宗鏡錄 7.2

7.2

Now, water is used as an analogy for the true citta because water possesses ten meanings that correspond to the true nature. First, the substance of water is pure and clear, illustrating the intrinsically pure mind. Second, acquiring mud, it becomes turbid, illustrating how the pure mind is defiled without being defiled. Third, though turbid, it does not lose its pure nature, illustrating how the pure mind is defiled yet undefiled. Fourth, when the mud settles, its clarity appears, illustrating how when the delusions of the true citta are exhausted, its nature appears. Fifth, encountering cold, it turns to ice and acquires a hard function, illustrating how the tathāgatagarbha combines with avidyā to form the functions of the fundamental consciousness. Sixth, though it acquires a hard function, it does not lose its moist nature, illustrating that phenomena are constantly the real. Seventh, warmth melts it into moisture, illustrating the fundamental consciousness returning to purity. Eighth, following the wind, waves surge, yet its tranquil nature does not change, illustrating how the tathāgatagarbha follows the wind of avidyā: waves arise and cease, yet its own nature of non-arising and non-ceasing remains invariant. Ninth, following the high and low of the terrain, it is channeled and flows, yet its own nature is not moved, illustrating how the true citta follows conditions in its flow, while its nature is eternally serene. Tenth, it conforms to the square or round shape of vessels without losing its own nature, illustrating how the true nature is omnipresent in all conditioned phenomena without losing its own nature. Moreover, an ancient book says: "Highest virtue is like water; it conforms to square or round as the vessel dictates, bending or straightening along with the shape." As the Hīnayāna Abhidharmakośa-bhāṣya also states that all conditioned phenomena have momentary exhaustion: how do we know they have it? Because subsequent existences are exhausted. Since subsequent existences are exhausted, we know that prior existences have perished. Hence the treatise says: "If it arises in this place, it perishes in this very place; it is impossible for it to transition from here to another location." If arising here and perishing here without reaching another location, this aligns with the meaning of non-movement; yet there is a real substance of phenomena that arises and perishes, and so it is not Mahāyāna. In the Mahāyāna Dharma, arising from conditions is devoid of nature: arising is non-arising, perishing is non-perishing; hence movement is itself non-movement, so the principle is worlds apart. Furthermore, the Commentary on the Mūlamadhyamakakārikā states: "Regarding the gate of permanence and impermanence: permanence means the stations of humans and gods are fixed, so there is no going and coming; impermanence means each of the six destinies exhausts a single bodily form, so there is also no going and coming. Furthermore, permanence is motionless and undisturbed, while impermanence changes from thought to thought—who then could be caused to go and come? Thus the phenomena of permanence and impermanence alike do not reach each other; neither has any going and coming." Zhao's Treatise states: "What people call movement is because former things do not arrive at the present; therefore they say movement and not stillness. What I call stillness is also because former things do not arrive at the present; therefore I say stillness and not movement. Movement and not stillness is because they do not arrive; stillness and not movement is because they do not depart. Thus, what is arrived at has never differed, yet what is seen has never been the same. Opposing it is what is called blocked; according with it is what is called penetrating. If one truly grasps its principle, what obstruction could there be? Alas! The delusion of human sentiment has lasted long; facing the real with their eyes, they fail to awaken. Knowing already that past things do not come, they yet claim that present things can go. Since past things do not come, how could present things go? Why is this? Seek past things in the past, and in the past they were never absent; seek past things in the present, and in the present they have never existed. Having never existed in the present shows that things do not come; having never been absent in the past shows that things do not depart. Conversely seeking the present, the present also does not go. This means former things abide of themselves in the past and do not reach the past from the present; present things abide of themselves in the present and do not arrive at the present from the past. Thus Zhongni (Confucius) said: 'Yan Hui perceives the new; as shoulders pass, it is no longer the old.' Thus it is clear that things do not go and come to one another. Since there is not the slightest sign of coming and going, what thing could possibly move?" Commentary: "'Yan Hui perceives the new; as shoulders pass, it is no longer the old' means that Confucius said to Yan Hui: 'Between me and you, in the span of passing shoulders through our whole lives, it has already passed away; how could one wait for white hair and only then change?' The meaning clarifies that each thing is constantly new of itself, and thought to thought they do not reach each other. In the brief moment of passing shoulders, they do not even wait for one another; the former person is already lost—how could one allow that change happens only upon reaching old age? Furthermore, the former thought is already old, and the subsequent thought is constantly new. Meeting all day long, one is constantly seeing a new person; hence it says 'perceives the new.' Such a new person, seen only in the brief moment of passing shoulders, is already the new person of the subsequent thought, not of the time of the former thought. Hence it is said to be 'no longer the old.' If the former thought is already old and the subsequent thought is already new, the new does not arrive at the old, and the old does not await the new; before and after do not reach each other, and so there is no movement. Furthermore, even when two people first meet, in just the brief moment of raising a hand and passing shoulders, it has already passed away; this captures the rapid speed. Hence it is said: 'Former things abide of themselves in the past; present things abide of themselves in the present.' Just as a youthful complexion abides of itself in the body of a youth, while white hair resides of itself in the physical frame of old age. Therefore it says: 'People consider youth and old age to be the same body, a single frame across a hundred years; they merely know that years pass, unaware that physical form follows.' Therefore, when the brahmacārin left home and returned with white hair, his neighbors saw him and asked: 'Is that former person still alive?' The brahmacārin said: 'I resemble the former person, but am not the former person.' The neighbors were all astonished and rejected his words. As is said, 'The strong one carries it on his back and runs off, while the benighted are unaware'—does it not refer to this? 'I resemble the former person': 'resemble' means to be similar. Although my body here is similar to the former person, the youthful complexion abided of itself in the past, and the signs of decline and old age abide of themselves in the present; thus I am not the former person. Hence it says: 'They merely know that years pass, unaware that physical form follows.' Although worldly people know that the months and years belong to the past, how do they realize that the appearance of that time also remained in the past along with the years? Thus youth does not reach old age, and old age does not reach youth; moment to moment they do not know each other, and thought to thought they do not wait for one another. How could youth and prime be the same body, a single frame across a hundred years? Furthermore, the passing of years and the passing of physical form is the meaning of movement; within this very movement is non-movement. Past years reside in past times; past forms reside in past days—this is called non-movement. Yet people claim that the person of past days has moved to the present day; this is called delusion. Furthermore, the past abides of itself in the past, so why must it move to the present? The present abides of itself in the present, so why must it move to the past? Thus the treatise says: 'Therefore, saying they pass does not necessarily mean they pass: past and present constantly abide, because they do not move. Calling it departure does not necessarily mean they depart: it means not arriving at the past from the present, because they do not come.' When the sūtras speak of movement, it is not necessarily moving, because the past resides in the past and the present resides in the present. The reason impermanence is spoken of is to guard against people's clinging to permanence; the reason eternal abiding is spoken of is to guard against people's clinging to annihilation. Although the words differ, the principle is not distinct; though the expressions are contrary, the real does not move. One must not follow the words of expedient existence and nonexistence and become confused about the non-moving nature of the one mind. Another explanation states: like the brahmacārin returning with white hair, whose neighbors considered youth and old age to be the same body and therefore asked, 'Is that former person still alive?' What is called 'the strong one' refers to the three hidings and such matters: impermanence moves secretly, carrying them on its back by force in the dark night; as shoulders pass, things are constantly new, abandoning the old from thought to thought; yet the view of permanence obscures it, deeming it to be fixed. The neighbors were unaware—does it not refer to this? Furthermore, the 'strong one' is the great power of impermanence. In the world there is not a single phenomenon that is not swallowed by impermanence. Thus it says: 'Therefore, Zhuangzi's hiding of the mountain and Zhongni's standing beside the river were both moved by the difficulty of retaining what has passed away; how could they say that present things can be pushed into the past?' Zhuangzi's original intent was to expound the teaching of non-abiding: thought to thought is constantly new; each thing abides individually. Abiding individually, they are mutually dependent yet do not reach each other; this is non-movement. To the confused, it is impermanent and non-abiding, arising and perishing anew with every thought, and they call it movement. If one is wise, one understands that nature is empty and devoid of cognition, and from thought to thought there is no arising; this is called non-movement. Zhuangzi speaks of three hidings: hiding a mountain in a marsh, hiding a boat in a ravine, and hiding the world in the world. To call this 'secure' is not so, for impermanence carries it on its back at midnight and runs off, while the benighted are unaware. As for the three hidings: hiding a person in a house and hiding an object in a vessel—this is the small hiding. Hiding a boat in a ravine and hiding a mountain in a marsh—this is the great hiding. Hiding the world in the world—this is having nowhere to hide. Although large and small differ, each hiding is suitable; yet from thought to thought they flow and shift, altering anew at every moment. From this we know that in the way of transformation, there is nowhere to escape. Now, as for hiding the world in the world: how could it be hidden? It simply means having nowhere to hide. Confucius, standing beside the river, said: 'What passes away is like this, never ceasing day or night!' What passes away departs: surging rapidly, it has never paused for an instant, constant through day and night. This too was a lament over the unawareness of worldly people. Hence it says: 'They were both moved by the difficulty of retaining what has passed away; how could they say that present things can be pushed into the past?' Both Zhuangzi and Confucius lamented the passing away as difficult to retain; both spoke of impermanence departing. How could one push today's things to yesterday? If today does not reach yesterday, then today abides of itself in the present, and yesterday abided of itself in the past; then present and past are distinct, and neither moves. Hence it says: 'Why? People seek the past in the present and claim it does not abide; I seek the present in the past and know that it does not depart. If the present reached the past, the past should have the present; if the past reached the present, the present should have the past. Since the present lacks the past, we know it does not come; since the past lacks the present, we know it does not depart.' If the past does not reach the present and the present does not reach the past, each phenomenon abides in its nature; what thing could there be that comes and goes? The Mahāparinirvāṇasūtra states: 'Human life does not stop, flowing faster than mountain streams.' Now, impermanence has two aspects: first, the impermanence of decay and destruction; second, the impermanence of moment to moment. People only know the impermanence of destruction and perishing, but are unaware of the impermanence of moment to moment. The treatise states: 'It seems moving yet still, resembling departure yet remaining.' The sūtras state that impermanence is swift, resembling flowing movement; yet according to principle, though it is impermanent, before and after do not come and go to each other, so it is like stillness. Though thoughts pass away from moment to moment, past and present abide in their respective natures and are quiet of themselves in their very place, so it is like remaining. Furthermore, though it is said that past and present abide in their respective natures and are quiet of themselves in their very place, yet manifestly from thought to thought they do not abide, continuing before and after. Thus it is neither permanent nor annihilated, neither moving nor still; one perceives the source of the nature of things.