Chan inquiry (參禪, cānchán) is not sitting and thinking about what Chan is, nor is it merely calming oneself down. It is a fundamental practice of the Chan school: turning the mind that ordinarily rushes outward to chase, explain, and judge, and pressing it to investigate a fundamental question that one cannot resolve through knowledge—until one no longer merely "understands the Dharma" but personally realizes this mind and the fundamental matter of life.
The Ancient Venerable Masters' Recorded Sayings (《古尊宿语录》) states it directly: "回光，就己看之" ("Turn the light around and look into yourself"). The "turning of the light" does not mean searching the mind for some mysterious luminous object; rather, it is to reflect back the attention that habitually projects onto objects: Who is seeing? Who is afflicted? Who feels that they do not understand? If this "who" cannot be dispatched with a ready-made answer, one should not rush to fill the gap with words, but must investigate right at the point of genuine non-understanding.
Therefore, Chan inquiry comprises at least four interconnected aspects.
First, returning the gaze to the mind itself.
People generally assume problems are all outside: things did not go according to plan, others did not understand me, the environment obstructed me, some principle has not yet been grasped. Chan inquiry, however, first takes a step back—rather than chasing objects, it looks at the very thought that is at this moment discriminating, choosing, anticipating, and resisting.
But "returning the gaze to the mind" does not mean turning the mind into another object of observation and then analyzing it in the head: "I am anxious now because of such-and-such childhood experience." Such analysis may have practical value, but it still belongs to the mind explaining the mind. What the Chan school calls reflecting back is closer to returning, at the very moment a thought arises, to the root of that which knows, doubts, and discriminates. It is not about producing a more refined psychological file for the "self," but about investigating: this "self" to which I cling so firmly—how is it actually constituted?
Second, investigating a critical phrase (話頭, huàtóu), a public case (公案, gōng'àn), or a karmic circumstance that remains unresolved.
The "critical phrase" cannot be simply understood as a Chan slogan. It usually comes from a pivotal line in an exchange between master and student, such as Zhaozhou's "無" (wú, "no"), Yunmen's "干屎橛" (dried dung stick), and so on. Its function is not to transmit a secret answer that can be translated into modern concepts, but to bring the practitioner to the place "where the ordinary mind and consciousness cannot gain a foothold." The Recorded Sayings of Chan Master Dahui Pujue (《大慧普觉禅师语录》) says:
"但向平昔心意识凑泊不得处，取不得处舍不得处，看个话头。" *"Simply direct your attention to the critical phrase at the place where the ordinary conscious mind cannot gain a foothold, where it can neither grasp nor let go."*
The "looking" here is not done with the eyes, nor is it merely silent recitation; it is placing the full force of investigation on the fundamental point that has not yet been understood. "Why is it 'no'?" "What is it that says 'no'?" If one immediately answers, "'No' means emptiness (空性, śūnyatā)," "All sentient beings are originally Buddhas," or "This is how discrimination is broken through," then even if these statements make sense at some doctrinal level, they are merely prior knowledge coming forward to answer on one's behalf; the question itself has not been penetrated.
The Dahui Record therefore repeatedly excludes several approaches: one must not wait for a preconceived enlightenment; one must not deliberate in terms of being and non-being; one must not interpret the critical phrase as a mysterious doctrine; and one must not take the cessation of thought and a blank, eventless state as final. Investigating the critical phrase is not guessing a riddle, and the patriarchs did not hide a standard answer inside the puzzle. It is more like using a question that concepts cannot easily swallow to illuminate the very boundary of the entire conceptual apparatus.
The forms of practice in different Chan texts are not entirely identical, and one cannot compress the whole Chan school into a single fixed "critical phrase technique." The early Chan community as presented in the Jingde Record of the Transmission of the Lamp (《景德传灯录》) is more concerned with approaching masters (參師), requesting instruction (參請), and making the rounds of teachers (遍參): students draw near to good spiritual friends (善知識, kalyāṇamitra) and are tested in question-and-answer exchanges, sharp repartee (機鋒), and everyday instruction. It often speaks of 宗旨 (the cardinal principle), 宗乘 (the vehicle of the school), 心地 (mind-ground), and 機要 (essential points), without yet having the fully developed terminology of critical-phrase practice. The Ancient Venerable Masters' Recorded Sayings widely uses expressions such as 參究 (investigation), 體究 (embodied inquiry), 疑情 (doubt-sensation), 退步看 (looking by stepping back), 回光返照 (turning the light back), 公案 (public case), 因緣 (karmic circumstances), and 本分事 (the fundamental matter). The Recorded Sayings of Chan Master Dahui Pujue gives the most systematic account of critical-phrase practice; the Master Huangbo Duanji's Record at Wanling (《黄檗断际禅师宛陵录》) concentrates practice on looking at, guarding, and investigating a single "無."
Thus, "Chan inquiry" is the general term; "looking at the critical phrase" (看話頭, kàn huàtóu) is one very important method within it that reached a high degree of maturity later; "investigating a public case" (參公案, cān gōng'àn) is related to "investigating the critical phrase" but cannot be equated with simply reading or explaining public cases; and "approaching a master" (參師, cānshī) refers to visiting, seeking instruction, and undergoing examination. These various "investigations" are interconnected but not entirely synonymous.
Third, sustaining the doubt-sensation (疑情, yíqíng).
Doubt-sensation is not doubting the truth of the Buddhadharma, nor is it anxiously pressuring oneself, nor is it affectation of profundity by saying "I know nothing." It is a genuine, focused, not-yet-fobbed-off "not understanding." The Ancient Venerable Masters' Recorded Sayings says "疑得深，方可能彻底理会" ("Only when doubt is deep can one arrive at thorough comprehension") and further says one must "深深地体究、密密地看详，忽然得力，疑情方破" ("investigate deeply, observe closely and densely; when suddenly strength is gained, the doubt-sensation breaks").
Ordinary questions normally point toward an answer: once the answer is found, the question ends. The doubt-sensation of Chan inquiry, however, turns back to unsettle the very subject who demands answers. For example, "Who is reciting the Buddha's name?" If one answers "I am," one must continue investigating: is this "I" the body, the memory, the sound before me, the ever-changing thoughts, or is there another unchanging entity? If every answer is still content that is known, then what is the knower?
This is not a demand to derive a set of metaphysical conclusions. The edge of investigation must fall back onto immediate experience; it must not merely shuttle among concepts. If the doubt-sensation gradually matures, it may no longer arise only occasionally but never truly leave during walking, standing, sitting, and lying down. The Chan school calls this "becoming one piece" (打成一片, dǎchéng yīpiàn).
However, "becoming one piece" cannot be forcibly manufactured by self-suggestion, nor is it a matter of tensing the mind. The Ancient Venerable Masters' Recorded Sayings explicitly warns against subjectively blending everything into a "single piece." True continuity means that even when deluded thoughts arise, the practice still has a place to return to; it is not about suppressing all thoughts to produce a rigid, monotonous state of consciousness.
Fourth, from sustained practice to personal realization in sudden awakening (頓悟, dùnwù).
The Master Huangbo Duanji's Record at Wanling says:
"日久月深，打成一片，忽然心花顿发，悟佛祖之机。" *"As days and months deepen, [the practice] becomes one piece; suddenly the flower of the mind bursts open, and one awakens to the function of the Buddhas and patriarchs."*
This sentence contains both "gradual" (漸, jiàn) and "sudden" (頓, dùn): "days and months deepening" is the cultivation and maturation of practice; "sudden bursting open" is awakening that cannot be divided into proportional increments to be collected step by step. It is like heating water for a long time: the temperature changes little by little, yet the boiling manifests as a transformation at a critical threshold. This simile can only illustrate the relationship between accumulation and breakthrough; it cannot equate awakening with some kind of physical process.
Sudden awakening is also not the sudden acquisition of an exciting special experience. Intense stillness, physical and mental lightness, the disappearance of the sense of time, a feeling of oneness with all things, and even sudden ecstasy may all occur, but their intensity alone cannot certify seeing one's nature (見性, jiànxìng). Dahui's criticism of those who "understand as soon as it is raised" and forcibly take a momentary realization like "the spark of struck flint or a flash of lightning" as final is precisely a reminder: a flash of lightning does not mean the root of birth-and-death (生死, saṃsāra) has been penetrated.
True awakening, the Chan school emphasizes, must be "personally realized" (親證, qīnzhèng): not agreeing that "originally there is no self," but a thorough transformation in the fundamental structure of subject-object grasping (能所, grāhaka-grāhya) and attachment to self (我執, ātma-grāha). It must also be tested in concrete situations: when praised, does one immediately inflate; when offended, is one still dragged away by aversion; when facing loss, illness, and death, does what one has seen hold its ground? Therefore, after awakening one has not graduated; there remain maintenance (保任), refinement, the elimination of habitual tendencies (習氣, vāsanā), and conduct that benefits sentient beings.
This also clarifies the place of Chan inquiry within the whole path of liberation. What it addresses is not ordinary stress but ignorance (無明, avidyā) and clinging: sentient beings grasp the psychophysical experience that is dependently originated and flowing moment to moment as a fixed "self" and "mine" (我所有, mamakāra), and from this arise craving, aversion, and fear. Chan inquiry uses concentrative power (定力, samādhi-bala) to hold scatteredness, uses doubt-sensation to cut off habitual interpretation, and uses wisdom (慧, prajñā) to illuminate through subject-object duality and self-grasping; ultimately it seeks liberation from birth-and-death and freedom, not merely improved concentration.
But it cannot be separated from the precepts, concentration, and wisdom (戒定慧, śīla-samādhi-prajñā), nor from right view (正見, samyag-dṛṣṭi) and good spiritual friends. Without basic ethical restraint, so-called "freedom" readily becomes the indulgence of desire; without physical and mental stability, forcing doubt-sensation may simply intensify anxiety; without scriptural teaching and examination by a master, occasional experiences are easily mistaken for the final. What the Chan school opposes is passing off intellectual inference as personal realization; it does not declare that scriptures, precepts, and study are all useless. A map cannot replace arrival, but it can prevent one from mistaking a cliff for a shortcut.
The "no-mind" (無心, wúxīn) spoken of in the Dahui Record should also be understood here. It is not the unconsciousness of earth, wood, tiles, or stones, nor is it emptying the mind of thought; rather, it is "when encountering situations and conditions, the mind is steady and unmoved, not grasping at dharmas" (觸境遇緣，心定不動，不取著諸法). The mind can respond clearly without being stuck to its objects. No-mind is not ignorance, numbness, or the disappearance of personhood; it is the absence of a center that continually establishes itself as the possessor of experience.
A Walkthrough in Daily Life
Take a morning rush-hour commute as an example and look step by step at how Chan inquiry enters real life.
You squeeze onto the subway; the phone notifies you that the work group has dozens more messages. The body tightens, and a thought surfaces: "Today is definitely ruined." Then you see a colleague's comment and immediately judge: "He's shifting the blame." Before you even reach the office, three rounds of argument have already been rehearsed in your head.
The first step is not to suppress the affliction but to recognize that the mind has already rushed outward.
The carriage, the messages, the colleague's wording are all external conditions; the tight chest, the aversion, the rehearsed arguments are the present psychophysical responses. Turning the light back is not denying that there is real work pressure outside, nor blaming yourself for "not being cultivated enough"; it is discovering that what is prolonging the suffering right now also includes the mind's grasping, interpreting, and self-defense around these experiences.
The easiest place to misproject is to understand "turning the light back" as "everything is my problem." The Buddhadharma does not require the oppressed to deny their objective situation. Turning the light back addresses one's own structure of clinging; it does not excuse unreasonable institutions, harmful behavior, or others' responsibility. When communication, refusal, help-seeking, or leaving is called for, one still acts.
The second step: raise the critical phrase one is practicing.
If one already has a teacher and a main critical phrase, there is no need to switch on the spot. Taking the word "無" as an example: it is not mechanically looping "無, 無, 無" in the head, nor telling yourself "work is all empty, so don't worry about it." When thoughts are about to carry you away, you raise this "無" again, letting the mind return to the place that cannot be dispatched by discrimination.
If you are investigating "who is afflicted," you cannot immediately answer, "Of course, it's me, the wage slave." This label is precisely what is to be investigated. The affliction is known, the thoughts are known, the bodily tension is known; then what is this thing called "I"—which of these is it? Do not answer hastily; look right at the not-understanding.
The third step: when deluded thoughts arise, neither argue with them nor follow them.
"A colleague is definitely targeting me." — Know the thought has come; the critical phrase remains.
"I practiced well today." — This too is a thought; the critical phrase remains.
"I just felt a moment of emptiness—could I have awakened?" — This is still consciousness explaining; do not take it on here.
"I should not think anything at all." — This again is a mistaken prescription for Chan inquiry.
What Huangbo calls "心心相顾，猛着精彩" ("thought after thought attended to, vigorously and vividly") is not, in this scene, gritting one's teeth; it is attending thought after thought so that the practice is not completely lost. When the train arrives and you need to get off, get off clearly; when you pass through the turnstile and need to avoid pedestrians, avoid them clearly. Chan inquiry does not require entering a dazed state unresponsive to the environment.
The fourth step: bring the practice into work, not just into the commute.
Once the computer is open, you need to read data, write emails, and assess responsibility—all of these require normal thinking. What Chan inquiry opposes is using thinking to replace realization, not prohibiting the thinking necessary for handling affairs. When analysis is needed, analyze; when you notice yourself repeatedly imagining how others are evaluating you, return to the critical phrase and do not give the self-narrative endless sequels.
The most common error here is understanding "not deliberating" as not thinking. What the Chan school attacks as "意度商量" (measuring and deliberating by intention) mainly refers to trying to infer the fundamental matter through concepts and passing off intellectual understanding as personal realization. Checking contracts, scheduling tasks, and assessing risk are not obstacles to practice. The real problem is that after practical thinking is done, the mind remains stuck to identity, gain and loss, and winning and losing.
Now consider an intimate-relationship scenario.
Your partner replies to messages slowly, and the thought "he doesn't care about me" arises. If you merely use the Buddhadharma to persuade yourself "don't cling," you are usually suppressing hurt. Chan inquiry first allows the feeling to appear as it is, while simultaneously asking back: who is it that feels neglected? Is the sentence "I am not worthy of being loved" a fact, or a judgment arising at this moment? What is it that knows the hurt, knows the judgment, and knows the urge to grab the other's confirmation?
Investigation cannot replace communication. You can still clearly express: "When there is no response for a long time, I feel uneasy; I hope we can agree on a way of communicating." What Chan inquiry reduces is the immediate reification of a feeling into "you will never love me" or "I am fundamentally unwanted"—it does not strip one of normal needs.
Now consider scrolling on the phone.
You only meant to check one message; before you know it, half an hour has passed. The walkthrough of Chan inquiry is not berating yourself afterward for weak willpower, but seeing, at the moment the finger is about to swipe again, the impulse for "one more." Who wants to look at one more? What shape does this desire have before it is satisfied? After satisfaction, has the center of "still a bit missing" really disappeared? Raise the critical phrase at that very instant.
Algorithms can continuously adjust content based on dwell time, clicks, and interaction, but "the algorithm knows you" is only a convenient way of speaking; it models recordable behavioral patterns and does not thereby resolve the philosophical problems of consciousness, self, or free will. Using algorithmic life as an analogy can help us see how habits are reinforced, but it cannot be said that algorithms or neuroscience have thereby proven the Buddhist no-self (無我, anātman). The operational variables that science handles and the liberative personal realization that the Chan school demands are not questions at the same level.
Finally, consider bedtime.
The day has been tiring. You sit down to investigate the critical phrase; a few minutes later, drowsiness (昏沉, styāna) sets in. If you grit your teeth and keep murmuring the phrase more and more indistinctly, that is not sustained doubt-sensation. You can first adjust your posture, open your eyes, wash your face, or walk in meditation; if the body genuinely needs sleep, rest as it is. What the Ancient Venerable Masters' Recorded Sayings criticizes is exactly forcing oneself to sit, nodding off, while treating the form as the practice. The saying that one can practice while sleeping or eating does not require twenty-four hours of nervous tension; it means not isolating practice into a small performance on a cushion.
The whole walkthrough can be summarized: when a situation appears, first do not be completely dragged away by the story; raise the practice and return to the genuine place of not-understanding; do not suppress thoughts, do not follow thoughts, do not answer for the critical phrase; do what needs to be done clearly; if the practice is lost, notice and raise it again, without sentencing yourself for one moment of scatteredness. This is the actual meaning of "practicing at all times and in all places."
Why Contemporary People Need It
Contemporary life is best at providing answers, yet it does not necessarily bring people closer to fundamental questions. Search engines, short videos, knowledge courses, and generative AI can rapidly organize explanations; the more abundant the explanations, the more easily one develops the illusion that being able to articulate something is equivalent to having lived it clearly.
Chan inquiry precisely separates "knowing about something" from "personally verifying it." A person can fluently explain impermanence (無常, anitya), no-self, and emptiness, yet when met with rejection, still immediately defend a solid self; can analyze attachment patterns, yet when relationships founder, still be swallowed by fear; can have AI produce beautiful essays on Chan, yet cannot treat the generated text as one's own realization. A language model can recombine Chan vocabulary, but the coherence of sentences does not mean that a subject has undergone delusion and awakening, and it certainly cannot take anyone across birth-and-death.
Chan inquiry also targets a more hidden predicament: we do not only consume commodities; we consume identity. Occupational labels, aesthetic preferences, social positions, parenting styles, health data—all can become material for "who I am." Whenever identity is challenged, the mind busies itself reinforcing boundaries. Chan inquiry does not rush to find you a better identity; it asks: this center that ceaselessly collects material to prove itself—is it really as fixed, independent, and controllable as imagined?
What it offers is not immediate relief but a capacity to no longer be easily deceived. When affliction arises, people usually have two old paths: follow it, or suppress it. Chan inquiry opens a third possibility—clearly knowing without rushing to claim; neither denying the situation nor treating it as a command. Over time, thoughts may still arise, emotions may still rise, life must still be handled, but the mind need not be kidnapped every time.
This is also the difference between Chan inquiry and ordinary stress-reduction practices. Stress reduction, sleep improvement, and attention training all have practical value, but the endpoint of Chan inquiry is not "let me keep functioning efficiently in a high-pressure system." If practice merely helps one endure unreasonable situations better, or even satisfy craving more efficiently, it has deviated from the direction of liberation. What Chan inquiry ultimately illuminates is the fundamental ignorance that produces craving, aversion, delusion, and the bonds of birth-and-death.
Of course, Chan inquiry is not a technique that everyone should forcibly pursue in any state. With severe insomnia, panic, trauma responses, or unstable mental states, fierce pressing, prolonged sleep deprivation, and isolated retreat can all worsen the problem. In such cases, one should first obtain qualified medical or psychological support and seek a good spiritual friend who upholds the precepts, has experience, and does not over-mystify. Clinical treatment addresses clinical problems; meditative practice addresses the path of liberation; the two may support each other but cannot simply replace each other.
Within the whole Buddhist path, what is precious about Chan inquiry is that it does not allow the Buddhadharma to remain forever "a truth seen by someone else." Scriptures, patriarchs, and teachers can all point the way, but they cannot complete the turning back for the student. As the Master Huangbo Duanji's Record at Wanling shows, the practice must be carried into walking, standing, sitting, lying down, dressing, eating, and even urinating and defecating; only after days and months deepen can one speak of "becoming one piece." It puts the ultimate question back into the most ordinary life: not leaving the carrying of water and chopping of wood to find a separate Buddhadharma, but in carrying water and chopping wood, seeing clearly who is turned around by conditions, and who is originally unattainable.
Common Misreadings and Clarifications
One: Chan inquiry is sitting meditation.
Sitting meditation can provide stable, low-disturbance conditions for practice, but Chan inquiry is not equivalent to maintaining a sitting posture. The Jingde Record of the Transmission of the Lamp criticizes merely imitating the sitting posture: "禅若效坐得，非想亦何偏" ("If Chan could be obtained by imitating sitting, then the formless meditation would also be a deviation"). The Ancient Venerable Masters' Recorded Sayings likewise opposes closing the eyes and forcing oneself to sit, drowsy and nodding, or composing phrases while sitting. The real test is through all twenty-four hours (二六时中): in walking, standing, sitting, lying down, dressing, eating, working, and dealing with others—can one attend to the practice?
Conversely, "not limited to sitting" does not mean that formal sitting practice is unnecessary. If a beginner has no stable practice at all and only says they practice at any time in daily life, what usually happens is that they forget at any time. The form is not the goal, but it can be a necessary training container.
Two: Chan inquiry is thinking about a profound question.
Ordinary thinking relies on concepts, comparison, and inference, with the goal of forming an answer. Investigation, by contrast, holds to the place where consciousness "cannot gain a foothold" and does not let knowledge hastily seal the matter. Explaining the intellectual-historical background of Zhaozhou's "無" can be Chan scholarship; generating genuine doubt-sensation on the word "無" is the work of the school. The two can help each other but are not the same thing.
Three: A critical phrase is a riddle with a standard answer.
If one interprets "無" as "emptiness," interprets "干屎橛" as "the Buddha is in filth," and recites this to the teacher, this is still intellectual understanding. Public-case language has historical contexts and can be studied as documents; but in Chan inquiry, its function is not to have one guess the patriarch's original intention but to cut off habitual discrimination so that the student personally penetrates.
Four: Doubt-sensation is constant doubting, anxiety, or self-coercion.
Doubt-sensation has a keen, focused, and genuine quality, but it is not tension. Anxiety often runs among many catastrophic imaginings; doubt-sensation converges on one fundamental point of not-understanding. If practice only makes the body and mind increasingly rigid, sleepless, and fearful, one should adjust rather than treat the harm as "the cold that pierces the bones." Fierceness is not brutality.
Five: Chan inquiry is emptying the mind of thought.
A temporary reduction of thought may be a meditative state, but it may also be fatigue, drowsiness, or suppression. The "true no-mind" of which Dahui speaks is not the unconsciousness of earth, wood, tiles, or stones; it is clearly encountering situations without grasping at dharmas. To perceive, judge, care, and act normally without being stuck to objects—that corresponds to the direction of liberation. A blank mind by itself proves nothing.
Six: Sudden awakening is a peak experience.
Ecstasy, feelings of light, oneness with all things, suddenly understanding a public case—all may be startling, but they cannot immediately certify seeing one's nature. The Chan school values examination by a master and also values the function in concrete situations. If after the experience one's arrogance is stronger, one's conduct more unrestrained, and one is entirely unchanged when facing adversity, then at the very least the experience did not accomplish the work required for liberation.
Seven: Since awakening is sudden, long-term practice is meaningless.
"Days and months deepening" and "suddenly the flower of the mind bursts" are not in conflict. Practice cannot produce awakening according to a schedule, but it can ceaselessly expose and loosen clinging, allowing the doubt-sensation to mature. Even after sudden awakening, one must still maintain and refine in daily use, eliminating habitual tendencies. The "sudden" is a breakthrough in what is seen; it does not guarantee that all past behavioral inertia disappears simultaneously.
Eight: Chan inquiry opposes scriptures, so reading them is useless.
What the Chan school attacks is "taking meaning and deliberation from the doctrinal vehicles" (向教乘中取意度商量), using others' words to pass as one's own eye of the Way; it does not deny the scriptures themselves. Without right view, one easily mistakes numbness for no-mind, caprice for freedom, and nihilism for emptiness. Scriptures can correct the direction; Chan inquiry demands the walk from map to ground. The tension between the two is precisely what prevents falling into empty talk on one side and blind practice on the other.
Nine: Everything is mind, so real-world problems need not be handled.
This is a dangerous narrowing. Turning the light back does not erase causality, ethics, or real-world responsibility. If the body is sick, see a doctor; if there is workplace abuse, keep evidence and seek help; if there is violence in a relationship, set boundaries; parenting requires concrete care. Chan inquiry does not use "it is all deluded thought" to cancel others' suffering, nor does it make victims bear all responsibility. If so-called Chan makes one more obtuse to causality, it has already departed from wisdom and compassion (慈悲, karuṇā).
Ten: Chan inquiry can disregard precepts and just seek an awakening state.
If one uses "originally there is not a single thing" to justify greed and harm, that is using empty words to destroy causality. The precepts (戒, śīla) keep body, speech, and mind from ceaselessly producing coarse disturbances; concentration (定, samādhi) gives the mind the capacity not to be turned by conditions; wisdom (慧, prajñā) then can penetrate clinging. Although Chan inquiry is characterized by direct pointing to seeing one's nature, it still stands within the liberative structure of precepts, concentration, and wisdom; it is not a privilege that transcends ethical review.
Eleven: Chan inquiry equals modern mindfulness, brain-science training, or algorithmic detox.
They can converse with one another but cannot be equated. Attention research can explore correlations between training and cognition or emotion; neuroscience can observe changes in neural activity. But how first-person liberation, the view of no-self, and ethical transformation correspond to neural indicators remains a large set of unresolved philosophical and scientific questions. Science has not "proven seeing one's nature" by measuring some brain state, and the Chan school should not borrow scientific vocabulary to manufacture authority for itself.
Twelve: So long as one investigates on one's own, no teacher is needed.
Chan inquiry must ultimately be personally realized; a teacher cannot substitute. But precisely because humans are exceedingly skilled at self-deception, approaching masters, requesting instruction, and undergoing examination occupy an important place in Chan history. The "參" in the Jingde Record of the Transmission of the Lamp, in many instances, first of all means entering the room to seek instruction and drawing near to a Chan master. A true teacher does not supply the answer to the puzzle but discerns where the student has landed: in doctrinal understanding, in emptiness and stillness, in slick repartee, or in genuine penetration.
Choosing a teacher must also preserve judgment. Demanding absolute obedience through mystical experiences, diluting the precepts, extracting improper benefits, or crossing physical and emotional boundaries—none of these is a legitimate reason for "breaking self-attachment." What Chan inquiry breaks is ignorance, not the basic safety and dignity of a person.
In the final analysis, Chan inquiry is not adding one more "practitioner" identity to life; it is bringing the fundamental grasping on which identity rests into the light. It begins from a phrase one genuinely cannot penetrate, continues through turn after turn of the light back, and is refined in eating, commuting, arguing, fatigue, and solitude; it does not end at elegant explanations, nor does it take brief stillness as final, but has as its destination personally awakening and penetrating birth-and-death.
The so-called fundamental matter (本分事, běnfèn shì) is not a mysterious possession that a few can flaunt; it is precisely the fact of this moment of life that is most immediate, and yet most often missed, before any name has had time to cover it. Chan inquiry is: no longer merely hearing others describe it, but agreeing to turn around and look into it for oneself.