A Life of Bankei by John M Evans. Part of the Zen Masters Series.

Thanks to the work of biologist Rupert Sheldrake, we are now more aware of the sensory situation of man than we were. In a recent book, The Sense of Being Stared At, Sheldrake suggests that we are surrounded by what he calls morphic fields. These personal fields stretch out from our bodies as a kind of extended mind-stuff and are responsible for all the unexplained phenomena we pigeon-hole under the term ”psi” — ESP, telepathy, clairvoyance, psychokinesis, and others. As Sheldrake asserts, there is a mass of scientific corroboration for these “powers” of the human and animal minds, and his own experiments dramatically confirm them.

Within the notion of morphic fields, Sheldrake also includes morphogenetic fields, which act as the blueprint and creative principle behind the formation of all creatures, like ghostly Platonic forms.

In Rupert Sheldrake’s own words: “Morphic fields also underlie our perceptions, thoughts and other mental processes. The morphic fields of mental activities are called mental fields. Through [these], the extended mind reaches out into the environment through attention and intention, and connects with other members of social groups. These fields help to explain telepathy, the sense of being stared at, clairvoyance and psychokinesis. They may also help in the understanding of premonitions and precognitions through intentions projecting into the future.”

Sheldrake’s ideas on morphogenetic fields explain many grey areas in conventional understanding, especially in the science of genes and DNA. For example: “My suggestion is that morphic fields help impose order and pattern in this sensitive chaos [in the brain], and interact with the brain through their ordering activity. They contain an inherent memory, through morphic resonance. They also project out far beyond the brain through attention and intention.”

These hypotheses are so compelling that it surely cannot be long before the rest of science catches up, despite the earthquake that would follow in the scientific establishment.

But Zen Master Bankei was aware of all this more than three hundred years ago but under a different name : the Unborn Buddha-mind.

Bankei Yotaku, birth name Muchi, came from a family which had been doctors with the rank of samurai for many generations. As a child he was extremely independent and wilful, but with a sensitive intelligence that partly mitigated his faults. He was also extremely brave. At an annual stone-throwing contest, it was always Bankei who refused to give ground and took his side to victory.

His schooling was something of a problem, despite his natural aptitude. Calligraphy was not a favourite subject, especially the endless copying of the hundreds of Chinese characters, which is a fundamental part of a Japanese education, even today. He was often observed cutting classes early in order to avoid this tedious task. Another wearisome lesson involved reciting passages from the four great Confucian classics until the student knew them by heart.

It was during one of the Confucian classes, while reading a text from The Great Learning, that Bankei had a powerful insight. As the teacher spoke the words, “The way of great learning is to clarify bright virtue,” Bankei’s attention was riveted. On asking what “bright virtue” was, he received only stock answers which did not satisfy his curiosity. It was as if he was being prompted by old memories or very deep insights. His overriding desire was that this bright virtue should apply to him personally and not just be expressed in empty words, no matter how high-sounding. He wanted enlightenment, not definitions, and the search would occupy him totally for the next fourteen years.

Clarifying Great Virtue
During this period, he pestered every Confucian scholar he could find and many others as well. But no-one could give him an answer. In the end, he was directed to Zen priests because it seemed the sort of problem that they specialised in sorting out. As there were no Zen temples nearby, he had to content himself with other religious institutions, where he attended sermons and talks and plied the incumbent clergy with endless questions. But neither they, nor anyone else, could reach the heart of the matter.

Bankei lost all interest in his schoolwork. He became so single-minded that his family were concerned for his state of mind. Following the death of his father, he found it difficult to come to terms with the new head of the household, his elder brother. He even attempted suicide by eating a mouthful of poisonous spiders, but to no avail. Finally, after many disputes, mainly concerned with playing truant from school, he was thrown out of the house at the tender age of eleven.

Master Bankei was answering the questions of a small group of visiting monks. It was late Spring and the weather had improved considerably. Bankei, though physically frail, was responding to the warmer weather and seemed less of an invalid than hitherto during the long, damp winter.

A Zen monk from the Tamba area, with a hint of fanaticism in his eyes, addressed the master excitedly. I want to be enlightened now, at this meeting! I want to be a good person! What should I do, Master?

Bankei smiled slowly. He remembered his own passionate youth, and how those passions had led him astray. Where did you say you have come from, he asked, oh, yes, Tamba. That’s a long way to come. And it’s good that you are so keen. But I have to tell you, your ideas are mistaken ones, illusions. The monk lowered his eyes, the excitement giving way to a downcast and empty expression.

Bankei continued, pleased at having burst the balloon: you should know that your primary mind has no attributes: no illusions, no aspirations, no desire for enlightenment. It has only its illuminative wisdom which it uses to sort everything out. You say you want to have a quick enlightenment. This is a source of trouble.

“But what am I to do?” insisted the Tamba monk.

“Stay right where you are,” said Bankei. “Stay with what you were born with. If you seek enlightenment you are setting yourself against things as they are. This is confrontation, self-partiality, the enemy of living in the Unborn Buddha-mind. If you don’t seek confrontation, then your Buddha-mind will reveal itself in its true form.” The monk bowed and remained silent. This simplicity was disconcerting.

Another monk stepped forward, full of himself. Bankei’s expression did not change as he assessed this new character. The monk spoke quickly, with vehemence: “this is not being, he said, nor non-being, nor emptiness”.

But where is “this”? said the master calmly. The monk stared at him stupidly, speechless, then retreated suddenly in confusion. Bankei turned to the next questioner.

A layman stood up and made his obeisance. He spoke hesitantly, nervous in the presence of the master and anxious lest he show himself to be a fool. “What happens when you become a Buddha?” he stammered. “Where do you go?”

Bankei restrained a smile and answered him kindly. “Where can you go? There is nowhere else to go. When you are a Buddha you’re already everywhere in the universe and beyond. Of course, if you become something else, you’ll find plenty of places to go.”

Now Read Part 4.