figured that it would be easier to offer salvation from the top down. If you simply change the god that people were worshiping into a Catholic saint, then their prayers will automatically become legitimate.
As we gaze at Marco Polo, a bystander overhears me talking and says something like “Oh, this foreigner can speak Chinese!” I turn to say hello and see a look of surprise on the man’s odd-looking face. I say hello again, but he’s now speechless and seems shocked. The abbot and other monks appear embarrassed and start moving me away from this odd denizen of the temple.
“I recognize you,” I say. “Yes, you’re Ji Gong! You’re very famous.”
“What? No, no,” says the man. “That’s not me!”
Everyone politely laughs at my feeble joke. Ji Gong was a legendary monk in Hangzhou that lived during the Song dynasty. He reportedly often violated the Buddhist precepts by getting drunk, eating meat, and showing up late for morning temple services. At Nanhua Temple, the Dharma seat of the famous Sixth Ancestor of Zen, there’s a statue of Ji Gong by a window in the Buddha Hall where services are held every day. He’s sneaking in after the door was locked for latecomers. Despite his famous shortcomings, Ji Gong supposedly performed miraculous feats and became known as a “living Buddha.” He’s often depicted with a face that looks like the man who now tags along with our group, a face sculpted by a hard world.
We emerge back into the temple’s courtyard. There stands a “Śarīra tower,” a type of pagoda structure about fifteen feet tall. In the 1960s, construction crews were moving the structure from a location in a local park when an underground vault was discovered beneath it. In the vault was a box that reportedly contained sacred relics of the Buddha, the jewels that remained after his body was cremated. The relics were retained by the local historical society, and the Śarīra tower was moved inside the Hualin Temple grounds.
We talk about the origin of the name of Hualin Temple. Hualin means “Flowered Woods.” The place is named after the garden where Emperor Wu is believed to have met Bodhidharma. This occurred in Jiankang, capital of the Liang dynasty, the city now called Nanjing. Flowered Woods was mainly a private park at the rear of the palace grounds for the emperor and his family. It was also the venue for several of Emperor Wu’s great religious events.
In passing, I mention to my hosts that I’m interested to know more about the many monks who came to China on the “Ocean Silk Road.” While the Silk Road that passes through the desert is more famous, the sea route that passes through the Strait of Malacca were a well-traveled and important part of China’s Western contacts in ancient times.
Yaozhi says, “There’s a scholar who’s just written a book about that!” In a few seconds he’s pulled out his cell phone and started dialing, apparently following up on my interest.
On the other side of the courtyard is the back door of a large hall facing south toward the Pearl River, which is about a thousand meters away but obscured by city buildings. In ancient times that river is said to have flowed even closer to where we now stand, and thus this is the approximate place where Bodhidharma is said to have come ashore. What is unexplained, of course, is why Bodhidharma would build his teaching spot at virtually the very spot where he first stepped on land. I’d think the stevedores loading and emptying boats with their goods-laden shoulder poles might overrun him. Anyway, that’s the story.
The big hall at the center of Hualin Temple is the Bodhidharma Hall, and it is a model of traditional Chinese Buddhist architecture, sporting ornate wooden roof beams and fishtail gables, all supported by columns wrapped with carved dragons. We walk around to the front door on the south side of the building and look in to see a twenty-foot-tall statue of Bodhidharma at its center. The guide says it was cast using three layers of bronze that were stacked one on top of the other and then sealed and polished to form the complete figure. The whole statue weighs nearly ten tons. It’s an impressive work of modern statue making. Of course casting technology these days is nothing compared to what the Chinese of ancient times were capable of doing. In Beijing there is something called the Yong Le Bell, a Buddhist bell ordered cast around the year 1426 by Emperor Judi of the Ming dynasty, the same emperor who built the Forbidden City. The single casting from which the bell is made weighs an astonishing fifty-four tons (forty-eight metric tons), and on its internal and outer surfaces are two hundred and fifty thousand Chinese characters integrally cast in the bell body, all displaying text from Buddhist scriptures. Anyone who knows about bronze-casting technology and the difficulties involved in making such a one-piece masterpiece is at a loss to comprehend how this giant Buddhist bell was made in ancient times. It still hangs on public display at the Big Bell Temple
museum in Beijing and is rung during the Chinese New Year celebrations.
The situation with Hualin Temple is like many other temples in China that are in an urban setting. After 1949, when religions came under pressure, much of their original land was appropriated by the government and used to create housing and other purposes, their area squeezing into smaller and smaller compounds. Finally, during the Cultural Revolution, they were closed completely, their contents generally ransacked or destroyed. After 1980 the temples began reopening, and with help from sympathetic local governments, many are getting back some of the land that was taken from them. Hualin Temple is expanding again, albeit slowly. When I ask how long this will take, my hosts laugh a little nervously. I say, “Well, Chinese are patient. Even if it takes a hundred years, that’s okay.” Ruxin smiles in agreement. He says that maybe it could even take several hundred years to complete. As the story of the stone tablets of Yunju Temple shows, Chinese have patience and a different sense of time. The old joke is that when two Chinese people meet, one will ask, “Where is your hometown?” The other then answers, “In Hebei Province.” “When did you leave Hebei?” says the first person. “Six generations ago.”