1. What This Concept Expresses
Unpacking the four characters of 歸根得旨 (returning to the root and realizing the purport), they refer to two matters, yet fundamentally a single matter. Returning to the root (歸根) means returning to one's original face without searching outward—returning to that origin that relies on no external conditions, is inherently as it is, and can vividly manifest all things. Realizing the purport (得旨) means thoroughly awakening to the mind-dharma transmitted from generation to generation by the Buddhas and patriarchs. It does not mean memorizing a few lines or remembering a few public cases; rather, it means directly according with this mind-dharma in the present moment and being able to apply it immediately. The reason these two can be paired into a single phrase is that the 禪宗 (Chan, "Chan School") maintains that if the direction is returning to the root, the result will naturally be realizing the purport; if the direction is wrong, reading vast amounts of texts remains irrelevant. Thus, these four characters appear repeatedly in the *Recorded Sayings of Chan Master Dahui Pujue* (*Dahui Pujue Chanshi Yulu* 大慧普覺禪師語錄, T1998A). It is not an isolated philosophical proposition, but a striking word spoken directly, forcing one to reveal oneself on the spot, functioning as a 話頭 (huàtóu, "head of a phrase / topic of meditation").
However, understanding 歸根得旨 merely as a command simplifies its meaning too much. In the teaching of Master Dahui, these four characters actually possess three layers of usage, deepening layer by layer; missing any one layer leaves the complete picture incomplete.
The first layer: Used as a direct 公案 (gōng'àn, "public case / koan") to test practitioners. When Master Fozhi Yu was relocating his stupa—that is, entering the stupa and holding the funeral service—Dahui pointed at the tomb pit and said: "Right at this very moment, say a word on returning to the root and realizing the purport." Facing the great matter of life and death as master and disciple parted forever, this was precisely the moment to force out a genuine place of awakening. If a practitioner merely recited these four characters as intellectual knowledge, the master would know he had not reached home. Thus, the meaning of this layer is: returning to the root and realizing the purport must be manifested in response to the moment, and cannot be hidden within conceptual understanding. Dahui himself supplied a line on behalf of the practitioner: "The senior brother knows how to sing the mud cow's roar; how could the junior brother forget the wooden horse's neigh? Opening wide the living eye atop the crown, beneath Mount Mao lies the true return."
師兄解唱泥牛吼，師弟寧忘木馬嘶。豁開頂上活人眼，鄮山山下是真歸。 *The senior brother knows how to sing the mud cow's roar; how could the junior brother forget the wooden horse's neigh? Opening wide the living eye atop the crown, beneath Mount Mao lies the true return.*
—"Mud cows roaring" and "wooden horses neighing" are imagery commonly used in Chan to represent 無情說法 (insentient beings expounding the Dharma): How could things made of mud or wood have mouths? That they emit sound is precisely the true 自性 (svabhāva, "inherent nature") sounding on its own without borrowing from the outside. "Opening wide the living eye atop the crown" is the vivid manifestation of inherent nature; "beneath Mount Mao lies the true return" highlights the theme—Mount Mao was the monastery of Chan Master Tiantong Hongzhi Jue. In Chan, this "return" is returning precisely to these original grounds (本地風光) that can vividly manifest all things.
The second layer: Using "returning home" as a metaphor to show that returning to the root is a process of practice that must be completed. Dahui quoted a verse by an ancient worthy:
學道如鑽火，逢煙且莫休，直待金星現，歸家始到頭。 *Studying the Way is like drilling wood for fire; do not stop when smoke appears. Wait until bright sparks erupt; only upon returning home has one reached the end.*
Drilling wood to produce fire: when smoke appears, do not stop; one must wait until sparks truly burst forth for it to count. This metaphor is crucial—many people assume Chan is purely 頓悟 (yugapat-sambodhi, "sudden awakening"), believing that "returning to the root" can be completed in an instant. Here, Dahui actually articulates the continuous, meticulous nature of practice: seeing smoke is a omen and shows the direction is correct, but it is not the endpoint. Letting go halfway ruins previous efforts; if one does not let go and waits until bright sparks erupt, only then is it called "only upon returning home has one reached the end." He immediately followed by asking: "And where is the home to which one happily returns?"—Where do you think home is? If one truly penetrates this question, then "men marrying and women marrying are all within it," and all worldly activities reside within the Way. If one has not yet recognized it, then "boundless karmic consciousness wanders entirely outside." This grounds "returning to the root" in the four characters consciousness not wandering outward—it is not that one must depart from the world to return; rather, when mental consciousness no longer wanders outward, daily chores and basic sustenance are themselves the place of return.
The third layer: Harmonizing with 教乘 (doctrinal teachings), using "seeing the moon and forgetting the finger" and "entering the stream and forgetting the object" to show the entry point for realizing the purport. Reading sutras, studying doctrines, and thoroughly mastering vast numbers of texts are regarded as necessary from the Chan perspective, but their value lies in 見月亡指 (seeing the moon and forgetting the finger) and 得魚亡筌 (catching the fish and forgetting the trap)—a finger points to the moon, and once you follow the finger and see the moon, the finger should be set aside; once the bamboo trap catches the fish, the trap should be forgotten. If one clings to language and words without letting go, one is instead turned around by language and words. Immediately following this, Dahui cited a famous public case involving Master Guizong: Guizong knocked on the lid of a tripod and asked, "Do you hear?" The practitioner replied, "I hear." Guizong said, "Why don't I hear?" He knocked again and asked, "Do you hear?" The practitioner replied, "I do not hear." Guizong said, "Why do I hear?" Hearing and not hearing are functions of the conceptual consciousness discriminating objects. What Guizong was pressing for was: that which is capable of hearing exists prior to hearing and not hearing; it does not come because you have sound, nor does it depart because you have silence. Finally, Dahui harmonized this public case with the chapter on Avalokiteśvara's Complete Penetration in the *Śūraṅgama Sūtra*:
初於聞中，入流亡所，所入既寂，動靜二相，了然不生。 *Initially within the hearing nature, entering the stream and forgetting the object of hearing. When the entered object becomes tranquil, the two aspects of motion and stillness clearly do not arise.*
—These sixteen characters are the essence of the method of complete penetration in the *Śūraṅgama Sūtra*: first apply effort to the hearing nature that is capable of hearing; "entering the stream" means going deep along this awareness; "forgetting the object" means forgetting the opposition between subject and object. When subject and object are both forgotten, tranquil yet constantly illuminating, that is the realm of realizing the purport. Dahui concluded:
苟於歸宗示誨處領略，方知觀音悟圓通，與歸宗聞與不聞之義，無二無別。 *If one understands where Guizong gave instruction, only then will one know that Avalokiteśvara's awakening to complete penetration and Guizong's meaning of hearing and not hearing are without two and without difference.*
—Welding a Chan public case together with the scripture most valued by Chan masters, Chan and doctrinal teachings are here non-dual.
Taking the three layers together: returning to the root and realizing the purport is not a single sentence, nor is it a description of a state; it is the overarching name for a complete process—taking immediate manifestation as the starting point (the usage in public cases), taking continuous practice without letting consciousness wander outward as the process (the usage of returning home), and taking the transcendence of language to enter the realm where the hearing nature is fundamentally tranquil as the ultimate destination (the usage of harmonizing with doctrinal teachings). The three form a single entity; one cannot pick just one side.
2. Walking Through Daily Life
The teachings of Chan are most afraid of being discussed while suspended in the air. Below, using several scenarios familiar to contemporary people, we will walk through the structure of the three layers above to see what "returning to the root and realizing the purport" looks like in our everyday life.
Scenario 1: The Restlessness on the Commute
Crowded on the subway in the morning, the bus sways, someone next to you talks loudly on the phone, and someone else plays short videos on speaker. You notice your own emotion: restless, wanting to escape, wanting to hear something, wanting to see clearly—at this moment, "boundless karmic consciousness" is racing outside, continuously clinging to auditory phenomena. At this point, if one understands a bit of the meaning of "returning to the root," it does not ask you to close your eyes and sit in meditation (there is no room to sit on the subway anyway), but rather to turn around at the very instant that thought arises—asking: Who is the one feeling restless? Does that which can perceive the restlessness and clearly knows the restlessness exist prior to the restlessness? It does not arrive because of that phone call, nor does it depart because of that phone call. This is the daily mirror image of Guizong's "hearing or not" public case: the hearing nature capable of hearing is unmoving; what moves is merely external clinging. You might not immediately realize the purport, but that act of "turning around" itself is the beginning of returning to the root. Following this turning around, just as Dahui said, "do not stop when smoke appears"—today a thought moved, tomorrow you forgot again, the day after you were pulled away again; if you do not let go, slowly the "bright sparks" will manifest.
Scenario 2: Working Overtime Late at Night, Facing an Endless Proposal
The proposal has been revised seven or eight times, and the boss throws over a new direction again. You notice that the more you edit, the more anxious you become, but behind the anxiety lies a judgment: "This must be done, otherwise I will be rejected." Is this judgment real? You step around it and look at that which can give rise to this judgment—it is quiet in itself. Being evaluated, affirmed, or rejected are all subsequent thoughts running around. What you experience at this moment is "entering the stream"—flowing inward along that awareness that is not hijacked by evaluation; "forgetting the object"—the opposition between evaluating subject and evaluated object loosens a bit, even if only for a few seconds. These few seconds are not escape; on the contrary: the moment you loosen, you can instead see clearly the structure of the proposal and see whether that direction itself works. It turns out that this matter of "awakening" is not opposed to doing things. Dahui's line "men marrying and women marrying are all within it" does not mean you become a Buddha while drafting a proposal; it means that when consciousness does not wander outward, drafting a proposal is inherently within the Way.
Scenario 3: Minor Friction in Intimate Relationships
Coming home from work, a casual remark from your partner stings you. Right at the moment you prepare to counterattack, you recall "opening wide the living eye atop the crown"—is this counterattack coming from you, or from a pattern cultivated over many years? You try not to counterattack and not to suppress, but simply watch the energy of "wanting to counterattack" itself, as if a spotlight were illuminating it. At the moment of being illuminated, it changes and loosens on its own. This is the contemporary version of "mud cows roaring and wooden horses neighing"—you thought what you wanted was the other person admitting fault or your own comfort, but the thing that truly manifests brightly is the "you" that is no longer pushed around by habitual patterns. This is not equivalent to forbearance, nor is it cold treatment; it is knowing from the root that you are originally complete, and thus no longer needing to confirm yourself through winning. This is "returning to the root"—returning to the place originally complete, and external environments will naturally loosen. Setting aside whether you realize the purport for a moment, this single thought of turning around is already on the way home.
Scenario 4: Reading Books, Attending Classes, Following Lectures (The Easiest Pitfall for "Catching the Fish and Forgetting the Trap")
The most abundant resource for this generation is knowledge—sutra lectures on video platforms, podcasts talking about spirituality, dozens of philosophy books on the bookshelf. Many people learn a great deal and can talk eloquently about it, but the more they learn, the more exhausted and scattered they feel. Dahui's "seeing the moon and forgetting the finger" is specifically prescribed for this group of people: scriptures and teachings are fingers and traps. The finger is for you to look through; once you see the moon, you should let go of the finger. Can you try this: after reading a book and closing it, ask yourself, "Was that quietness present while reading?"—If that quietness is gone, it means you are holding onto the trap without letting go, and the fish has not yet been caught. Where is the moon? It is in that which is present while you read, walk, and eat—that which is not in the printed pages, not in any opinion, yet knows everything. It is right there. How much did the *Vajracchedikā Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra* (*Diamond Sūtra*) speak of "giving rise to a mind without dwelling anywhere"? Its purport also resides within this original face that is "able to read, able to listen, able to perceive." In this sense, returning to the root and realizing the purport gives all learning and all "thoroughly mastering vast numbers of texts" a place of return; otherwise, the more knowledge one has, the more consciousness wanders outward.
Scenario 5: Scrolling the Phone and Consuming Information Feeds
Your finger automatically swipes, and when you wake up, half an hour has passed. Between "I originally only wanted to take a few minutes" and "I actually swiped for half an hour," there was a stretch where no one was watching. This is the most common everyday form of "boundless karmic consciousness" today—consciousness is not at home, following the things fed by algorithms and walking outside. Notice that "returning to the root" here is not telling you to turn off your phone; it tells you not to evaluate yourself at the moment you wake up. The moment you evaluate, it becomes a new external clinging—the thought "I messed up again" runs outward again. What "entering the stream and forgetting the object" means here is: you recognize that awakening awareness itself, and pause along with it; you do not grasp the matter of "waking up," nor do you grasp the matter of "scrolling the phone." When the entered object becomes tranquil, the two aspects of motion and stillness clearly do not arise. Even for one second. That one second is a second of returning to the root.
3. Why Contemporary People Need It
Contemporary life possesses three characteristics that make the four characters 歸根得旨 more urgent today than ever before.
The first characteristic is that the intensity of "consciousness wandering outward" is unprecedentedly high. A thousand years ago, people were not pushed a new stimulus every few seconds, but today our attention is engineered by algorithms to make it "difficult to stay home"—there is always a next item, auto-play on short videos, red notification dots. Therefore, what Chan calls "boundless karmic consciousness wandering entirely outside" is not a metaphor today, but a literal description. We do not just wander occasionally; we are structurally and continuously pulled outward. The primary meaning of returning to the root is to see through and loosen this structural outward wandering.
The second characteristic is that "subject-object opposition" is infinitely magnified. The split between subject and object, and the opposition between evaluating subject and evaluated object, have become your daily compulsive actions in the social media era: "How will this post be viewed if I send it out?" "The number of likes determines how much I am worth." What psychology calls contingency of self-worth and self-objectification are the collective illness of modern people. Meanwhile, the *Śūraṅgama Sūtra*'s "entering the stream and forgetting the object"—forgetting the opposition between subject and object—is not an ancient speculative fantasy, but a direct antidote to this collective illness. Contemporary neuroscience research repeatedly shows that self-referential processing occupies an enormous amount of default mode network resources; mindfulness (正念, smṛti) training shows that pure awareness (awareness without judgment) can quiet this network down. The "tranquil illumination" spoken of by Chan a thousand years ago and the "non-judgmental attention" spoken of by contemporary neuroscientists describe different facets of the same phenomenon—however, it must be specifically noted: this similarity does not mean science has "proven" the 佛法 (buddhadharma, "Buddha-dharma"). The Buddha-dharma speaks of the fundamental source of luminous awareness after both subject and object are erased; science currently only makes correlational observations at the level of phenomena. The two cannot be spoken of in the same breath regarding depth and ultimate concern, and one cannot claim that correlations prove the truth that inherent nature is fundamentally tranquil.
The third characteristic is "knowing a lot while living exhaustively." Psychology, spiritual literature, popular philosophy books, cyber-cultivation communities... contemporary people do not lack knowledge; what they lack is the ability to turn knowledge into a living place of return. This is the most important meaning of "seeing the moon and forgetting the finger, catching the fish and forgetting the trap" in modern times. We have bought so many fishing tools, but where is the fish? The fish is within the living awareness in one's own hands. Returning to the root and realizing the purport tells you: if the direction is right, all efforts become useful; if the direction is wrong, the harder you try, the further consciousness wanders outward.
4. Common Misunderstandings and Clarifications
Misunderstanding 1: "Returning to the root and realizing the purport" means turning inward and ignoring the outside world. Many people read Chan's "returning" as inward withdrawal and outward rejection. This is incorrect. Dahui's lines "men marrying and women marrying are all within it" and "yet able to transform language and words" are intended precisely to break this dichotomy between inside and outside. If a person truly returns to the root, he can act, speak, and transform things; he is not a piece of withered wood doing nothing. "Returning" is not retreating; it is the master being at home—when the master is at home, any matter can be attended to; when the master is absent, every matter is attending to itself. Those who mistakenly take retreat as returning to the root have actually allowed consciousness to wander even deeper outward—wandering outward to a place called "purity."
Misunderstanding 2: "Returning to the root and realizing the purport" means sudden awakening here and now, solving everything once and for all. This is precisely what Dahui intended to break by quoting the "drilling for fire" verse. At the moment of returning to the root, there is indeed a "turning around" and an awakening—this is the sudden aspect. But making this awakening continuous so that one recognizes it in any situation—this is the gradual aspect. Therefore, returning to the root and realizing the purport is both sudden and gradual—sudden is the turning around in direction; gradual is making that turning around continuous until it becomes one's nature. Many people are addicted to the words "Chan sudden awakening," but lack patience for the words "wait until bright sparks erupt." One must realize that Dahui highlighted both in the same passage; lacking either leaves it incomplete.
Misunderstanding 3: "Returning to the root and realizing the purport" is a philosophical proposition that can be understood merely by thinking about it. This is directly shattered by Dahui's question, "Say a word on returning to the root and realizing the purport"—it is not for you to think about, but for you to manifest on the spot. You manifest it at a funeral site, you manifest it in the office at three in the morning, you manifest it at the instant a remark from your partner stings you. One who can manifest it has returned to the root; one who can only write beautifully and talk eloquently holds the finger and the trap, not the moon and the fish.
Misunderstanding 4: "Realizing the purport" simply means understanding the meaning of Buddhist sutras. Strictly speaking, understanding the literal words is called "intellectual understanding," while realizing the purport is "awakening." The difference between awakening and intellectual understanding lies within the four characters "entering the stream and forgetting the object": intellectual understanding is discrimination; entering the stream is going deep along awareness. Intellectual understanding retains subject and object; awakening erases both subject and object. A person can recite the *Śūraṅgama Sūtra*, *Diamond Sūtra*, and *Heart Sūtra* fluently, but if all his "understanding" consists of discriminations of the 第六意識 (manovijñāna, "sixth mental consciousness"), then holding hands full of fingers and traps, he has seen neither the moon nor a single fish. Reading sutras, studying doctrines, and thoroughly mastering vast numbers of texts are affirmed by Dahui, but immediately following this he says that "taking seeing the moon and forgetting the finger, catching the fish and forgetting the trap as the primary truth" is crucial—this "primary truth" cannot be skipped over.
Misunderstanding 5: "Returning to the root" is a final destination that ends once reached. Combining the metaphor of "returning home," one discovers that returning to the root is not a place, but the restoration of a capacity—the master being at home. In daily life, you will be pulled away by various events; pulled away, you return home again; returning home, you are pulled away again, and return home once more. Phrases like "do not stop when smoke appears" and "boundless karmic consciousness" are all reminders: do not absolutize a single instance of returning home; it is an ongoing, repeated, continuously deepening, and uninterrupted process. As for "only upon returning home has one reached the end," the word "only" (始, literally "only then / beginning") is most worthy of investigation—returning home is merely the beginning of reaching the end.
Finally, let us cite Dahui's own concluding words that harmonize doctrinal teachings and Chan to close this text:
苟於歸宗示誨處領略，方知觀音悟圓通，與歸宗聞與不聞之義，無二無別。 *If one understands where Guizong gave instruction, only then will one know that Avalokiteśvara's awakening to complete penetration and Guizong's meaning of hearing and not hearing are without two and without difference.*
—The contemporary meaning of this sentence is: if you truly recognize in a single daily moment that awareness that is capable of perceiving and cannot be carried away by any object, you will discover that Guizong knocking on the tripod lid in the Chan public case, Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva's awakening to complete penetration in the *Śūraṅgama Sūtra*, and your own awareness reading this passage right now—which has not been completely obscured—are the exact same thing. Returning to the root and realizing the purport does not ask you to become something; it asks you to recognize what you originally are—and this recognition is not a historical fact, but right now, right now, right now.