Translated from Chinese text: https://www.awakeningtoreality.com/2022/05/blog-post.html

A Section on Investigating Chan — Teachings by Teacher Hong Wenliang

Teacher Hong said: You must understand the true meaning of the three words “to be free of birth and death.” If you do not, then the Buddhism you study is merely your own Buddhism.

(Record of Chan Master Hongzhi) Investigating Chan is one matter. In truth it is to be free of birth and death. If you cannot be free of birth and death, what do you call Chan? Tell me: How does birth occur? How does death occur? How does freedom occur? If in a single thought one is confused about the basis and follows emotion, one is pulled in every place—bustling, tangled, and disturbed. Since one is born from a place of non-freedom, one will also die from a place of non-freedom. If one is a lucid person, originally there is no place from which one comes; understanding thus and putting it to use, then at all times and in all places one is completely freed, relying on nothing, and among the myriad phenomena one brings forth a head of ground. At such a time one does not carry along the four great elements and the five aggregates; only then is there a path for emerging. On the thirtieth day of the twelfth month, one goes off just the same. This is called “coming with no place from which one comes; going with no place to which one goes.” At that time it is utterly free of contingent conditions, vast and without location; the three times are cut off and the six gates are empty. Therefore it is said: expansive, radiant—far beyond the reach of conception and discursiveness. Thought cannot reach it; discussion cannot equal it. As soon as a mental stir is born, the stream begins to flow. If all mental stirrings come to an end, neither heaven will come to you nor hell will come to you. The ten directions of open space are purely clean, without stain—vastly clear. To come thus, lucid and wakeful—this is the place where all buddhas and bodhisattvas are born. To cast one’s seed through deluded attachment—this is the place where sentient beings are born. Within this, good and evil are carried together, and thus the good destinies and evil destinies come about. But if good and evil are like floating clouds, with no place of arising or ceasing, then here neither “sentient being” nor “buddha” can be established. As the Sixth Patriarch said: “Do not think of good; do not think of evil. Just at such a time, show me your original face before your father and mother were born.” Brothers, if you have not yet stopped—stop now; if you have not yet rested—rest now. If you can rest completely and stop securely, then a thousand sages cannot carry you off. The place where you cannot be carried off is your very self. Do not gnaw at words with explanations of doctrine, or swing the staff and shout wildly—these are all just the revolving of karmic consciousness. If you still seek a verdict from others and accept their pointing and annotations, you are again clinging to grass and attaching to trees. You must directly have wisdom without a teacher, natural wisdom; when seeing the nature, do not retain “buddha”; when greatly awakened, do not keep “teacher.” Only then will you have a breath or two of a patch-robed monk’s spirit. Now tell me: how does one conduct oneself so as to cut off birth and death and go beyond the ordinary and the holy? Beneath the tree without shadow, all board the same boat; upon the crystal pavilion, there is no one knowledgeable.

Today I will speak on a passage from the recorded sayings of Chan Master Hongzhi. Are you all familiar with Hongzhi Zhengjue? Dōgen often praised him as a living buddha—a true living buddha. His works include the Extensive Record of Chan Master Hongzhi, volumes one through eight, with superb content; when time permits, we will introduce some of it. Today we shall discuss a section, “A Section on Investigating Chan.”

Have you considered this: in learning Buddhism and reading sutras—whether you study the Vinaya school, the Pure Land school, or any other—what is Buddhist study for? After learning Buddhism, you still need to eat and earn money to support everyone. People like to wear a little better clothing, live in mansions, eat good things, live longer, and have kind coworkers—everyone hopes for this. Must one learn the Buddha-dharma to accomplish these? Can one accomplish them without the Buddha-dharma? Each person’s needs differ—some higher, some lower. If it is only for ordinary worldly life and to obtain your own satisfaction, is Buddhist practice strictly necessary? Have you thought about this? Suppose your study of Buddhism truly attains the great result—you become a buddha, a great Chan master of complete enlightenment—yet you still eat, drink tea, walk, chat, go to the toilet, and when the time comes, you also say farewell. Then why study Buddhism? Have you yourself thought about this?

This very case is exactly what Chan Master Hongzhi points out as most important: he holds that the main purpose of learning Buddhism is this—to be free of birth and death. If it is for something else, then not necessarily must you learn Buddhism; practicing some non-ultimate, not thorough methods to calm the mind and gain temporary ease is also fine. But the Venerable Zhengjue—the living buddha whom Dōgen revered—held that if you truly wish to learn from Śākyamuni Buddha, then you must proceed in this way. This piece speaks precisely to this point, so please pay special attention. Since we are continually studying Buddhism, let us hear what Hongzhi says. This is also the reason why he studied Buddhism.

Let us first look at the opening line: Investigating Chan is one matter. Do not, upon seeing “investigating Chan,” assume it is solely studying the Chan school. It makes no difference if one studies Tantra or Pure Land. Do not say, “I study Vinaya; I need not listen to this.” That is not the meaning. The “Chan” in “investigating Chan” is not the narrow Chan. What is the true meaning of “investigating Chan”? What is it to genuinely study with the Buddha? This is investigating Chan. It is not necessarily to examine kōans or to sit in meditation—this is not the point. “Investigating Chan” is truly studying the Buddha, whatever school or lineage you belong to. So do not misunderstand that investigating Chan concerns only Chan followers; “A Section on Investigating Chan” addresses not merely those studying Chan but all who truly wish to study Buddhism—of any school or lineage—who should pay heed to this matter.

Next we read how he gives the answer at once. Why study Buddhism? To make money, to be healthy and long-lived, to have a harmonious family? For that, one need not necessarily study Buddhism. He says, “In truth it is to be free of birth and death.” Why listen to the Dharma? Why go home and still sit in meditation? Many schools also recite the Buddha’s name, offer incense, chant mantras, make many mudrās—why do all these various practices? In truth it is to be free of birth and death—this is his answer. Then I ask you: What is being free of birth and death? Did Śākyamuni Buddha free himself from birth and death? A classmate of mine—not a Buddhist—said to me, “You say ‘free from birth and death.’ Tell me, Hong Wenliang—did Śākyamuni die or not? He still kicked the bucket, didn’t he? So-called freedom from birth and death is a joke, a deception.” How do you answer? Is freedom from birth and death merely dying with ease—leaving happily, without worry, with no concerns left behind? Is dying like that “freedom from birth and death”? Is it so simple? In that case many people have done it—leaving easily, with no worries left, bequeathing property to children and spouse, taxes all arranged, even the finest coffin purchased… Many people leave like this—does that count as freedom from birth and death? Since such a great Chan master as Hongzhi speaks here of freedom from birth and death, if we simply skim over it, we will go astray. This is why many do not understand the essential meaning of the Chan orthodox Dharma: they think that, having read and intellectually grasped it, they “know” freedom from birth and death; that when a person leaves there is nothing much to it—“pa!” a clap of the hands, or a sneeze—and off one goes. Is that understanding correct? Is that freedom from birth and death? If so, there would be no need to waste time here listening to teachings, nor to suffer through aching legs. Every school has its practices, and worldly arts have many modes to satisfy our needs; but as for freedom from birth and death, only the Buddha’s true Dharma can accomplish it. The question is: what is freedom from birth and death? Is living a very long time freedom from birth and death? That is cultivating longevity—Daoist talk. Longevity—must one not die one day? Certainly one must; however long one lives, one must die. Is that freedom from birth and death? And if “not dying” were freedom from birth and death, then Śākyamuni would be a deceiver—he also died—so where is freedom from birth and death? What does it really mean? First we must clarify this: “not dying” is not called “freedom from birth and death,” nor should we think that great longevity without death is freedom from birth and death—it is not. Therefore you must understand the true meaning of “freedom from birth and death” as spoken by Hongzhi; this is truly the Buddha’s essential intent. If you do not clarify it, then what you call “studying Buddhism” is studying your own Buddhism.

Hongzhi continues: If you cannot be free of birth and death, what do you call Chan? Suppose you have no way to free yourself from birth and death—how can that be called study of the Buddha? Whether monastic or lay, whatever Dharma you study—Vinaya, Tantra—it does not matter. Whether you are a famous master or an unknown person—if you study a lifetime, labor a lifetime, spend time and money, but cannot accomplish freedom from birth and death, then you have no qualification to be a student of the Buddha.

Next he explains for us: Tell me: how does birth occur? How does death occur? How does freedom occur? What is “birth”? What is “death”? What is “freedom from birth and death”? In studying Buddhism, the crucial aim is freedom from birth and death; but if “birth” and “death” themselves are misunderstood, how can you discuss freedom? You are told to accomplish freedom from birth and death, yet if your view of birth and death in your mind differs from what Śākyamuni taught, your discussion is useless and meaningless. Thus Hongzhi raises the question: what truly is birth, what truly is death? You may wonder—who does not know what birth is? We are now “alive.” When we see someone go, we say that person “died.” Is there still a question about birth and death? It seems all quite clear—speaking, getting angry, greedy, seeking this and that—that is the activity within life. When dead, one does not speak, cannot see, cannot hear; when called by name, one does not respond; after some days the body decays—that is death. Is there still a problem with birth and death? Why ask what is birth and what is death? Is this superfluous? Have we thought carefully about it? More than ten years ago I gave lectures on the Tibetan teachings about life and death and cyclic existence—those were merely tantalizing, not the true Buddha-dharma. Today let us look carefully at how the Chan patriarch speaks about birth and death.

“If in a single thought one is confused about the basis and follows emotion, one is pulled in every place—bustling, tangled, and disturbed. Since one is born from a place of non-freedom, one will also die from a place of non-freedom.” He gives a concise explanation. This is very important, especially for practitioners; we must examine ourselves deeply line by line. What does it mean to “be unable to be free of birth and death”? It does not mean “not dying”; it means that the matter of birth and death binds and obstructs you—our concept of birth and death binds us. As the Taiwanese saying goes: while living, it has already messed up your whole life, and at the end it still does not let you go—it messes you up again. Why are we deceived and muddled by it? Because we are continually “confused about the basis and following emotion.” Not knowing what the true “self” is is called “confused about the basis.” What is the true “self”? Whether you do good or evil, whether you study great dharmas or science and technology—if you fundamentally do not clarify what the true “self” is, that is called “confused about the basis.” This “basis” is not some principle, original law, or universal truth; nor does it mean the highest moral standard, or the ultimate deployment of a Dharma at its utmost—no. Failing to clarify the true “self,” you are inevitably carried away by feelings and moods—thus “following emotion.” Following emotion means being moved along with your moods: joy, vexation, sorrow, dissatisfaction—all are “emotion”; to be carried along by them is following emotion. Note well: he does not say you must not have these feelings; if that were forbidden, then upon accomplishment you would become a stone or wooden person—never angry, never joyful, liking nothing and disliking nothing—thinking that only then are you “not following emotion.” That is not “not following emotion.” Following emotion means being carried off by it—letting it be your boss, allowing emotion to take command and dragging along behind it; at all times it is the function of your momentary feeling. You wish to cultivate good, to study the great Dharma—but you only move when emotion moves you. This “following emotion” is critical; if you follow emotion, you will surely be unable to free yourself from birth and death. Even if you live to ninety or a hundred, when the end approaches, if you truly free yourself from birth and death, you will go cleanly and openly.

How does Hongzhi describe one who is free? The state of “being confused about the basis and following emotion” no longer occurs. One does not confuse the basis and does not follow emotion—only then is there hope of freedom from birth and death. Thus, simply by not confusing the basis, one naturally does not follow emotion. The issue lies with your “basis.” Do you understand what “basis” is? This is crucial: the Buddha-dharma asks you to clarify what this “basis” is. Do not fabricate in your head—“This is the universe’s grand principle: neither being nor non-being; let go of everything…” Do not compose essays in thought. If the “basis” is right, you will not follow emotion. If you know the road, you will not go astray. Not knowing east, west, north, or south, you should go east but wander west—that is following emotion. If you truly know where east lies, will you go north, south, or west? You will not. The key is not to confuse the basis. A lifetime of listening to Dharma, reading sutras, sitting in meditation, reciting buddhas’ names, chanting mantras—these are all methods. For what? To clarify the “basis,” so that at the end you are not muddled and dragged off by emotion.

Note the phrase “in a single thought.” Why is it added? Because becoming confused and following emotion happens in an instant; conversely, not letting that instant arise—then nothing is amiss. This is “Do not travel by night; if you take refuge in the light, be sure to arrive.” It is a matter of a single thought. When Mazu asked Shigong, “With one arrow, how many deer can you kill?”, at that very moment he leapt out of confusion-about-basis and following emotion. Is it possible to be free in a single thought? If not, the Buddha-dharma would be useless. Precisely because it is possible, it is called wondrous and inconceivable. But do not fantasize, “Ah—just like that—my thought turns and I am free.” That is imagination. This “single thought” here is not the discursive thought of consciousness that you can spin at will. When the apple is ripe, it falls—that instant, that “single thought.” Before ripening, a green apple will not fall. When ripe, it drops—just that instant. When time and conditions arrive. Likewise, shedding “single-thought confusion and following emotion” is a single instant. But before that instant, must you apply effort? Certainly—hearing, reflection, and cultivation are required. If you do not go through hearing, reflection, and cultivation, but sit waiting and pleading for that single instant—there is no such thing. You yourself must ripen.

He then depicts how, in daily life, we show confusion-about-basis and following emotion. It is everywhere—people all around us are like this. Chan Master Fayan pointed to a curtain; two monks went and pulled it open. Fayan said, “One attained; one lost.” This is confusion-about-basis and following emotion. Ordinary people, unclear about what “basis” is—even while studying Buddhism and doing good—are still confused about the basis. Śākyamuni only requires that you not be confused about the basis; then, everywhere and always, you will be exactly responsive. What is “exactly responsive”? In a mountain valley, if you cry “ah—,” the valley echoes “ah—”; if you say “yi—,” it returns “yi—.” This is exact responsiveness. The valley is not deliberately imitating you; naturally “ah—” returns “ah—,” “yi—” returns “yi—.” We can do this: as I speak and your ears resound, you cannot separate my speaking from your hearing; where do they meet? You cannot find it—this is exact responsiveness. When I do not speak, you are quiet—responsive to quiet. When I cough, “mm-hai,” there is “mm-hai” responsiveness. After exact responsiveness comes “distinct, without confusion”: meeting red, it is red and will not turn black; meeting green, it is green; tall bamboo is tall; broad leaves are broad; fine pointed leaves are fine and pointed—without a hair’s breadth of error. Illness, coughs, fevers—distinct, without confusion; exact responsiveness. When the phenomenon of life ends—like wood fully burned, fire out, all ash—when it is time to go, wood exhausted, ash remains, fire goes out. Is it “you” who die? It is simply the appearance of death present—dharma following dharma. Above this there is no owner, no “you.” To depart from this is to be confused about the basis and to follow emotion.

He continues: “One is pulled in every place.” Everywhere you are dragged. What most easily drags us? It differs by life stage. In youth, one is especially pulled by sex and romance; after marriage and children, by money and status; in old age, by longevity and health. Some are dragged by empty reputation—“I despise such things”—yet who is boasting? Still you. Not knowing exact responsiveness and distinctness without confusion, one errs. Thus a thoroughly awakened person who has found the true self need not rigidly cling to rules; he can be exactly responsive—neither too much nor too little, not rushing the beat nor lagging. When it is appropriate to be angry yet you laugh—are you not unwell? You say, “Because I have the Way, when angry I laugh heh-heh—I will not be angry.” Is that so? If anger is present, anger is angry—why posture?

“Bustling, tangled, and disturbed”—this further refines “dragged in every place.” Pulled here and there, this won’t do and that won’t do—attending to this you miss that; attending to that you miss this—gluey and vexed, as if strong glue were smeared on your soles—each step heavy. Name and gain pull you along; every step is toil. This is called being confused about the basis and following emotion—not liberated. And does a liberated person still walk? He still walks.

“Since one is born from a place of non-freedom, one will also die from a place of non-freedom.” The Extensive Record contains many passages—for example, when Hongzhi’s disciples passed away and were cremated, he offered final instruction and guidance so they could leave well. This “Section on Investigating Chan” says the point is to be free of birth and death; if you cannot, you waste your effort—do not study. Otherwise you will forever wander muddled within the three realms like a sleepwalker. Whatever your school, first clarify: the main thing is to be free of birth and death. And what is that? You must understand “birth” and “death”; otherwise, not knowing what they are, how can you be free of them? The essential point: do not be confused about the basis and follow emotion. Why follow emotion? Because you do not know the “basis”—your true self. Seize it—touch it—and you will not follow emotion, like the valley echo exactly responsive, distinct without confusion.

Now he speaks concretely of how, being dragged everywhere and confused about the basis and following emotion, we come and go. “Since one is born from a place of non-freedom”—what is that? None of us remembers being born; we are born without freedom. We hope to be reborn in a good family with a healthy body—can you choose? You cannot. This is “born from a place of non-freedom.” And at the end? “You will die from a place of non-freedom.” Tibetan teachings describe peaceful and wrathful deities and various methods, but the patriarchs simply tell you: when you die, you die from a place of non-freedom. Frightening scenes appear and you flee; delightful scenes appear and you rush toward them—and thus you tumble along in rebirth. This is dying from a place of non-freedom.

“If one is a lucid person”—does this mean someone who understands many doctrines? Or who can sit two hours without aching legs? Or who can form many mudrās and chant mantras beautifully? None of these. “Lucid person” means one no different at all from Śākyamuni—this must be personally realized; do not merely speak principles. “I am born from the same root as the universe”—anyone can say that. Not so. Knowing many doctrines or seeking methods that satisfy temporary needs—does that make a lucid person? No. Only one who accomplishes what the Buddha hopes us to accomplish is a lucid person.

What is such a person like? “Originally there is no place from which one comes.” Can you accept this? We are “originally with no place from which we come.” Do you know your origin? Even if you knew your past life—Buddhism allows such accounts—this is still “no place from which one comes.” All existence is “no place from which one comes.” A piece of wood catches fire and flame blazes—does the fire come from inside the wood? Is there fire hidden there? Plainly it is this wood that burns into this flame, yet truly the fire has no place from which it comes. Fire has no self-nature. To say “it comes from this wood” is precisely our conceptual habit—that is why we cannot understand the Dharma.

“Understanding thus and putting it to use.” You recognize dependent arising with empty nature. When it should weep, it weeps; when it should hurt, it hurts; when it should be a cold, it is a cold. “Understanding thus and putting it to use” means realizing the Way of no-mind and resting therein. With this clarified, “livelihood at the point of contact is sufficient to one’s allotment”: if a cold, then a cold; if diarrhea, then diarrhea; if joy, then joy; wealth or poverty—just so. At ease in dependent arising. It is not that there is a “you,” clearly choosing this or that rebirth. Even if one must enter an ox’s womb, one abides at ease in that ox-womb—this is “understanding thus and putting it to use.” All is without self-nature—no central “me” moving.

“Originally there is no place from which one comes; understanding thus and putting it to use.” Even if you knew eons of previous lives and all their sources, that too is “no place from which one comes.” If you truly know this, then “at all times and in all places, completely freed, relying on nothing.” At the end, eyes closed, the six sense gates no longer functioning, many bardo appearances arise—frightening or pleasing. Because you know “originally there is no place from which one comes” and can “put it to use,” you are at ease within the circumstance—becoming a buddha even in hell. “Completely freed, relying on nothing” is scholastically “dependent arising without self-nature.”

Consider fire among the four great elements. Burn wood and fire appears; when burned out, the fire disappears. From where does fire come, and where does it go? When extinguished, where does it return? The wood is ash—where did the fire arise, where did it vanish? We ourselves—earth, water, fire, wind—seem like fire issuing from wood. We think “fire comes from wood”—but truly, whence do earth, water, fire, wind spring forth? “Completely freed, relying on nothing” is “originally not a single thing,” hence boundlessly many appearances. Because boundlessly many, by following conditions they appear in myriad forms; and being boundless, they can also appear as the limited. The unlimited is the limited; the limited is the unlimited. Sameness is difference; difference is sameness. Having is not-having; not-having is having. If you cannot clarify this, you should not study Buddhism at all.

Is the fire-element truly existent? It functions—light and heat. Speaking and thinking are like light and heat—our four elements in combination can think and feel. When the burning ends—where does it go? You cannot find whence it came or whither it went. Thus boundlessly many forms appear; seek the headwaters—you cannot find them. The very forms are the headwaters; source is branch and branch is source. Dualistic thinking muddles it again: “Source is not branch; branch is not source.” Dualism is a phantom serpent in the cup. Grasp this and you are awakened—there is nothing else to awaken to.

“Completely freed, relying on nothing” is “originally not a single thing.” Only when mind moves do forms appear; if mind does not move, no form appears. The eyes behold images on the retina, but if mind does not move, do you know what is seen? Vibrations reach the eardrum, but if mind does not coordinate, even if the drum bursts, is there sound? If mind does not join, there is no sound. Realize the Way of no-mind; realizing the Way of no-mind, rest. Speak and see thus; if it itches, scratch—do not put on airs.

Our birth and death lie between a single inhale and exhale—do not say, “I am young; there is time.” Not necessarily. To die without freedom is miserable; can one die with freedom? To die with freedom is to go clearly—this is what Buddhist study is for. For wealth and honor there are other methods—no need to learn Buddhism. So please attend: every line of Hongzhi carries weight—the words of a great Chan master with real realization.

“To bring forth a head of ground among the myriad phenomena. At such a time one does not carry along the four great elements and the five aggregates; only then is there a path for emerging.” In daily life—being a person, doing things, earning money; a lawyer eloquent without hindrance, a teacher who teaches well, a surgeon of great skill—these are among the myriad phenomena. Playing stocks is among them; studying Buddhism, chanting mantras, traveling to visit teachers, investigating Chan—these are all appearances within the myriad. Not being confused about the basis within the myriad is “bringing forth a head of ground”—because you have discovered the true self. Favorable and adverse conditions alike are among the myriad; adversity still arrives—this is dependent arising. Thus, amid daily favorable and adverse, one differs from others—not by posing as accomplished or rigidly moral, but naturally one’s bearing is different.

“At such a time one does not carry along the four great elements and the five aggregates.” “At such a time” means whenever and wherever—one does not allow earth, water, fire, wind and form, feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness to drag one away. Why “not carry them along”? It does not mean the body does not move or hunger or fall ill. It means not being deluded by the operations of the four great elements and five aggregates, taking them as “me.” Since they are dependently arisen—like fire from wood—forms differ, but there is no fixed “fire.” “Before one’s father and mother were born”—this is its true meaning. The fire still burns and gives light and heat; your belly still hungers and you still catch colds and have diarrhea—but you are not led by the operations of the aggregates.

“When everyone at a hundred years must go, only then is there a path for emerging.” He does not say only if you read the whole Tripiṭaka, sit a hundred thousand hours, or have a master assist with chanting is there a path for emerging. Śākyamuni does not peddle such talk. He asks you to clarify what you are—do not take the petty four great and five aggregates as yourself. If you keep clinging and dragging them around muddled, then when visions arise in the bardo—terrifying lions and tigers, or enticing beauties—you will be toyed with. If you have clarified what you are, you will not be confused about the basis nor follow emotion. Truly clarifying that you are the great cosmos—only then is there a path for emerging.

“On the thirtieth day of the twelfth month, one goes off just the same.” The “thirtieth” is the time of death. Whether or not you believe or practice this or that, everyone must go—“just the same one goes.” To which realm is not the central issue. As Weishan said, “After a hundred years I will become a water buffalo at the foot of the mountain.” Even hell is not feared, nor the animal realm—thus one goes just the same.

“This is called ‘coming with no place from which one comes; going with no place to which one goes.’” To come thus is to go thus. How come thus? “No place from which one comes”—that is how one comes. And going? There is no place to go. Returning to the burning-wood example: strike the fire—flame comes—whence did it come? No place from which. When burned out and extinguished—where did it go? No place to which. When conditions arrive, it flares again. Therefore “realize the Way of no-mind; realizing the Way of no-mind, rest.” The Sixth Patriarch said, “Originally not a single thing.” The four great and five aggregates are illusions. Not knowing they are illusions, you take them as real and toil at cultivation; but do not say, “Since they are illusions, I will ignore them”—who is making that declaration? Still the five aggregates. Hearing the Dharma without thoroughness, one immediately uses one’s own ideas to infer the Buddha’s words.

“To come lucidly thus—this is the place where all buddhas and bodhisattvas are born.” When we must pass, if in this life we learn the orthodox Dharma and clarify our true face, then we go lightly and clearly, distinct without confusion. “Lucidly”—clear and awake—not muddled like a sleepwalker. Even if to hell or the animal realm—judged by human values, these are undesirable—but the lion is happy as a lion; the fish content as a fish. Humans slaughter one another yet pity small creatures—contradictions abound.

“To cast one’s seed through deluded attachment—this is the place where sentient beings are born.” Those who have not properly learned the Dharma, who have not truly understood the Buddha’s teaching, seek a Buddhism of their own preference—they inevitably “cast their seed through deluded attachment.” This includes even seeking the Dharma with craving—hoping to gain knowledge or powers without clarifying the direction. The intention may be good, but the method and direction are wrong. Rebirth is then guided by confusion-about-basis and following emotion—the main motive is craving. Do not treat the Buddha-dharma as a tool for worldly fame and profit—that betrays the Buddha’s compassion.

“Within this, good and evil are carried together, and thus the good destinies and evil destinies come about.” Casting seeds through deluded attachment may carry good karma or evil karma; even the human world includes good and evil destinies—the clever and the dull.

“But if good and evil are like floating clouds, with no place of arising or ceasing, then here neither ‘sentient being’ nor ‘buddha’ can be established.” In worldly law we call this good and that evil. Hongzhi says: they are like clouds—arising and ceasing without a center or self-nature. Here, “sentient being” and “buddha” cannot be set up. To grasp this, read the next section where he explains more precisely why. Otherwise people will misunderstand and think, “If there is no distinction, I may as well be a villain.” The reasoning for “sentient being” and “buddha” not being established is explained thereafter.