分別功德論 5

English (machine translation) 5

Language: English

5.1

The translator's name is lost; appended to the Later Han record.

The reason why the monk Nanda is proclaimed foremost in handsome appearance is that the monks each had distinct marks: Śāriputra had seven, Maudgalyāyana had five, Ānanda had twenty, and Nanda alone had thirty marks. Nanda was golden in color, and Ānanda was silver in color. In radiant robes and gold-embroidered shoes, holding a lapis lazuli bowl, he would enter the city to beg for food, and none who saw him were not delighted. Setting aside the Tathāgata, none of the other disciples could match him; therefore he is proclaimed foremost in handsome appearance. It is also said that his faculties were serene. Once the Buddha led the disciples to the mango girl's vihāra in Vaiśālī. At that time, Nanda was walking outside in meditation. Hearing that the Buddha had arrived, the mango girl was delighted in her heart; wishing to provide a humble offering, she went to invite the Buddha. Outside, she saw Nanda walking in meditation, and deep affection arose in her. Touching his feet in veneration, she rubbed his feet with her hands. Although he beheld her beautiful form, he was serene and free of desire, yet because body and form stimulated each other, he had an emission of impurity. Sweet tastes nourish the body; when the body is full, it overflows. How could an overflow of impurity be caused by the mind? The mango girl did not understand and suspected he had lustful thoughts. The Buddha knew her thoughts and told the mango girl: 'Do not harbor doubts. Seven days from now, Nanda will become an arhat.' From this it is known that his mind was unwavering.

5.3

As for why the monk Bāpa is declared foremost in dispelling people’s doubts and hesitations: All the Buddhas of the three times share eighty-four thousand practices as the Dharma to be practiced, but sentient beings need not traverse all practices to attain the Way; they take as fundamental wherever their awakening occurs. Why is this? Sentient beings’ fetters are not the same; their afflictions vary in number, and their defilements differ in thickness. For this reason, the Tathāgata set forth various teachings. In some cases, a single medicine cures many afflictions; in other cases, many medicines cure a single affliction. It is like the six perfections governing one another: one practice serves as the master, and all other practices follow it. As for that single practice, it does not hold exclusively to an unchanging name; it arises in response to the affliction, matched with its corresponding medicine. If a conception of permanence arises, one counters it with impermanence; if a mind conceiving existence arises, one counters it with a mind of emptiness. When impermanence directs practice, all myriad practices become impermanence. Just as when giving generates eighty thousand [practices], all eighty thousand are acts of giving; this is what is called the abridged explanation. It is like the eight sounds of the Tathāgata: a single sound commands eight resonances, a single resonance commands a hundred teachings, a single teaching commands a hundred meanings, and each in turn commands another up to thousands of millions; one sound responds in thousands of millions, its transformations being like this. The abridged explanation governing practices is also illustrated by this analogy. This monk focused primarily on the abridged explanation, and was therefore declared foremost.

5.4

As for why the monk Śreṇika is declared foremost in being able to explain the Dharma extensively: For thirty years this monk remained at the level of an ordinary person, extensively expounding the Dharma and differentiating doctrinal principles for people. What is meant by an extensive explanation? At times, because of a single practice, myriad practices are developed, their branches proliferating endlessly. Just as afflictions arise conditionally dependent upon one another, so medicines are established in correspondence with them to bring about their cure. This monk focused primarily on analytical discrimination and did not make the eradication of outflows his priority; therefore, it took him thirty years before he attained the realization of the Way. Entering silent stillness and forgetting words, he abandoned his former traces. Recording his original achievements, he was therefore declared foremost in extensive explanation.

5.5

As for why Deva-Subhūti is declared foremost in wearing fine robes: Among the five hundred disciples there were two Subhūtis: one of royal lineage, and one of gṛhapati lineage. Deva-Subhūti came from the royal lineage. Why is he called "Deva"? For five hundred lifetimes he constantly ascended to be born in the Heaven of Responsive Manifestations, and descended to be born into royal families, naturally enjoying blessings and never lacking anything. When the Buddha returned to his native kingdom, King Śuddhodana exhorted five hundred young men of the Śākya clan to go forth to learn the Way and attend upon the World-Honoured One; this monk went forth among their number. At that time, the Buddha enjoined the monks: "All who practice the Way must restrain their bodies and maintain discipline, wearing coarse clothing, eating poor food, sleeping on straw mats, and using excrement and urine as medicine." Hearing the Buddha's strict teaching, this monk thought to himself: "I was born noble and wealthy, with food and clothing coming naturally. In my palaces and chambers with carved and engraved patterns, there were gold and silver couches and vessels of the seven jewels. On my body I wore clothing woven with golden threads, and on my feet I wore fine slippers of gold leaf. Even so, it still did not fully satisfy my desires; how much less could I wear a five-patch robe? I should rather return home to suit my original inclinations." Having so thought, he wished to return. At that time, the Buddha was staying in the vihāra at Śrāvastī, having accepted an invitation from King Prasenajit. The monk went to the Buddha's place to take leave and return. Ānanda said to him, "Sir, please stay just for one night." Subhūti said, "How could one stay in a śramaṇa's chambers, beds, and seats? I shall go to a layperson’s house to lodge for one night, and tomorrow I will return home." Ānanda said, "Just stay. I will now prepare the requisites." He immediately went to the king's palace, and all kinds of seat-cushions, banners, canopies, flowers, and incense, as well as oil for four lamps, were lavishly and fully provided. This monk then lodged therein for the night. Because his original inclinations were suited, his mind attained concentration; contemplating the four truths, by the later part of the night he attained arhatship and flew up into the air. Ānanda thought: "Lest this monk abandon the room and leave, I fear someone may take away the things borrowed from the king." He went to inspect it, but did not see him in the room; looking up into the sky, he saw him flying above. Ānanda said to the Buddha: "Deva-Subhūti has already attained arhatship, and is now flying in the air." The Buddha told Ānanda: "There are two kinds of robes: those that may be associated with, and those that may not be associated with. Which may be associated with? When wearing fine robes increases the mind toward the Way, these may be associated with. When wearing fine robes diminishes the mind toward the Way, these may not be associated with. Therefore, Ānanda! Some attain the Way through fine robes, and some attain the Way through ruined and wretched five-patch robes; awakening lies in the mind and is not restricted by external clothing." For this reason, Deva-Subhūti is foremost in wearing fine robes.

5.6

As for why the monk Nandaka is declared foremost in instructing: Śāriputra also gave instruction, universally instructing the fourfold assembly of disciples, striving from morning until midday to bring at least one person to the path of realization. This monk, however, exclusively instructed monks so that they attained arhatship. It is like an expert archer who shoots a thief with a single arrow: it strikes the vital spot at once and prevents him from rising again. This is an analogy for this monk's skill in instructing with essential wisdom, so that those who hear it eliminate their fetters and advance directly to the unconditioned. A poor archer, though he uses many arrows, may hit the mark only with one. This is an analogy for Śāriputra, who, though expounding wisdom extensively, ultimately accomplishes only one stage. The difference in their excellence is distinct and easily seen; therefore it is said that he is foremost in instructing junior students.

5.7

As for why the monk Sumana was skilled in instructing the community of bhikṣuṇīs: This monk always admonished the nuns with stern and pressing words: "Women have many emotional entanglements; their seductive charms and elaborate adornments delude the people of the world. Their bodies are filthy and leak, with nine apertures impure, and among the thirty-six bodily constituents not a single one is worthy of craving." Why was he named Sumana? It is the name of a flower; because when he was born this flower naturally appeared on his ear, he was named after the flower. At that time, King Bimbisāra came to the Buddha's place. Seeing that this monk had a flower on his ear, he found it strange and asked the Buddha: "Does the rule of a monk permit wearing flowers?" The Buddha said to the king: "Your Majesty may pluck it off yourself." The king then plucked it off with his hand, but it continued to grow as before; continuing without stopping, it eventually formed a heap of flowers. The king was even more amazed and asked about its cause. The Buddha told the king: "Long ago, when Vipaśyin Tathāgata appeared in the world, this monk was the son of a gṛhapati. At that time, during an annual festival, after they had finished playing the zither and making music, he went to the Buddha's place. Seeing the Buddha, this gṛhapati was filled with joy, and took the flower from his own ear and placed it on the Buddha's ear. The Buddha then used his ṛddhi to transform this flower, turning it into a four-pillared pavilion in the open air, while the flower on his ear remained as before. Seeing this transformation, the gṛhapati made a vow: 'May I meet the Buddha in life after life in the future, be born handsome, and have a flower grow upon my ear.' Due to the merit and vow of the past, he now receives this reward." When the king heard what was spoken, his mind was opened and understood; he stepped forward to pay homage at the Buddha's feet, took his leave, and returned to the palace. As for why he was skilled in instructing bhikṣuṇīs: bhikṣuṇīs are originally full of affections. When people saw this monk was handsome and moreover had a flower on his ear, their minds were naturally fond of him. Relying on this feeling of love, he admonished them with strict teachings; through these bitter words, their clinging attachment was severed. Therefore it is said that he is foremost in skillfully instructing and admonishing the community of bhikṣuṇīs.

5.8

As for why the monk Sīvali is said to be foremost in merit: when Sīvali was first born, he emerged holding a priceless maṇi jewel in his hands. Falling to the ground, he immediately spoke: "Is there any gold, silver, or seven treasures in the world that can be used for giving? I now wish to make a great offering." After he had spoken these words, his parents and the entire household were all greatly frightened; they abandoned him and ran away. Some called him a rākṣasa demon, while others thought him a heavenly spirit, saying: "When a child is born, it must complete the months and days before it can speak. Now he speaks the moment he drops to the ground; this is extraordinarily uncanny." His mother, feeling otherwise in her heart, returned to look at him. He said to his mother: "Do not be afraid. I am no demon. I am simply your son, Mother." His father, Candrakānta, said: "We should now carry the child to the Nirgrantha to inquire about his good or ill fortune." Thereupon he and his wife carried the child to the Nirgrantha and reported the situation to the master. The master said: "This child has no merit and will later bring about calamity." The elder asked: "The child has a maṇi jewel in his hand; why do you say he has no merit?" The Nirgrantha replied: "When he reaches the age of eight, all your household wealth and treasures will be utterly exhausted and consumed in this child's hands; because of this, you will all starve to death." The elder, terrified and profoundly doubtful, heard that there was a great śramaṇa in the world, [and thought:] "Perhaps he knows good and ill fortune; I should go to him and ask whether this is true or not." He immediately set out for the World-Honoured One's place. Midway he thought again: "The great śramaṇa belongs to the royal caste, born and raised in the deep palace, and has not studied scholarship. The brāhmaṇas and others, who have been widely learned from youth, are still unable to know good and ill fortune; how could a śramaṇa know?" He was about to return home, when a deity spoke to the elder from mid-air: "You must only advance. Why turn back? The Tathāgata, the Great Sage, penetrates all things; if you go, he will certainly resolve your doubts. Go quickly without hesitation!" He then went forward to the Buddha's place, made obeisance, and after greeting him, reported: "As just stated, I do not know whether this bodes good or ill?" The Buddha told the elder: "It is auspicious, with nothing disadvantageous, to have borne a son of such merit. When this child reaches the age of twenty, he will leave home to practice the Path, always accompanied by five hundred boys. He will attain arhatship and return to deliver his parents." Hearing what the Buddha said, the elder leaped with joy and could not contain himself, returning home at once. He prepared savory delicacies and invited the Buddha to his house: "May the World-Honoured One grant a name to the young child." The Buddha told the elder: "If I were to name him 'Heaven', people would not understand. If I were to name him 'Sage', ordinary people would not understand. In the time of Kāśyapa Buddha, spirits were called sīvali; now he should properly be named Sīvali. 'Sīvali' means one who understands and communicates the speech and voices of ghosts and spirits. Therefore he is named Sīvali." When Ānanda was approaching parinirvāṇa, he delivered two disciples: the first was named Majjhantika, and the second was named Mahinda. Mahinda was an earthly king; had he not become a śramaṇa, he would have ruled this Jambudvīpa and the other three continents, hence he was named Mahinda. Ānanda instructed this disciple: "Go to the country of the Lion Island (Siṃhala) to propagate and illuminate the Buddha's Dharma." The people of that country had intercourse with rākṣasas and required written scripts before they could communicate and trade. Among the sixty kinds of scripts, there was a ghost script called Abhu and a human phonetic script called Ara. Mahinda, receiving the instruction, went there and propagated the Buddha's Dharma, and the traces of his teaching exist down to this day. Sīvali's communication with ghosts and spirits was also like this; hence he was named Sīvali. As for why Sīvali's merit is praised: when he was born, he emerged naturally holding a maṇi jewel in both hands. Formerly, in the time of Vipaśyin Tathāgata, this monk was a merchant who went out to sea to gather jewels. Passing through five perils, he reached the place of gems, obtained a precious pearl, returned, and offered it to the Buddha, making a vow that wherever he was born he would spontaneously receive recompense. By this cause and condition, his birth was extraordinary: [another child born with him had a pearl] valued at twenty koṭis, which was spontaneously born attached to his ear at the time of birth; the father assembled merchants to inquire into its value, and the merchants evaluated it, saying: "It is worth twenty koṭis." But Sīvali's hand-held jewel was limitless; hence it was called priceless. The nourishment provided by his jewel extended to seven generations, and through seven generations they suffered no want or lack; therefore he is called foremost in merit. At the age of twenty, he left home to study the Path. When he came to the World-Honoured One, the Buddha said, "Come, monk!" and he immediately became a śramaṇa. Contemplating the four noble truths, he attained arhatship. At that time, five hundred boys also left home to practice the Path and constantly attended upon Sīvali. Sīvali supplied these five hundred people with robes and food; wherever they went, offerings were never lacking, and wherever they wandered, they were always provided for. South of the city of Rājagṛha, there was a great, deep mountain, in which were many poisonous insects, tigers, wolves, and rākṣasas. He thought to himself: "I wish to dwell in seclusion in this mountain for a season." Śakra Devānām Indra, knowing his thought, immediately created five hundred rooms and a saṅghārāma in the mountain, providing various offerings for another season. When the summer retreat was completed, he thought: "I have been away for a long time; I should return to pay homage." The weather was extremely hot, and he thought of having coolness; Śakra, knowing this, immediately brought down clouds and rain. When he felt a slight desire for drinks, nectar fell at once. Whatever he wished for arrived in response to his thought; therefore he is said to be foremost in merit. Sīvali had a paternal uncle who served heterodox brahmacārins, who was by nature stingy and disliked giving. At that time, friends and relatives advised him to accumulate provisions for future lives, whereupon he invited several thousand brahmacārins and gave them a hundred thousand ounces of gold. Sīvali thought: "My uncle is stingy and greedy, creating no merit in this life. Even if he practices giving, he does not meet a fertile field. If I do not deliver him, he will be abandoned forever." He then went to his house holding his bowl to beg for food. The uncle said: "Why have you come so late? Yesterday I made a great giving. Had you come yesterday, you could have received a saṃkakṣikā." [Sīvali] said: "I have my own saṃkakṣikā and do not need one." "Why have you come, then?" He said: "I wish to beg for food." At that time, his uncle would not give, whereupon [Sīvali] manifested his body in mid-air and displayed eighteen transformations, his body emitting water and fire. The elder thought: "He must be angry. What if he burns down my house?" He immediately called him down and offered him a seat. Sitting down, [Sīvali] said: "I wish to have food." [The uncle] then gave him foul and wretched food. He received it at once, recited an auspicious prayer, and ate it. As the food entered the bowl, moved by his merit, it transformed into nectar. A deity above praised him, saying: "Excellent, elder! You have indeed made a great giving, a giving of merit that none can surpass." The elder thought: "Previously I gave a hundred thousand ounces of gold to the brahmacārins, and no one praised me. Now, for giving this little bit of wretched food, I am praised as having done well. Could this be a lie?" The deity spoke to him again: "Although what was given was small, the field of merit is excellent; therefore it is called a great giving." The elder thought again: "The deity must be speaking the truth, since he has told me a second time." He immediately gave a hundred thousand ounces of gold to Sīvali. Sīvali said: "According to the monastic rules, I ought not to accept gold." He promptly went to the Buddha to ask about the matter. The Buddha answered: "You may take it, and redistribute it as a gift as you wish." He then accepted the gold and gave it to his fellow students. He expounded the Dharma to his uncle, who thereupon attained the stage of entering the stream. Being able to transform foul and wretched food into nectar, he is called foremost in merit. From his birth until nirvāṇa, he was never in want; and when he entered parinirvāṇa, various sweet dishes, food, and drink rained down upon his body. Why was it like this? Because having sufficient for himself, he further wished to bestow moisture upon sentient beings. For this reason too, he is called foremost.

5.9

As for why the monk Upasena is said to be foremost in having all virtuous practices complete: this monk had virtue fully present within, and his appearance and bearing were dignified and solemn without; the internal and external were in harmony, so that wherever he went, all were delighted. Nanda possessed thirty marks, and Ānanda possessed twenty marks; although their external marks were many, they could not fully possess the dignified demeanor of a śramaṇa. Although this monk possessed only eleven marks, his ritual deportment was fully complete; because it was fully complete, wherever he went, all responded favorably, and elderly, middle-aged, and young alike beheld him with joy. What is meant by 'abundantly filled within' is that the four noble truths were as the eightfold correct path, truly subtle, filling his spiritual heart without ever declining; therefore he is said to be foremost in possessing all the virtuous practices and factors of the Path.

5.10

As for why the monk Bhaddaji is said to speak harmoniously and pleasantly without hurting people's feelings: this monk was always prudent with his mouth, not committing the four faults of speech. When a person dwells in the world, an axe is in his mouth; that by which he cuts his own body is his own evil speech. In this monk, coarse and harsh words had been eradicated forever; he always chose his words and spoke slowly, thinking before revealing them, and whenever he spoke, it suited others' minds and certainly caused them joy. Whether in the presence of the elderly, the middle-aged, or the young, he was capable of pleasing them in accordance with what they liked. As for why this monk is praised for being good in speech: there was an arhat monk who, although his outflows were ended, still had faults of speech. Traveling across a river, as the water gradually became deeper, he uttered harsh words, saying: "Wretched slave, creature of wanton seed!" At that time, the goddess of the river, hearing these harsh words, thought to herself: "How could this monk utter such an evil sound?" She was just about to push him into the water, [but thought:] "Because he is a monk, I should first ask the Buddha." She went at once to ask the Buddha: "There was a monk crossing over; when the river became slightly deep, he reviled me, saying 'Wretched slave, wanton seed!' In the Dharma of monks, should one revile people?" The Buddha then sent a monk to summon the reviling monk. The monk arrived, and the Buddha told him: "You are a śramaṇa; why did you revile her?" The monk replied: "Your disciple did not revile her; I merely said, 'Slave of wanton seed.'" The goddess said: "Look! This monk has reviled me yet again. May the World-Honoured One explain the origins of this. Does an arhat still have anger remaining? Why does he revile me?" The Buddha said: "An arhat has no anger remaining; it is simply habitual speech. This monk was once a brāhmaṇa, and by brāhmaṇa custom, they are fond of reviling, saying 'Slave in the womb!' It was not necessarily spoken in anger, but merely out of habit of the mouth. Furthermore, in the past five hundred lifetimes, when he was your husband, he constantly reviled you as a slave. Therefore, because past habit was not eliminated, he reviled you again." The river woman said: "Even though he is an arhat, he still has faults of speech. I have no use for arhatship; may I in the future seek the unsurpassed, correct, and true Path, delivering all without difference from the Buddha." The Buddha said to the monk: "Repent to this woman." The monk repented at once, and the woman also repented to the monk; having paid homage, they departed in different directions. If even one whose outflows are ended still has coarse words, how much more should an ordinary person be prudent with speech! By this cause and condition, we know that this monk is foremost in guarding his speech.

5.11

As for why the monk Mahākātyāyana is praised as foremost in ānāpāna: among the one thousand two hundred disciples, only this monk and Rāhula were capable of practicing ānāpāna foremost. How is this known? Formerly, when Rāhula was walking behind the Buddha, the Buddha, by skillful means, revealed the calves of his legs for Rāhula to see. Having seen them, Rāhula thought to himself: "This old man, bearing such an appearance, renounced the position of a wheel-turning king to practice the Path and go begging? Why does he feel no shame? I can no longer go begging; I had better return. My grandfather, King Śuddhodana, is still living; why should I endure such toil and suffering?" The Buddha immediately knew what Rāhula was thinking and said to Rāhula: "Do you not know? Even heaven and earth are impermanent, how much more so your wheel-turning holy king—could that last long? You should understand impermanence: everything that has form is suffering; the body is not my own; all must wear away and perish, unable to remain for long." Rāhula contemplated the four impermanences, but his mind was not yet awakened, so the Buddha taught him to practice mindfulness of ānāpāna. Ānāpāna is the inhalation and exhalation of the breath: knowing when the breath is long, knowing when the breath is short. A short breath returns from the heart; a long breath comes from the heels. He also knew cold and warmth: the in-breath is cold, the out-breath is warm. The reason for knowing length and cold or warmth is that one wishes to discern the depth or shallowness to which the five aggregates tend, and by tracing the origin and end of where the breath enters and leaves, to know the source of afflictions. If upon inhalation one does not know where it comes from, and upon exhalation one does not know where it goes, one realizes there is neither coming nor going; the afflictions are likewise so. Contemplating in this way, he then attained arhatship. Mahākātyāyana's practice of ānāpāna was not the same as Rāhula's; he had mastery over his breath. If he wished it to pass through his eyes or ears, it entered and exited as he willed. If he further closed his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, it would exit from the nine hundred thousand pores. How is it known that it exited from the pores? This monk originally belonged to a royal lineage. There were two brothers, and the younger brother was upright and handsome. When the king died, the elder brother was due to succeed to the throne, but the younger brother considered himself superior and secretly hoped people would elevate him. However, the custom of the country did not allow passing over the proper order, and so they elevated the elder brother as king. The younger brother was unreconciled in his heart, refused to call himself a subject, and personally requested to leave the kingdom; the king granted it. He asked for troops, and the king gave him as many as he wished. He then selected eighty thousand tusked elephants armored and fitted with nasal blades. Having completed preparations, he thought: "Which country is the finest? I wish to attack and seize it. The country of Vaiśālī is the most superior among all kingdoms; I should go and conquer it to take for my own use." He then led his troops and set out. Just midway, there were five hundred merchants returning from gathering jewels who wished to go to Magadha, and they met on the road. He asked the merchants: "Among the people of the world, is there anyone whose form and appearance surpass mine?" The merchants laughed. The king asked: "Why do you laugh?" They answered: "We are merely laughing to ourselves." He asked again: "A laugh must have a reason. Why do you not speak?" They replied: "If the king will not be angry, we shall speak." The king said: "Only speak; I will never be angry with you." The merchants said: "We have heard that the son of the Pure-Rice King, named Siddhārtha, has a colossal body sixteen feet tall of refined purple-gold color, possessing the thirty-two marks and eighty secondary signs." When Kātyāyana heard the merchants' words, fear arose in his heart: "If Siddhārtha knows I am coming, he will certainly raise an army to come against and smite me." He halted midway, not daring to advance further. When the people of Vaiśālī heard that he had raised an army intending to attack and smite them, they could not remain at peace and went to ask the Buddha: "How can this be averted?" The Buddha said: "Do not be distressed; I shall transform him myself." That night, the World-Honoured One went and manifested transformations, sitting cross-legged in the open air, glittering like a golden mountain illuminating the great assembly. He raised his head and looked, saying: "What kind of person is this?" The answer came: "I am the one spoken of by the merchants." He then said: "The merchants deceived me. Just now they did not say he could fly, yet now he manifests flying!" Terrified in his heart, fearing harm, he clasped his hands and asked: "I wonder for what purpose you have come here with instructions?" The World-Honoured One answered: "Do not harbor fear; I will not harm you. My name is the Buddha, who delivers all. The sublime Dharma of the deathless—do you wish to hear it?" He replied: "I wish to hear it." The Buddha observed that his capacity should be delivered through ānāpāna, and immediately explained mindfulness of the in-breath and out-breath, knowing the length of the breath and knowing cold and warmth. Hearing what the Buddha said, his mind opened in realization and he attained the path of a srotāpanna. He then renounced his army and sought to become a śramaṇa. The Buddha accepted him at once: "Welcome, monk!" and he became a śramaṇa. Re-contemplating ānāpāna, discerning the four great elements and the thirty-six impure substances, he directly penetrated the most sublime and attained the anāsrava fruit. Therefore, he is praised as foremost in ānāpāna among the monks.

5.12

As for why the monk Utpalavarṇa is praised as foremost in contemplating the self as impermanent: this monk in past lives was respectful and cautious. If he saw elders, he served them as a father; if he saw the middle-aged, he respected them like elder brothers; toward those younger than himself, he loved them like younger brothers. Because his modesty and reverence reached the utmost, he received the retribution of an exceptionally large stature. When he was able to become a monk and attend to the left and right of the Buddha, though he had a tall and large form, he never relied on it; he constantly contemplated that this body had no self and no permanent master. Discerning and possessing bright wisdom, his mind was devoid of right and wrong; hence, he could abandon bodily pride and rid himself of arrogance, with modesty foremost. How is it known that his physical form was exceptionally large? When the Buddha first attained awakening, he converted the three Kāśyapa brothers and had a thousand monks. He traveled to the country of Magadha, converted King Bimbisāra, and when he was about to return to his home country, he first dispatched Udāyin to inform King Śuddhodana: "Seven days hence he will come to bring conversion." When the king heard this, he leaped with boundless joy, immediately ordered his chariot prepared, leveled the roads, and had them swept, sprinkled, and incense burned to await the Tathāgata. The Tathāgata, leading one thousand two hundred and fifty monks, came to the Śākyas. The Tathāgata thought: "Now my father the king will certainly come to welcome me. One of such dignity must not be made to bend his body; I should manifest ṛddhi and walk through the air." He was level with people's heads, wanting only to let the king take the Tathāgata's feet with his hands. The reason for this was that, though the Buddha's virtue was supreme, he did not wish to make his parents bend their bodies. At that time, the monk Utpalavarṇa was to the Tathāgata's right, and the Guhyaka vajra-warrior was to the Tathāgata's left; the Tathāgata's body reached exactly to this monk's shoulder. The king asked: "Who are those to the left and right of the Buddha, that they are so tall and large?" The reply was: "The one on the right is the monk Utpalavarṇa; the one on the left is the yakṣa Vajrapāṇi." He further asked: "Of what country are they people, that they are so extraordinary?" The reply was: "They are people of the country of Magadha." He asked again: "Are these bodies of ṛddhi, or are they physical bodies received from their parents?" The reply was: "They are physical bodies received from their parents, not of ṛddhi." The Śākyas thought: "The Tathāgata's spiritual virtue is incomprehensible, that he can have such tall and large persons—even rākṣasas and evil spirits—to his left and right!" Through this circumstance, it is known how great this monk's height was. When this monk attended to the left and right of the Buddha, he was constantly obstructing the Tathāgata from view, which the devas and people of the world found troubling. The Tathāgata has two kinds of body: first, the Dharma-body; second, the physical body. This monk only loved the golden physical body and did not love the anāsrava Dharma-body. An intimate disciple should by rule be entrusted [with the teachings], but [the Buddha] feared that the Dharma-body would be neglected and missing in the future. Because of these two matters, the Tathāgata sent him away and replaced him with Ānanda.

5.13

As for why Kumārakāśyapa is praised as capable of variegated discourses: this monk constantly expounded the four noble truths to people, at times combining praises and drawing upon similes and analogies; for each truth there was a verse of praise drawing upon an analogy, and so on through the four truths, all likewise. Therefore, he is praised as foremost in variegated discourses. 'Kumāra' means youth; 'Kāśyapa' is the clan name. Kumārakāśyapa was indeed a maiden's son. How is this known? Formerly, there was a gṛhapati named Sudatta, whose wealth was boundless. In his family there was an unmarried daughter who was facing the fire at home; the warm vapor entered her body, and she thereupon became pregnant. Her parents were astonished and questioned her about the circumstances. The daughter answered truthfully: "I do not know why it happened." Her parents questioned her again, subjecting her to beatings, but her words did not change. The matter was then reported to the king. The king also interrogated her, and her words were no different; he sentenced her to death. The daughter then cried grievance, saying: "Can there be an unprincipled king in the world who unjustly executes the innocent? If I am unchaste, you may keep me under guard and test me. Why should I suffer such injustice!" The king investigated the duration, and it was just as the girl had said, without discrepancy. The king then said to her parents: "I wish to take her." The parents answered: "Take her as you please. What use have we for this doomed girl?" The king then took her into the palace and provided for her in accordance with the seasons. When the months and days were fulfilled, she gave birth to a boy, upright and handsome. When he grew up, he left home to study the Path. Intelligent and broadly accomplished, before long, through energetic diligence, he attained the path of an arhat and returned to deliver his parents. At that time, there was a king named Pāyāsi, who believed in wrong and inverted views. He did not know that in this life and future lives doing good yields merit and doing evil incurs calamity; he thought that upon death the spirit is annihilated and receives no further rebirth. He did not believe there was a Buddha, nor did he recognize nirvāṇa. He bound his belly with iron plates, fearing his wisdom would overflow, and boasted of his unmatched rule, considering himself without peer. At that time, Kumārakāśyapa went to his gate. When the king saw Kāśyapa's extraordinary attire, walking with calm composure and orderly deportment, the king engaged in debate with him. The king asked the śramaṇa: "The śramaṇa says: 'Doing good brings merit, doing evil brings calamity.'" The king said: "Now in my clan there was a person whose practice of goodness was most pure. When he was on the verge of death, I and several others went together to his side and said to him: 'According to your conduct, upon death you should be born in heaven. If you ascend to heaven, come back and tell me.' It has been a long time since he died, yet he has not come to tell me. By this I know that doing good brings no merit." The śramaṇa answered the king: "A wise person understands through an analogy. Suppose there is a man who falls into a cesspool of a hundred bushels. Someone pulls him out, washes him thoroughly, dresses him in fine clothes, perfumes his body with incense, and seats him upon a high couch. If someone says to this man: 'Go back into the privy,' would this man be willing to go in or not?" The king said: "He would not be willing." The monk said: "Those born in heaven are just like this. In heaven, there is joy and self-indulgence in the five desires; they take ambrosia as food, which naturally digests without the distress of excretion; their bodies are fragrant and clean, and their breath is sweet-scented. Looking down at the world, it is like pigs living in a sty. Even if they wished to come, smelling the stench, they would immediately turn back. In view of this, how could he come to inform you?" Through several dozen such analogies, the king's mind was opened, and he placed his faith in the Three Jewels. Through this circumstance, Kumārakāśyapa was foremost in variegated discourses.

5.14

As for why the monk Mianwang is praised as having no shame in wearing poor, ragged robes: can this be called [practising] the eleven dhūtas? Some say, "No." Why is he called the foremost? This monk wore a single type of robe and never changed it his whole life. How is this known to be so? This monk was originally a son of the Śākya clan. At the time of his birth he possessed an extraordinary, divine merit. When his mother first conceived, she invited a brahmacārin to examine his physiognomy. The brahmacārin divined, "This child has the mark of a heavenly crown upon his head." Hearing this, his mother was pleased within, but feigned displeasure, thinking: "A heavenly crown is the mark of a king, yet within a single kingdom there cannot be two kings." She feared the king might harm him, and for this reason she feigned displeasure. Why she was privately pleased was that, if he truly was to be a king, he would naturally have protection, so what worry was there that he would not succeed? When the full months had passed, she gave birth to a boy, upon whose head was the shadow of a heavenly crown. She again invited the brahmacārin to give him a name. The brahmacārin said, "Upon his head is the mark of a king, and moreover he cannot be parted from this mark; he should be named Mianwang ('Face-King')." Thus his name was made Mianwang. When King Śuddhodana heard of this, his heart was gripped with sorrow: "This child has the mark of a king; in the future he will surely usurp my throne. What should be done?" If he wished to have him killed forthwith, the child had committed no crime deserving death; if he wished to leave him alone, he feared the child would surely usurp him. Vacillating in anxiety and gloom, he could find no peace. When the Buddha returned to his native kingdom, the king at that time proclaimed to the Śākyas: "Whosoever has two brothers among them, let one be sent forth to leave the household for the path and attend upon the World-Honoured One." This child, however, was an only child, and could not be sent forth to leave the household among the five hundred. For this reason the king became all the more worn with worry. At that time Mianwang was ten years of age. He reflected in his heart: "Even if one were to become a wheel-turning cakravartin, that too is impermanent, and moreover does not compare to the Śākyas who have left the household. A human body is difficult to obtain, and an age with a Buddha difficult to encounter. While encountering the age of a Buddha, I ought to leave the household." He then said to his mother, "I wish to leave the household to study the path." His mother said, "I have only you alone; if you abandon me, I shall surely die." Mianwang then petitioned Śuddhodana, saying, "I wish to leave the household. Will the king grant permission?" Śuddhodana rejoiced and said, "Most certainly!" Mianwang said, "Thinking that I am an only child, my mother has no one to whom she may be entrusted; because of this I am distressed." The king said, "If you can leave the household, I shall take your mother as my sister and share half the kingdom with her." Mianwang rejoiced, and immediately returned home to report the matter to his mother, who then gave her consent. When he was to leave the household, wearing a single piece of white cotton cloth, he went to the World-Honoured One wishing to seek the path. The World-Honoured One said, "Welcome, monk!" and he immediately became a śramaṇa. The Buddha instituted that a monk should have three robes, but this monk Mianwang merely dyed this white cotton cloth to make a kāṣāya, and used no other robe at all. He addressed the Buddha: "Your disciple wishes only to wear this single robe for the rest of his life. May the World-Honoured One grant permission." The Buddha then silently assented. From that time forth, he constantly wore this single robe. Therefore the World-Honoured One said, "Among my disciples who wear poor, ragged robes, none surpasses the monk Mianwang." Among the eight reflections of a great man, he is the foremost in having few desires and knowing contentment.

5.15

As for why Rāhula is praised for upholding the precepts without breach: Some say, "Rāhula was fond of lying; how can it be said that he upheld the precepts?" Some say, "Rāhula did not lie [out of malice], but was merely resentful toward the Buddha." Why was he resentful toward the Buddha? Because the Buddha did not become a wheel-turning cakravartin. Had he become a cakravartin, he would have had 84,000 great ministers, 84,000 jade maidens, and elephants, horses, and chariots—each and every thing would have numbered 84,000. To abandon such a station and become a śramaṇa, begging from east to west—is that not shameful? Coveting the benefits of a cakravartin and resenting the Tathāgata, he thus told lies. When people asked Rāhula where the Tathāgata was, when the Tathāgata was actually at the Jetavana vihāra, he would answer that he was in the Andhavana; when he was actually in the Andhavana, he would falsely say he was in the Jetavana. Repeatedly telling lies, he deceived those who came. Ānanda addressed the Buddha, "Rāhula tells lies." The Buddha summoned Rāhula: "Do you truly tell lies?" He answered, "Truly so." "Rāhula! Why do you tell lies? The reason I abandoned the station of a cakravartin is that the station of a cakravartin cannot be relied upon; all returns to impermanence, with nothing enduring. Even Śakra and Brahmā cannot be preserved, how much less can a cakravartin be relied upon? Rāhula! I have abandoned this countless times in the past, yet you now resent it." The Buddha said to Rāhula, "Bring some water." Rāhula then filled a bowl with water and offered it to the Tathāgata. Holding the bowl of water, the Tathāgata said to Rāhula, "Do you see this water?" He replied, "I see it." The Buddha said, "This water fills the bowl without diminution, which is an analogy for upholding the precepts completely without loss or breach." He then poured half of it away and said to Rāhula, "Do you see this water?" He replied, "I see it." The Buddha said, "This water is half lost, which is an analogy for the precepts being incomplete." He then poured the water out until it was empty, showed it to Rāhula, and said, "Do you see this empty bowl?" He answered, "I see it." The Buddha said, "To violate the precepts entirely is like this empty bowl." He then turned the bowl upside down on the ground, showed it, and said, "Do you see?" He answered, "I see." The Buddha said, "Having violated the precepts entirely, one will fall into hell. This is analogous to the mouth of the bowl facing the ground." After Rāhula received this injunction, he never again committed an infraction even by a hair's breadth; therefore he is called the foremost in upholding the precepts. Some say: There was also another incident. Śāriputra took Rāhula into the city of Śrāvastī to beg for food. At that time a brāhmaṇa saw Rāhula walking behind, and at once gave rise to evil intent; he struck Rāhula on the head so that blood flowed and stained his face. Rāhula immediately gave rise to an evil thought: "I must find an expedient means to repay this enemy. All who are called brāhmaṇas shall be destroyed; I shall never spare them." Śāriputra already knew what was in Rāhula's mind. Wiping away his blood, he said to Rāhula, "You should recall that when your father was King Sudāna in the past, a man came to ask for his eyes, and he at once gouged out his eyes and gave them away without regret. When he sat in meditation in the park and a king cut off his hands and feet, he was also without regret. When he was an elephant and gave his tusks to someone, he was also unwearied. Why do you now give rise to such an evil thought?" When Rāhula heard what his master said, he immediately reproached himself: "Why do I now direct an evil mind toward him?" He then showed forbearance like the earth, not giving rise to harmful thoughts even by a hair's breadth. The person who struck Rāhula's head at that time fell into the Avīci Hell. By these causes and conditions, it is known that Rāhula is the foremost in upholding the precepts.

5.16

As for why the monk Pantha is praised for being able to conceal his form and make himself invisible: Pantha means 'road'. There were twin sons abandoned on a road, whom someone took in and raised to adulthood. Each left the household for the path, but having no one to give them names, they were named Daosheng ('Road-Born'), which in the barbarian tongue is Pantha. At that time in the kingdom of Magadha, violent thunderstorms and rains occurred frequently, and the five grains did not ripen. The king was named Bindusāra, who was the grandfather of King Ajātaśatru. He made an appeal to the four quarters, saying: "Whosoever is able to repel the violent rain, I shall bestow upon him great wealth and treasure." At that time there was a brāhmaṇa named Brahmacārin, who was skilled in incantations. He came to answer the appeal, saying, "I can repel the rain." The king then granted him permission and had him manifest his art to stop the rain. At that time yin and yang were harmonised, and the five grains ripened abundantly. The brahmacārin addressed the king, requesting his reward for stopping the rain. Although the king assented verbally, in the end he did not bestow the recompense. The ministers and the people, seeing that the king did not give it, each likewise made promises to him. The brahmacārin's family was impoverished, and he repeatedly sought it from them, yet they did not give it, and though he asked everywhere, he received nothing. The brahmacārin was greatly enraged, and vowed to become a poisonous nāga to destroy human crops: "Whenever people plant the five grains and the crops are growing well, I shall strike with great hailstorms to kill them, so that neither root nor stem can stand, how much less any leaves!" Having made this vow, his life came to an end, and he was immediately reborn among the nāgas, named Apolaka ('Leafless'). Whenever the people of Magadha planted crops and they had just sprouted, the nāga struck them down with hail. This continued for several years, and the people starved, with many dying. The Buddha took pity on them, and wishing to convert this nāga, he took Guhyaka, Ānanda, and Pantha to the kingdom of Gautama to approach the nāga's dwelling. When the nāga saw the Buddha coming, an evil thought arose, and he said, "Now I shall release hail to kill this śramaṇa." He then rained down mountain boulders. The Buddha looked to his right at Guhyaka. Guhyaka understood the Buddha's intent, and at once aimed his vajra club at the great rocky mountain, causing it to fall and block the nāga's abyss. The nāga was furious, and fire issued from his eyes. The Buddha looked to his right at the monk Pantha. The monk Pantha at once understood the Buddha's intent to have him subdue the nāga. Pantha immediately used his ṛddhi to conceal his form, and with water extinguished the fire in the nāga's eyes. The nāga then emitted fire from his ears, nose, and mouth, and [Pantha] extinguished this too with water. The monk further used his supernatural powers to pass in and out repeatedly through the nāga's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth while remaining unseen by the nāga, concealing his form within while manifesting his hands without. Seeing these transformations, the nāga's heart was immediately subdued. The Buddha then walked back and forth in meditation with the three persons ahead. On the rocks there were footprints of four persons, yet only three persons were visible. The nāga then asked the Buddha, "Where is the one person?" He answered, "These are the footprints of your teacher." The nāga said again, "What is the teacher's name? Why does he not appear now?" He answered, "His name is Pantha." The Buddha wished for him to appear at a distance, and [Pantha], knowing the Buddha's intent, manifested his form a hundred paces away. Seeing him from afar, the nāga rejoiced and paid homage. The Buddha then conferred upon him the eight precept observances. From that time forth, wind and rain were harmonised, the five grains were bountiful and ripe, and the people were at peace. By these causes and conditions, it is known that Pantha is the foremost in concealing his form.

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分別功德論 — Classical Chinese