The Record of Linji stands at a crossroads where several major currents of Buddhist thought converge and are refracted through a distinctly Chinese sensibility. At its core, the text bears the imprint of Madhyamaka philosophy: a relentless emphasis on emptiness and the refusal to grant any fixed reality to “Buddha,” “Dharma,” or “patriarchs.” This radical deconstruction of all views is not a mere intellectual game, but a method for cutting through clinging to doctrines, practices, and spiritual attainments. In close connection with this, the work also reflects Tathāgatagarbha or Buddha‑nature thought, especially in its insistence on the “true person of no rank” and the inherent completeness of one’s own mind. Enlightenment, in this vision, is not the acquisition of something new but the recognition of what has never been lacking.

Alongside these strands, the Record of Linji shows the imprint of Yogācāra, particularly in its concern with the mind as the locus of both delusion and awakening. While not systematized as in classical Yogācāra treatises, the text’s critique of attachment to mental constructions and its call to see through perceptual and conceptual fabrications echo the “mind‑only” orientation. These Indian Buddhist inheritances are not presented as abstract systems; rather, they are woven into the living fabric of Chan practice. The Southern Chan emphasis on sudden awakening and the Hongzhou school’s teaching that “ordinary mind is the Way” form the immediate doctrinal background. Linji’s iconoclastic attacks on “seeking” and on reliance upon external authorities are characteristic developments within this Chan lineage.

The Chinese cultural and philosophical milieu also leaves a clear mark. Daoist ideas are especially evident in the valorization of spontaneity and naturalness (ziran), as well as in the suspicion toward rigid categories and formalism. Linji’s non‑rational, sometimes shocking rhetoric resonates with the spirit of Daoist texts that delight in overturning conventional perspectives. At the same time, the monastic setting and the master–disciple relationship reflect a Confucian concern for hierarchy, discipline, and moral seriousness, even as these structures are frequently subverted to prevent attachment to roles and status. The emphasis on integrity, authentic personhood, and the ethical dimension of practice shows that spiritual realization is not divorced from character.

All of these influences are gathered into a distinctive Chan idiom that is both apophatic and fiercely practical. The Record of Linji systematically “smashes icons,” refusing to let the practitioner rest in any sacred object, concept, or identity, including “Zen” itself. This via negativa is not nihilistic; it clears the ground so that the practitioner may directly encounter mind‑nature, free from dependence on either sacred or secular constructs. In this way, the text embodies an indigenous Chinese synthesis: Indian Mahāyāna metaphysics, Daoist spontaneity, and Confucian ethical sensibility are all present, yet they are subordinated to a single overriding concern—the immediate, unmediated awakening of the person who stands, walks, sits, and lies down in the midst of everyday life.