by Red Pine
It seems as if the only way I can understand a Chinese text is to try to translate it. So, over the course of several months, I compared the six extant Chinese translations of the sutra and produced a composite version in English. But I still didn’t understand what it meant, or how it all fit together. For years, whenever I asked anyone, I was told it was about emptiness. But such knowledge never helped. Then one day two years ago, I visited the office of the Yin-shun Foundation in Taipei. The Foundation had asked me to translate one of Master Yin-shun’s publications, and while I was waiting for one of the monks to arrange a meeting with the old master, I glanced at their wall of books. A set of maroon spines caught my eye. It was a five-volume study of the Diamond Sutra, but a study of the Sanskrit, not the Chinese, compiled by Hsu Yang-chu. The work was entitled Hsin-yi fan-wen fo-tien Chinkang po-juo po-lo-mi-ching and it was published by the Ju-Shih Publishing Company in Taipei, on Thanksgiving Day in 1995. Hsu had only printed 250 sets of the books, but a few days later I managed to track down his loft retreat and buy a set. What a find! Within days, I began to understand the mystery. The thought had never occurred to me that since the Diamond Sutra was originally in verse, even though it was now in prose, its meaning still depended on its poetry, which was still apparent in the Sanskrit but not in the Chinese. Without the resonance of words to hold it together, the sutra had become a collection of jewels, wonderful, radiant jewels, but a collection without any discernible order. But by reading the Sanskrit text, I was able to see how they all fit together. It turns out the sutra isn’t about emptiness. Or at least, it isn’t emptiness that distinguishes this sutra. It’s about bodies, beginning with the Buddha’s body and ending with the body of every noble son or daughter who practices this teaching. Our real body is what ties all these words together.
Of course, the Sanskrit texts we have today are not the original words of the Buddha. The Buddha preferred to teach in the dialect of the common people and actually avoided the archaic form of Sanskrit in use during his day, as its complex inflections were only understood by the educated, priestly elite. Also, he encouraged his disciples to translate his teachings into the local dialect wherever they taught, and this is what they did. Ironically, during the following centuries, a less archaic form of Sanskrit, which we now call Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit (as opposed to Vedic Sanskrit), came into use in northwest India in the same region where Mahayana Buddhism developed. And when this sutra was finally written down, this is the language in which it was transmitted. And this is the language in which it arrived in China. Although how closely the texts we have today resemble those first written copies, much less their oral precursors, which were in a dialect other than Sanskrit, is something we shall never know.
In preparing this translation of the text, I have consulted two Sanskrit editions. The first is that of Max Müller, who published his edition in 1881 after making a comparison of three Sanskrit copies: an eighteenth-century copy from Japan and two sixteenth-century copies from China and Tibet. I have also consulted the edition of Edward Conze published in 1957. Conze based his edition largely on Müller’s earlier work, though he differed as to his choice of variants. He also listed important differences in the Tibetan as well as in two partial copies of the text that came to light in the early part of the twentieth century. One was unearthed in Central Asia (the Aurel Stein edition) and the other in Pakistan (the Gilgit edition), and both date back to the late fifth or early sixth century. Although these two early copies omit certain phrases that occur in our later editions, they are omissions that are primarily of interest to the historian and do not constitute any significant departure from the sutra’s central teaching. Also, where differences exist, we have three Chinese translations from roughly the same period and another three from the following two centuries that, together or individually, include most, if not all, of the phrases missing in the Stein and Gilgit copies. Thus, if we can assume that a translator would have made a greater effort than whoever left these copies behind to secure the most authoritative text, we have to judge the Stein and Gilgit texts as representing something other than the main line of textual transmission. Still, since some readers will want to know the extent of variant readings, I have noted the differences among the Sanskrit editions of Conze and Müller, the Gilgit and Stein copies, and the six Chinese translations. I have also listed variants in the Tibetan and Khotanese translations, though I have had to depend on secondary sources for this and have not gone beyond passing on the work of others.
My purpose, however, in translating this sutra was not to engage in textual notation or criticism, but to thank those who have helped me along the path by helping others understand this teaching. By itself, this sutra is not easy to fathom, much less appreciate or practice. Hence, I have translated selections from other sutras that expand on the same teaching, as well as the commentaries of several dozen monks, including my old friends, the fifty-three Zen masters, the Indian pundits Asanga and Vasubandhu, and such modern masters as Chiang Wei-nung, Tao-yuan, and Sheng-yi. I have also added remarks of my own, far more than I had anticipated or would have wished. But given my interpretation, I often had no choice. At the back of the book, I have also provided a brief explanation of terms and sources and biographical information on all those whose comments have provided the insights that will hopefully make this a useful book.
The title of this book is the Vajracchedika Prajnaparamita Sutra. Sutra is Sanskrit for “string” or “something strung together,” and prajna means “wisdom.” But it is qualified here by paramita, which means “perfection.” Thus, prajnaparamita means the “perfection of wisdom,” “ultimate wisdom,” “wisdom beyond wisdom.” This wisdom was considered the pinnacle of a group of virtues or practices known as the Six Perfections, which also included charity, morality, forbearance, vigor, and meditation. Wisdom here is also modified by vajra-chedika (diamond-cutting). Translators and commentators are divided over the meaning of this last compound. Does it mean “what cuts through diamonds” or “the diamond that cuts through”? Although the vagaries of Sanskrit grammar make both interpretations possible, in the Nirvana Sutra, the Buddha says, “Prajna (wisdom) is like a diamond. While nothing is able to harm it, it can cut through all things.” Thus, the second interpretation seems inescapable. As for chedika (cutting), like so many translators before me, I have let it go, feeling that its meaning is implied by vajra (diamond), and that its ability to cut is not the only significant quality of a diamond. Its ability to cut is only the function of prajna. Its ability to radiate light is its appearance, and its indestructibility is its essence. All three are aspects of prajna, and together they also represent the three bodies of every buddha around which this sutra turns.
Hung-jen, the Fifth Patriarch of China’s Zen sect, once told his disciples that by cherishing the Diamond Sutra they would see their natures and become buddhas. And in his commentary to the sutra, the Sixth Patriarch, Hui-neng, wrote, “Countless are those who have read this sutra, and numberless are those who have praised it. More than eight hundred have written commentaries to it, and each has explained its meaning according to his own perspective. But though perspectives differ, the Dharma is one and the same. This sutra is present in the nature of all beings. Those who don’t look within read only the words. While those who become aware of their own minds realize this sutra does not consist of words.”
This sutra is the finger that points to the moon. But it’s also the moon, the Tao of which we cannot speak. And like the moon and the Tao, it moves the other way, the way we’re not expecting. It moves backwards, not forwards. Most people look for enlightenment in the future. Buddhas find it in the past. In this sutra, the Buddha says, “No beginning, this is the highest truth.” To believe such truth, you must be fearless. But why not be fearless? What do you have to lose?
Red Pine
Thanksgiving, Year of the Dragon
City of Ten Thousand Buddhas
Ukiah, California
Thanks to Hsu Yang-c
hu for his analysis of the Sanskrit text, to Lin Kuang-ming for his edition of all six Chinese translations, to Andrew Schelling for advice and asides regarding the Sanskrit, to Alan Polson for weekly critiques and sandwiches and the loan of his library, to members of the San Francisco Zen Center, the Berkeley Zen Center, and the Sitting Frog Zendo in Port Townsend, Washington, for sharing their questions and insights regarding this teaching, and to Robert Aitken, Gary Snyder, Ron Epstein, and Alan Polson for critical readings. Thanks, too, to the City of Ten Thousand Buddhas for providing me and my two children with a place to live, to Dharma Realm Buddhist University for a monthly stipend, and to the Department of Agriculture’s Food Stamp Program for continuing support.
Chapter One: Thus have I heard: Once the Bhagavan was dwelling near Shravasti at Anathapindada Garden in Jeta Forest together with the full assembly of 1250 bhikshus and a great many fearless bodhisattvas.
One day before noon, the Bhagavan put on his patched robe and picked up his bowl and entered the capital of Shravasti for offerings. After begging for food in the city and eating his meal of rice, he returned from his daily round in the afternoon, put his robe and bowl away, washed his feet, and sat down on the appointed seat. After crossing his legs and adjusting his body, he turned his awareness to what was before him.
A number of bhikshus then came up to where the Bhagavan was sitting. After touching their heads to his feet, they walked around him to the right three times and sat down to one side.
CHAPTER ONE
THE REMAINING THIRTY-ONE CHAPTERS of this sutra attempt to explain what happens in the first. Essentially, they examine the nature of buddhahood and the path that leads thereto. In the first chapter, we see what a buddha does, which is not so different from our own daily round of existence, if we could only do what we do unhindered by attachments and see what we do unobstructed by delusions. What this sutra teaches us is how to transform attachments and delusions, how to be a buddha. And it begins with a patched robe, an empty bowl, and the Buddha’s daily practice of this teaching.
The division of the text into thirty-two chapters was the work of Prince Chao-ming (501-531), who was the eldest son of Emperor Wu of the Liang dynasty. This was the same Emperor Wu who asked a visiting Indian monk named Bodhidharma what merit he acquired as a result of all his religious philanthropy. The Zen patriarch told him, “None.” Ironically, the acquisition and nature of merit are at the heart of this sutra. Buddhas are the manifestation of merit, not the material merit of Emperor Wu, but the merit produced by the practice of this teaching.
It is also ironic that while the father was busy emptying his treasury to support the Buddhist order, the son was compiling China’s great literary anthology known as the Wen Hsuan and devoting himself to the Diamond Sutra, which he is said to have recited ten thousand times before his early death. In dividing this sutra into thirty-two chapters, Chao-ming was acknowledging what will become clearer in the chapters that follow: this sutra is not only about the body of the Buddha, which was said to be marked by thirty-two unique attributes, it is the body of the Buddha. In addition, Chao-ming gave each chapter a title. This first one he called “The Cause and Reason for the Dharma Assembly.” The aptness of his titles led a number of commentators, including the T’ang-dynasty prime minister, Chang Wu-chin, and the Sixth Zen Patriarch, Hui-neng, to begin each chapter with an explanation of these titles.
Hui-neng says, “The lay prime minister Chang Wu-chin said, ‘If not for dharmas, there would be no way to discuss emptiness. If not for wisdom, there would be no way to speak about dharmas.’ The multiplicity of the myriad dharmas is what is meant by ‘cause.’ And the responsiveness of the one mind is what is meant by ‘reason.’ Thus, at the beginning is a chapter on the cause and reason for this dharma assembly.”
Thus have I heard:
The voice that begins all sutras is that of Ananda, Shakyamuni’s cousin, who was born on the day of the Buddha’s Enlightenment. As a child, Ananda impressed others with his perfect memory, and when he joined the Buddha’s order, Shakyamuni repeated all the sermons he had missed in the intervening years. As it happened, Ananda’s entry into the homeless life also marked the beginning of the Buddha’s prajna period when this and other teachings on the perfection of wisdom were spoken. Nearly thirty years later, as the Buddha approached the time of his Nirvana, Ananda asked what words to place at the beginning of each sutra. The Buddha answered, “Evan maya shrutan” (Thus have I heard). Later, Ananda used this phrase to preface the hundreds of discourses he repeated from memory at Buddhism’s First Council, held shortly after the Buddha’s Nirvana in 383 B.C. However, what immediately follows is not a verbatim account but a summary of events, while the portion that Ananda quotes from memory does not begin until the second chapter. Despite this traditional attribution, it is also possible that this sutra was recalled from memory by Vashpa or some other disciple at the meeting held immediately after the First Council. Vashpa was the First Patriarch of the Mahasanghikas, and it was the Mahasanghikas that gave rise to the Mahayana sects that taught and revered this and other scriptures on the perfection of wisdom. Thus, at the end of the Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines, when Ananda is enjoined not to forget this teaching, this could be interpreted as evidence that he didn’t forget or evidence that he did.
Commentators have written volumes on the profundity of evan (thus). Does it mean “like so,” or does it mean “just so”? And what is the difference? Is this sutra the finger that points to the moon, or is it the moon itself?
Li Wen-hui says, “‘Thus’ is another word for our nature. Outside of our nature, nothing else is real.”
Tao-ch’uan says, “The Way of the ancients was said to be ‘just so.’ For by the time they talked about it, it had already changed. But when the Way changes, where does it go? Spit it out! It doesn’t run off just anywhere. Where does it actually go? Speak! Words won’t burn your mouth. Just: on a clear still night the moon shines alone. So: water doesn’t exist apart from waves. The waves are water.”
Chiang Wei-nung says, “When people believe something, they say ‘it is thus.’ When they don’t believe something, they say, ‘it is not thus.’ The Avatamsaka Sutra says, ‘Belief marks the beginning of the Path. It is the mother of virtues and protector of all good dharmas.’ (6) Belief is the first gate on the Path. Hence, this expression is placed at the very beginning.”
Once the Bhagavan was dwelling near Shravasti
at Anathapindada Garden in Jeta Forest
Once: According to the system established by Chih-yi (530- 597) for ordering the Buddha’s sutras, from the time of his Enlightenment the Buddha’s teachings progressed through five periods: the Avatamsaka period of interpenetration of unity and multiplicity, which lasted three weeks and which comprised the teaching of the Avatamsaka Sutra; the Agama period of mental analysis, which lasted twelve years; the Vaipulya period of harmony and balance, which lasted eight years; the Prajna period of radical wisdom, which lasted twenty-two years and which included this and other perfection of wisdom sutras; and the Saddharma period of the full lotus, which lasted eight years and which concluded with the Lotus and Nirvana sutras. Since the Buddha’s Enlightenment is said to have occurred in 432 B.C., this sutra would have been spoken around 400 B.C. (Note: I have followed Hajime Nakamura’s dating of the Buddha, which is based on sources of the Northern tradition rather than the Southern tradition of Sri Lanka.)
Buddhist scholars, however, consider such an attribution dubious and insist that, given the nature of this teaching, the scriptures of the prajna period could not have been composed much earlier than a century or two before the Christian Era when the first signs of Mahayana Buddhism appeared in India. However, the “sudden appearance” of such sutras as this several centuries after the Buddha’s Nirvana can also be seen as a reflection of the changing receptivity of their audience rather than proof of de novo compilation. Edward Conze, one of the first Westerners to devote himself to the study of these teachings
and the teacher of many of those who now write on the subject, wrote, “What seems to be doctrinal innovation may really be nothing but the gradual shifting of the line between esoteric and exoteric teachings. At first, even up to Ashoka (304-232 B.C.), the bulk of the doctrine, except for some moral maxims, and so on, was esoteric.” (Buddhist Studies 1934-1972, p. 115) In the months that followed the authentication of scriptures at Buddhism’s First Council in 383 B.C., at least one other meeting was convened to consider additional sermons. Obviously, different groups of disciples honored different teachings, and such a sutra as this surely could not have been widely accepted by an audience that preferred asceticism and monastic discipline, which this sutra holds up to gentle rebuke.
Bhagavan: The term bhagavan was derived from bhaga (vulva) and originally meant “like a vulva,” and hence “fecund” or “prosperous.” Eventually, it was applied to “one whose presence bestows prosperity.” It is usually translated as “Blessed One” or “World-Honored One” and is one of every buddha’s ten titles. Others that appear in this sutra include tathagata, sugata, and arhan.
Dwelling: It was the Buddha’s custom to wander from town to town and forest to forest during most of the year but to spend the summer monsoon season at one location. One such place was the retreat built for the Buddha and his order outside Shravasti.