大毘盧遮那成佛經疏 18.9

18.9

Next is the precept against ill-will (vyāpāda): “Lord of Mysteries, the bodhisattva observes the precept against ill-will. Furthermore, Lord of Mysteries, the bodhisattva should observe the precept against ill-will; he should always endure patiently toward all, not clinging to wrath or joy, his mind being equal; he acts toward enemies just as toward friends. Why is this? The bodhisattva should not harbour evil intent”—this refers to having merits within oneself, termed samayabhakta, which shares the same meaning as keeping [the precepts] in mind, spoken of by the venerable ones in the Vinaya—“Why is this? Because the bodhisattva’s original nature is pure.” Here, “original nature” refers to the intrinsically acquired precepts. Below, “mind” refers to the phenomena manifested from the mind, which are ever pure within their original nature; therefore, the bodhisattva should observe the precept against ill-will. “He endures abundantly and universally toward all, constantly joyful and not clinging to wrath, with an equal, equanimous mind. He acts toward enemies just as toward friends. Why is this? Because this evil implement of mind is not that of a bodhisattva. For this reason, the bodhisattva’s mind is originally pure in its nature. Therefore, Lord of Mysteries, observe the precept against ill-will.” This is the ninth precept. Ill-will means giving rise to a malicious intent toward any sentient being, whereby unbeneficial conduct arises from the mind. The reason for observing this is that even if someone were to come to a bodhisattva and inflict various forms of harm, up to and including dismembering his limbs, he would still not give rise to a desire to harm that person—how much less so in lesser matters? If he were not like this, he would not be a bodhisattva. He should practice great forbearance universally in all places. When another inflicts various harms, he should reflect: “Owing to ignorance as a cause and condition in former lifetimes, I have taken on this troubled body. Furthermore, because I have constantly afflicted others throughout immeasurable lifetimes, my karma has now ripened and I undergo this retribution. What does it have to do with the other person, that I should resent or blame him?” One should cultivate such various correct contemplations. Moreover, one should contemplate: “This body arises from conditions and lacks self-nature; there is no self and no person—who harms and who receives?” Contemplating the true nature of phenomena through this, he does not give rise to a desire to harm that person. Such thoughts of wrath and resentment are themselves the implements of all evils. Because he can rejoice in this manner, his mind is ever delighted, well-pacified, loving, and patient; not clinging to self, others, or dharmas, he is always equanimous. This equanimity means non-duality between enemy and friend; toward all kinds—beneficial or unbeneficial, grave or light—his mind is completely equal without increase or decrease. He does not give rise to the intention to produce any implements of evil, but always carries out deeds that are beneficial and helpful to others, regarding the world equally just like an only son. For this reason, the bodhisattva correctly contemplates the true nature of phenomena and illuminates that this mind is originally pure in its nature. As a sūtra says: In the past, in the southern region, there was a king named Siṃha (Lion), whose city was named Abundant Joy (Saṃtuṣṭa). He ruled the realm with the correct Dharma and did not harm people. However, in accordance with the laws of the realm, he went out of the city to hunt in order to display his martial prowess. Although he had no intention to harm people, he wished to make neighbouring states cherish his virtue and fear his might, in order to protect the realm and pacify the multitude. While the king was hunting, he saw a fleeing deer and pursued it on his own, crossing mountains and traversing perilous terrain in his determination to overtake it. Because he had no intention to harm, once he caught up with it, he merely struck its horns with his whip and immediately released it. Why? Because he only wished to display his martial skill to overawe the people. Having entered deep into an uninhabited mountain region, his retinue could not keep up, and he rested in exhaustion in the mountains. There was a lioness who, seeing the king’s appearance to be superior to other men, gave rise to lustful desire; she came to press herself upon him, displaying signs of desire. Fearing her, the king immediately joined with her. At the beginning of the kalpa, even beasts understood human speech. Moreover, the nature of females is such that if they have intelligence, they can know when they conceive; thus she told the king, “I am already pregnant with the king’s offspring. When it is born in the future, what should be done?” The king gave her the seal he held in his hand, leaving it as a token, and said, “If a child is born, you may tie this to him and place him beside my gate.” Later, when she gave birth to a son, his appearance was like a human but extremely fierce and resolute, because he also possessed the nature of a beast. His mother, according to their prior agreement, leapt over the city wall at night, left him beside the king's gate, and departed. The next morning, the gatekeeper saw him and was exceedingly astonished: “How is it that he resembles a human and yet is slightly different? I must inform the king.” Having been informed, the king kept it to himself and did not tell anyone; he then ordered that the child be adopted as his own son, naming him Siṃhasukhadāsa (Lion Good Slave). Later, weary of state affairs, the king had him assume regent governance of the realm. Due to his original nature, he was fond of eating fresh meat. On one occasion, he urgently demanded a meal from the kitchen. The cook went in search of meat but had not yet found any, when he came across a newly deceased child; he immediately prepared it as food and presented it, and so forth, as told in the Damamūka-nidāna-sūtra and the Mahāprajñāpāramitopadeśa. Eventually, he had human meat sought every day, and the number of children he had eaten exceeded five hundred. The people in the city told one another, “A yakṣa must have entered the country; we must carefully protect all the children.” Even before evening fell, they brought them all indoors and guarded them most strictly. The cook, unable to find any, went to the houses of ministers and others to take them, and another five hundred were lost. Later, on one occasion, when he was carrying a dead child, the arm-bracelet remained on that person's hand; someone saw and recognised it, and thereupon seized and bound him. “Who is this official? This man stole the child; know that all the previous disappearances must have been his doing!” Yielding to this, he confessed and said, “It was the king’s fault, not mine.” The ministers informed the royal father: “The crown prince still has a beast's nature. One with a beast’s nature cannot be a ruler; we pray that the king rule the state himself.” The king said, “I have already consecrated him and bestowed the throne upon him; how can I take it away?” He did not grant their request. The ministers then plotted to harm him, so taking a sharp sword, he fled into the mountains. At first, he took corpses, roasted and ate them; later, he gradually ate living people, even seizing five hundred princes, constantly seeking meat to feed them, and gradually taking them to eat. At that time, the people of the country installed his younger brother as king, named Sukhadāsa, who was compassionate, kind, harmonious, and governed with the correct Dharma. Later, four brāhmaṇas seeking the supreme good Dharma arrived; the king thought, “These men have benefited me not a little; I must repay them later.” Before he could attend to them, he went out hunting. The ministers remonstrated, “The beast-king is nearby in the mountains and might do harm; Your Majesty should not go out.” The king thought, “I wish to benefit all and do not cherish my own body. If he takes me and eats me now, my original vow will be fulfilled.” He then went out into the forest. When the beast-king saw and heard that his brother had come out, he came to seize him. Because he was fierce and mighty, the palace maidens all fled and scattered; he was seized by him, weeping in sorrow and so forth, as related in the Mahāprajñāpāramitopadeśa. Having not yet fulfilled his intention to repay the brāhmaṇas, he made an agreement with him and was released. The king said, “Before your fire has died down, I will surely return” (for he had first set fire to firewood and waited until the smoke cleared before roasting a man to eat). The beast-king thought, “For what sake of the Dharma can he come to face this without sparing his life?” He therefore questioned him, and the king expounded extensively on the practice of non-killing and so forth according to the Dharma. Although fierce and evil, he possessed intelligence; upon hearing it, he was immediately awakened to what he had never known before and thought, “He is my master; what vow does he seek?” The king said, “You are now in the forest wilderness just like a wild beast; how could you fulfil a vow?” He replied, “Because I am mindful of the master’s kindness, I must repay it; you must surely speak of it.” The king said, “If I am to seek a vow, my original wish is solely non-killing; my wish lies only in this.” He immediately granted it, vowing never to harm life. Furthermore, he released the five hundred princes to practice wholesome dharmas. Having released them, he returned together with the king. Knowing that he was already practicing wholesome conduct, the king re-established him as the monarch to transform the world with the correct Dharma, while he himself left the household life. One should know that even amid such terrors, a bodhisattva still does not give rise to anger, but performs actions of benefit toward him—how much more so in other matters! Such stories should be expounded extensively as in the Jātakas and other sūtras.