[Editor’s Note:] Professor Robert L. Greenwood had been teaching in the Department of Philosophy, University of South Alabama, Mobile, AL. until his retirement in 1996. He graduated with M.S. in Physics from Rice University, TX. and Ph.D. from University of Miami, Miami, FA. His dissertation was on G. E. Moore; he has developed great interest in C. I. Lewis and Buddhism, being fascinated particularly by the Ch’an (Zen) and Pure Land Sects. He served as President for the Philosophical Society of Alabama 1989-90. Now he lives in Charleston, SC., near the Atlantic Ocean.

The heard melodies are sweet,

In his work, Chinese Philosophy: Its Spirit and Its Development,[1] Thomé H. Fang offered up an amazing potpourri of Chinese thought. The work is magnificently rich with all important details of the many Chinese approaches to, and achievements in, philosophy. But amid this symphony of ideas there is one melody for which we listen in vain; all the more puzzling in that it is a melody heard round the world. I have in mind, of course, Ch’an Buddhism.[2] Considering its world-wide importance as a sect of Buddhism, one might think that Professor Fang would have devoted at least one chapter to its history, development, and major tenants, especially since, as D. T. Suzuki has pointed out, "Zen Buddhism is one of the products of the Chinese mind after its contact with Indian thought" and it appears "as the most natural product of the Chinese soil."[3] Such a uniquely fascinating sect of Buddhism has, therefore, every legitimate right to a place in any book on Chinese philosophy and its development. Yet, to our surprise and regret, we fined it missing from Fang’s monumental work, so much of whose space—approximately one third of the whole book (170 out of 529 pages)--has been devoted to Chinese Buddhism. This fact represents something of a koan to readers such as 1. In these pages I shall attempt to probe this koan as best I can and hope that I shall not be struck by a staff should I fail Could this omission be due to some fundamental aversion on the part of Fang? Is it a question of lack of sufficient scholarly knowledge? Or is there, perhaps, some deeper significance to the omission? Fang himself informs us that "I have not touched the subject of Ch’anism which, though of great philosophical importance, can hardly be reduced to a unified system. So I choose to let it alone for the time being."[4] When we consider the demonstrated and unquestioned ability of Fang to systematize, we see that this statement of his contains far more than meets the eye of a casual reader. It means more than scholarly modesty, however sincere it may be.

First, one is reminded of the illuminating case of Hui-neng, the Sixth Patriarch. According to the Sayings of Nan-Chuan (Southern Fountain), Hung-jen, the Fifth Patriarch, was once pressed for an explanation for his singling out Hui-neng, in preference to all the rest of his five hundred disciples, to succeed him as the Sixth Patriarch. Hung-jen replied that "Four hundred and ninety-nine of my disciples understand well what Buddhism is, except one Hui-neng. He is a man not to be measured by an ordinary standard."[5] Perhaps the same may be said of Thomé Fang who has chosen to remain silent about Ch’anism. Everyone else understands well what Ch’anism is, except one Thomé Fang. Every other historian of Chinese thought writes on Ch’anism, except one Thomd Fang. A hint toward the solution of our koan may be found in Fang’s view of silent beauty as characteristic of the spirit of Chinese art. Beauty is to be silently appreciated.[6] Is Ch’an a thing of beauty? Wash out your mouth! It is, nevertheless, a joy forever. "Beauty" is a term not beautiful enough for it.

Second, the issue of the relation of Ch’anism to learning comes to mind. Ought we to take literally the prevailing view that Ch’anism is against learning? In that event, why is it that The Lankavatara and The Prajna-Pardmita (or The Diamond Sutra or Heart Sutra) were listed among the favorite sutras even for Hui-neng, the Sixth Patriarch, himself? They were cited especially to illustrate the so-called Doctrine of Enlightenment by Self-Realization. The often quoted Ch’anist pronouncement of "no dependence upon words" has created a rather misleading impression among some Westerners, as though words could and should be dispensed with before one can hope to attain to Nirvana or satori. If one reads Fang carefully, one learns that in the Maha-Prajña-Paramita-Sutra it is maintained that one should transcend by going through and getting beyond intellection" instead of by doing no intellection (i.e., guo si yi instead of pu si yi). The same with words, whose resources must be exhausted by the user before new vistas of enlightenment open up. Words are not to be attached to, nor can they be totally dispensed with, either. Otherwise, why the very numerous volumes of writings on Ch’anism, such as Transmission of the Lamp, Collected Works of the Patriarch’s Hall, etc?[7] Fang’s unitary view of the Gradual and the Sudden Schools in Ch’anism throws new light upon the issue. Ch’anism does not emerge ex nihilo. Its germinating ideas, insights, and visions, are most of them deeply embedded in some of the major sutras of the Mahayana sects, exemplified particularly by the T’ien Tai and Hua Yen (the Sadharma-Pundarika and the Avatamsak~ , i.e, the Lotus Flower and the Flowery Splendor) Schools. By thus highlighting so admirably the essentials of these two main sources for Buddhist wisdom, Fang has done a great service to prepare us adequately for a true appreciation of Ch’anism without even mentioning its name. One might think he prefers not to concern himself with it. Actually, however, he has laid the groundwork for anyone who really cares for the Ch’an experience.

Intellectually, he has broken down and cracked up the hard shells of Ch’an, so to speak, for us. Fang cautioned those who like to talk about Ch’an that they would do better to buy a whole set of the Tripitaka and read it thoroughly before opening their mouths lest they end up with nothing but the fatuous babbling of "wild-fox-tales."[8]

Third, we have good reason to believe that Fang practiced Ch’an rather than merely talking and writing about it. Fang presented a paper entitled "The World and the Individual in Chinese Metaphysics" at the 1964 EastWest Philosophers’ Conference. Professor Findlay, the British philosopher, remarked that Fang’s view sounded like a beautiful dream; how could Fang convince him of the truth of this beautiful dream? After commending Findlay for his seeing the beauty of the dream, Fang told Findlay a story he had heard from Professor Dodds of Oxford, the author of The Greeks and the Irrational, while in the war-time capital of Chungking. Dodds was visiting the British Museum admiring the Parthenon sculptures when he was approached by a youth who said that,-, although it was an awful thing to confess, he found himself unmoved by the display of Greek art. Fang thereupon asked Findlay, \6uppose that you were in the position of your esteemed colleague, Professor Dodds; tell me please, Professor Findlay, how can you convince the young man of your beautiful dream?" No wonder Fang had won the hearty admiration from men like D. T. Suzuki. (Twenty years afterwards, we learned from Professor Lie Shu-hsien that Findlay had taken great interest in Taoism.)[9]

Fourth, according to Professor Pa Hu-t’ien, another authority on the Ch’an koan, in order to be able to appreciate and write about Ch’an, one needs great poetical talent. This Fang undoubtedly had. If he refrained from writing about it, it shows precisely he was no layman to it; it shows he was all the more poetical; it shows he knew it too well, being quite at home with it and its itness!"[10]

In view of the above considerations, it appears evident that the omission of Ch’an from his in-depth account of Chinese philosophy turns out not to be a baffling question at all. The answer is just this: Fang has chosen not to write about Ch’an but to embody and exemplify it. For after all, those who know, we are told, do not say; and those who say do not know. And, to be sure, the distinctive note in Ch’an is the demand for realization rather than mere understanding. Realization must come from within the matrix of the individual. I offer one further piece of evidence to support my suspicion about the role Ch’an plays in the thought and character of Thomé Fang. He has stated that he is a Taoist by temperament and a Buddhist by religious inspiration.[11] That combination spells Ch’an to me. Perhaps it is fair to say, then, that in the work of Fang, Ch’an is an unheard melody because it is not a melody at all; it is, rather, the symphony itself.

In Chapter I of The Chinese View of Life[12] entitled "Chinese Wisdom: A Vindication of Comprehensive Harmony," Fang calls attention to three ways of philosophizing, the religious approach, the scientific approach, and the humanistic approach. I should like to look at each of these in turn and ask whether it is a Ch’an approach. About the religious approach, Fang quotes Oswald Spengler who wrote, "Religion is first and last, metaphysics, other worldliness, awareness in a world of which the evidence of the senses merely lights the foreground. It is life in and with the supersensible. And where the capacity for this awareness, or even the capacity for believing in its existence, is wanting, real religion is at an end."[13] In other words, the religious approach to philosophizing incorporates a grand bifurcation at the very beginning. It instills belief in a world forever hidden from living, breathing human beings. It teaches that the world in which we seem to have our being is not real, or not important, or not valuable, or that it is actually the abode of evil. Philosophy, on this view, is, in the words of the immortal Socrates, the practice of dying. How far such a vision is from Ch’an must be apparent even to those who have the shallowest insight into this great teaching. We need only recall that nirvana is samsara and samsara is nirvana. If nirvana, the very stuff of samsara, is holy, then samsara too must be holy. How could it be otherwise? What is samsara, after all, but nirvana as it appears to the unenlightened? If samsara appears ugly or wicked to us, the fault lies with us, not samsara. Although it may wear the appearance of paradox, I think we must exclude Ch’an from the religious approach to philosophy in the Western sense as set forth by Fang.

What, then, of the second approach, the scientific approach to philosophy? Here, the model Fang has in mind is the view of Bertrand Russell, whose work, Scientific Method in Philosophy, he quotes. A word of caution is demanded here. What Fang is criticizing is not science, nor even the cross-fertilization between science and philosophy which, in my opinion, is not only natural, but essential. He is criticizing scientism, a certain view of philosophy and a certain view of science held by Russell. Russell, in this work, wished to see philosophy purged of all constructive elements. Scientific philosophy was to be purified of all practical taint. It demands for its success "a certain liberation from the life of instinct, and even, at times, a certain aloofness from all mundane hopes and fears." It follows that the philosophy "which is to be genuinely inspired by the scientific spirit, must deal with somewhat dry and abstract matters, and must not hope to find an answer to the practical problems of life."[14] Although I believe myself that there is room in the many mansions of philosophy for an approach something like the one Russell advocated, I must agree with Fang that as a model of philosophy simpliciter it is hopelessly inadequate. Once more it is perfectly clear that we are not dealing with an approach to philosophy that has any relationship to Ch’an. One might almost say that Ch’an represents the very antithesis of Russell’s vision. If there is anything to which Ch’an Buddhism is dedicated, it is to the practical matters of life. The problem for human beings is how to live. All other questions are at best secondary. Ch’an gently, but relentlessly, nudges us in the direction of discovering for ourselves how to live. It does this with no abstract theoretical systems, no commandments, no hokum masquerading as holiness.

Fang, himself, embraces the third approach to philosophy. Once again he quotes a Western philosopher to underline his point.

Fang points out quite clearly that humanism is not to be understood as the eulogy of man, nor is the term, "man," to be necessarily taken as a term of praise. It is, however, a welcome antidote to the Hebrew-Christian view of man as a fallen sinner. It would seem to be a fairly uncontroversial claim that Ch’an fits in very nicely with this humanistic approach. Fang devotes some attention to the difference it makes to a people whether they regard themselves as fallen sinners at odds with the universe or as in intimate relation to nature as to a lover. He cites many passages from Chinese authors illustrating the belief that man and the universe constitute together a system of comprehensive harmony. I quote just one of many examples; this one from Chu Hsi, Essay on Benevolence:

By way of contrast, the egregious consequences of the Western estrangement between man and the universe is everywhere in evidence. Westerners, and those influenced by them, are everywhere turning the earth into a wasteland. Despite the constant lip service paid to higher values, the only value recognized in practice is the value of the dollar. The cost in terms of human misery is counted as nothing. The cost in terms of the permanent loss of countless species of animals and plants is regretted by but a few and of these few, I suspect, many are influenced by Eastern views. But not all. There is one group of people whose views are well worth our attention but who suffer from criminal neglect. I am thinking of the North American Indians. These people, from what little I know of them, also respect nature and hold a view of their relation to it that is similar to the Chinese view. The Indians of North America could have continued their life style almost forever. Those of us now occupying that land can continue on as we have been doing for only a short time longer.

I recently spoke with an engineering student from the People’s Republic of China who was studying in the United States. I asked him why he chose to study with us. He informed me that the Chinese wanted to share in our wonderful technology so that they too could enjoy automobiles, highways, and all the other marvels that distinguish American life. I asked him to reflect upon the point I have already made about the Indians, and I reminded him that China is in possession of one of the oldest and most civilized cultures in the world. He saw my point, I am happy to say. The future does not lie in emulation of the West. The future, if there is to be one, lies in the East and the West jointly fertilizing one another’s cultures.

It is certainly no secret that Western metaphysics has met a tragic end in a state of complete collapse. Most, if not all, of its well-known catalog of problems stem from its habit of beginning with bifurcations of one kind or another. The sad result has been that all of the king’s horses and all of the king’s men have been unable to put Humpty-Dumpty together again. Some of the very best minds in the West have set themselves this hopeless task; Descartes, Locke, Leibniz, Berkeley, and Kant come immediately to mind. I think that it is safe to say that those on the cutting edge in philosophy in the West recognize the utter futility of proceeding along former lines. Westerners have been wracking their brains for centuries trying to figure out how monads can possibly come to know anything. The problem for Western philosophy now is that many of these people who have repented of past sins, now over-react and wish to throw philosophy itself out. We constantly hear fatuous remarks to the effect that philosophy is at an end, some of these writers style themselves as pragmatist, and although I am not the appointed guardian over who has a right to what titles, I sincerely believe that Charles Sanders Pierce, the founder of pragmatism, must spin in his grave when some of these people speak All of this talk about the end of philosophy is, to be sure, utter rubbish. Philosophy is alive and well in the West and just as all important as it has always been. What the end-of-philosophy crowd seem to be doing is equating the collapse of traditional Western metaphysics, to which I have already alluded, with the collapse of philosophy itself. What they forget is that there have always been philosophers outside the mainstream. Thomas Hobbes, for example, does not fit the Cartesian mold. In more recent times, the American philosopher, C. I. Lewis, transcended the tradition.[18] Unfortunately, Lewis suffered the fate of having everything he wrote twisted around by his critics to make it seem as though he-were just another Kant in modern dress. Lewis was, in fact, a non-dualist. In this sense, he is atypical of the Western, and non-alien to the Eastern, mode of thought as well as its style of philosophizing. And, of course, people who talk about the end of philosophy are guilty of utter provincialism. Philosophy is being done quite ably by people who do not teach philosophy. Albert Einstein, Niels Bohr, David Bohm, and John Bell, are names which come immediately to mind from the realm of physics. What, after all, is artificial intelligence if it is not automated epistemology? Trace any discipline back far enough and one encounters a philosopher. Philosophy continues to spin off sciences, the most recent of which is cognitive science.

More and more Western intellectuals, and not just philosophers, are discovering the seemingly inexhaustible abundance of riches to be found in Eastern philosophy. It seems to me that we could do much worse than to examine carefully what Thomé Fang has had to say about these all important matters. Fang was not only superlatively well-versed in his own philosophical heritage, he was also well-acquainted with the story of Western philosophy and he saw quite clearly the hopelessness of the task its ontological commitments had set for it, as is abundantly evident in his published work.

It is by now a commonplace that, while perhaps most physicists are simply not interested in the metaphysical implications of their filed, many others find themselves attracted to such Eastern philosophies as Taoism, Buddhism, and Advaita Vedanta. No doubt many of these people have been so attracted for no other reason than because of the intrinsic interest of these views. Some, however, may find themselves so drawn because of the utter discontinuity between Western metaphysics and physics. Many people, and I certainly include myself, are interested in the question of the meaning of modern physics. What must the world be like such that physics should tell the story about our experience that it does? The question is especially important for Westerners because the view of man as isolated and estranged from nature is not consistent with the discovery of the apparent interconnectedness of nature, whereas the concept of comprehensive harmony is so consistent. Please do not think that I am claiming that somehow modern physics is a variety of mysticism, or that it somehow supports Eastern philosophies. I am making the much modest claim that anyone familiar with certain Eastern views will not find the results of experimental physics so utterly mind-boggling as do those steeped in the metaphysics of the West. What is metaphysics, after all, but our best guess as to how the world must be, given that our experience of it is the way it is?

In particular, I think that a serious study of the concept to which Fang devoted a great deal of attention, comprehensive harmony, is merited. there can be little doubt, however, that the concept of comprehensive harmony and the Ch’an approach to life imply one another. Just as the gravitational interaction is the weakest of the four interactions currently recognized by physics, but nevertheless the most overpowering in the end, Ch’an, the unheard melody in Thomé Fang, manifests itself in the philosophy of comprehensive harmony, wherein the Ch’an spirit is perfectly dissolved, as one may say; or, as shakespeare put it, "The rose by any other name would smell just as sweet." The idea is well expressed, I think, in the immortal lines of the famous Twelfth Century Chinese Tz’u poet, Hsin Chia-hsuan (Xin Jia-xuan):

[1] Thomé H. Fang, Chinese Philosophy: Its Spirit & Its Develpoment (Taipei: Linking Publishing Co., Ltd., 1981). Hereafter cited as Chinese Philosophy.

[2] When Western scholars think of Buddhism, I suspect it is the Ch’an sect that they most often have in mind. This is the result of Buddhism having been transmitted to the West chiefly by the practitioners of Ch’an. Since the Japanese practitioners were the ones most responsible for its transmission, the sect goes under its Japanese name, Zen.

[3] D. T. Suzuld, Zen and Japanese Culture (New York: Pantheon Books, 1959), p. 3; William Barrett (ed.), Zen Buddhism: Selected Writings of D. T. Suzuki (New York: A Doubleday Anchor Book, 1956), p. 41.

[7] Cf. Thomé H. Fang, "Letter to Professor Hsiung Shih-Li on Buddhism," Appendix to Fang, Lectures on Chinese Mahayana Buddhism (Taipei, Linking Publishing Co., Ltd., 1984), pp. 653-674, especially p. 659.

[8] Cf. The Minutes of the Chinese Philosophical Association, held during the fifth East-West Philosophers’ Conference, July-August, 1969, Honolulu, Hawaii.

[9] Lin Wei-tung, "Chinese Scholars at the 1964 East-West Philosophers’ Conference," September 7, 1964, Industry and Commerce Daily, Hong Kong; reprinted in Universitas: Monthly Review of Philosophy and Culture, vol. II, no. 6, June, 1976, 56-60.

[10] Conversation of Professor Pa Hu-T’ien with our editor George Sun, September, 1984, Taipei. The writer of this paper wishes to thank his friend and collague, Dr. George Sun, for providing him with the reference materials in Chinese original as indicated in footnotes 7-10; even the very topic, at once suggestive and enlightening, of this paper was due to his suggestion.

[11] Chinese Philosophy, p. 525.