佛果圜悟禪師碧巖錄 1.5

1.5

或問。碧巖集之成毀孰是乎。曰皆是也。齴齲來東單傳心印。不立文字固也。而血脈歸空諸論。果誰為之哉。古謂不在文字不離文字者。真知言。已使人人於卷簾聞板竪指觸脚之際。了却大事。文字何有哉。拈花微笑以來。門竿倒却之後。才涉言句。非文字無以傳。是又不可廢者也。甞謂祖教之書。謂之公案者。倡於唐而盛於宋。其來尚矣。二字乃世間法中吏牘語。其用有三。面壁功成。行脚事了。定槃之星難明。野狐之趣易墮。具眼為之勘辨。一呵一喝。要見實詣。如老吏據獄讞罪。底裏悉見。情欵不遺一也。其次則嶺南初來。西江未吸。亡羊之岐易泣。指海之針必南。悲心為之接引。一棒一痕要令證悟。如廷尉執法平反。出人於死二也。又其次則犯稼憂深。繫驢事重。學弈之志須專。染絲之色易悲。大善知識為之付囑。俾之心死蒲團。一動一參。如官府頒示條令。令人讀律知法。惡念才生。旋即寢滅三也。具方冊。作案底。陳機境。為格令。與世間所謂金科玉條清明對越諸書。初何以異。祖師所以立為公案。留示叢林者。意或取此。柰何末法以來。求妙心於瘡紙。付正法於口談。點盡鬼神。猶不離簿。傍人門戶。任喚作郎。劍去矣而舟猶刻。兔逸矣而株不移。滿肚葛藤。能問千轉。其於生死大事。初無干涉。鐘鳴漏盡。將焉用之。烏乎。羚羊掛角。未可以形迹求。而善學下慧者。豈步亦步。趨亦趨哉。知此則二老之心皆是矣。圜悟顧子念孫之心多。故重拈雪竇頌。大慧救焚拯溺之心多。故立毀碧巖集。釋氏說一大藏經。末後乃謂。不曾說一字。豈欺我哉圜悟之心。釋氏說經之心也。大慧之心。釋氏諱說之心也。禹稷顏子易地皆然。推之輓之。主於車行而已。爾來二百餘年。嵎中張明遠。復鏤梓。以壽其傳。豈祖教回春乎。抑世故有數乎。然是書之行。所關甚重。若見水即海。認指作月。不特大慧憂之。而圜悟又將為之去粘解縛矣。昔人寫照之詩曰。分明紙上張公子。盡力高聲喚不譍。欲觀此書。先參此語。大德甲辰四月望。三教老人書。

Someone asked: 'Between the compilation and destruction of the Biyan ji, which was right?' I replied: 'Both were right.' When the buck-toothed one [Bodhidharma] came east to transmit solely the mind-seal, it was indeed 'not establishing words and letters.' Yet as for the various treatises like the Bloodline Treatise and Returning to Emptiness, who actually composed them? The ancients' saying that it is 'neither in written words nor apart from written words' is truly an understanding statement. If one could cause everyone to resolve the great matter right at the moment of rolling up the blinds, hearing the clapper, raising a finger, or stubbing a toe, what need would there be for written words? Yet ever since holding up a flower and smiling, and after the flagpole was knocked down, the moment one touches upon words and phrases, there is no way to transmit it without written words. This too cannot be discarded. I have often observed that calling the books of ancestral teachings 'gong'an' began in the Tang and flourished in the Song; its origins are ancient. These two characters are the bureaucratic terminology of worldly law. Their uses are threefold: When wall-gazing practice is accomplished and the affairs of itinerant pilgrimage are concluded, the markings on the steelyard remain hard to discern, and falling into the track of a wild fox is easy; someone with the eye performs testing and examination for them—with a scold or a shout, demanding to see genuine realization, just as a veteran magistrate examines crimes based on the case records, fully uncovering what lies at the bottom without omitting a single detail of the depositions. This is the first. Second, when one has just arrived from Lingnan and has not yet drunk the West River, one easily weeps at the fork of the lost sheep, while the needle pointing to the sea must turn south; with a compassionate heart one guides them—each blow leaving a welt to bring about realization, just as the commandant of justice upholds the law to redress grievances, saving people from death. This is the second. Third, when the worry over trampling crops is deep and tying up the donkey is a grave matter, one's intention in learning chess must be concentrated, and the color of dyed silk easily brings sorrow; a great kalyāṇamitra entrusts the instructions to them, making their minds die upon the meditation cushion—in every movement and every inquiry, it is just like the government promulgating regulations to make people read the statutes and know the law, so that as soon as an evil thought arises, it is immediately extinguished. This is the third. Preparing the volumes, making the dossiers, presenting dynamic situations, and establishing standards—how do these initially differ from worldly golden rules, jade regulations, and books of uprightness and reverent inspection? The ancestral masters established them as gong'ans to leave behind for the chan groves, perhaps drawing upon this meaning. Yet ever since the age of saddharma-vipralopa, people seek the wondrous mind in soiled paper and consign the authentic Dharma to oral debates; though pointing out all the ghosts and spirits, they never depart from the register; relying on others' doors, they let themselves be called servants. The sword has dropped, yet they still carve the boat; the rabbit has fled, yet they do not move from the stump. With bellies full of entangling vines, they can raise a thousand rounds of questions, yet in the great matter of birth and death, it initially has no bearing whatsoever. When the bell tolls and the water clock runs dry, of what use will it be? Alas! The antelope hangs by its horns and cannot be sought by outward traces; how could those who are adept at learning from lower wisdom just follow step for step, pace for pace? If one knows this, the minds of both elders were right. Yuanwu's mind was full of regard for his children and concern for his grandchildren, and so he re-evaluated Xuedou's eulogies. Dahui's mind was full of urgency to rescue people from fire and pull them from drowning, and so he immediately destroyed the Biyan ji. The Śākya clan's founder spoke an entire Tripiṭaka, yet at the very end said he had not spoken a single word; could he have been deceiving us? Yuanwu's mind was the Buddha's mind when speaking the sūtras; Dahui's mind was the Buddha's mind when refusing to speak. If Yu, Ji, and Yanzi had traded places, they would have acted the same. Pushing it or pulling it, the main concern is simply that the cart moves forward. Now some two hundred years have passed, and Zhang Mingyuan of Yuzhong has carved the woodblocks again to prolong its transmission. Is it that the ancestral teachings are returning to spring, or is it that worldly affairs have their appointed destiny? Yet the circulation of this book involves a matter of great weight: if upon seeing water one takes it to be the ocean, or mistakes the pointing finger for the moon, not only would Dahui worry about it, but Yuanwu would also set about peeling off the glue and untying the bonds for them. An ancient's portrait poem says: 'Vividly on the paper is Mr. Zhang, / Though called with all one's might and in a loud voice, he does not respond.' If you wish to study this book, first investigate this phrase. Written on the full moon of the fourth month in the jiachen year of the Dade era [1304] by the Old Man of the Three Teachings.