佛祖統紀 26.54

26.54

法師諱慧遠。本姓賈。雁門樓煩人。弱而好學。年十二隨舅令狐氏遊學許洛。故少為書生。二十一欲度江就范宣子。於時王路尚鯁。有志不遂。於關右遇釋道安。一面定敬以為真吾師也。遂抽簪落髮求直道場。沙門曇翼每資以燈燭之費。安公曰。道士誠知人。法師藉曠劫之神明。表今生之靈智。道情深邃識鑒淵微。般若無生之津。道行息心之觀。妙理與高悟俱徹。冥宗與深心等至。安公歎曰。使道流東國者其在遠乎。太元初。襄陽既沒。振錫南遊。考室廬阜結宇傾岩。同契不命而景響。聞道誓期於霜雪。自以年至耳順足不越山。桓氏以震主之威力為屈致。法師確然貞固辭以老疾。俄而制使沙門盡敬王者。法師懼大法之將淪。抗言萬乘。玄知不可強。俯而順焉。既道漸中土。名流遐域。外國諸僧咸東向禮。非夫道深德廣。焉能使顯默同歸異域致敬。且新經未表晉邦律藏歷年莫正。禪法甘露國所未聞。實相宗本人有異說。法師深存廣圖大援群生。乃命弟子迎請禪師。究尋經本。踰歷葱嶺跨越沙漠。彌曠年稔並皆歸還。既得傳譯備盡法教。是故心禪諸經出自廬山幾乎百卷又以心本無二即色三家之談不窮妙實。乃著法性論。理深辭婉獨拔懷抱。羅什見論而歎曰。漢人未見新經。便闇與理會若夫溫心善誘。發必遠。言栖寄林嶺遊興能。徹雖復風雲屢由。而無昭昧之情。俯仰塵化之域。遊神無生之門。所謂言斯可發行斯可樂矣。自枕石漱流始終一概。恬智交養三十餘載。春秋八十三。命盡絕嶺。遺言露骸松林。同之草木。達生神期既於此矣。古人云。道存人亡法師之謂。凡我門徒。感風徽之緬邈。傷語晤之永滅。敢以淺見揚德金石。其辭曰。九流乖真三乘歸佛。道往絕迹慈還接物。孰是發蒙昭我慧日。攝亂以定閑邪以律。妙法常存悠悠莫往。若人乘生皎皎遠賞。鑒我鑒物知狹知廣。息心空谷訓徒幽壤。秦皇雄惑蔽理通情。王孫偏解滯死達生。夫子之悟屢劫獨明。仰高契峻俯深懷清。惟清惟峻若隔近絕。惟高惟深志崇智潔。昔在香積今也明哲。嗣之有人實隆廢缺。揵度練數甘露流津。律藏拂故法性增新。凡厥希道日知好仁。景薄𠇮盡宗傾理湮。寒暑遞易悲欣臯壤。秋蓬四轉春鴻五響。孤松獨秀德音長往。節有推遷情無遺想。元熙二年春二月朔。康樂公謝靈運撰。

The Master's taboo name was Huiyuan. His original surname was Jia, a native of Loufan in Yanmen. In his youth he loved learning, and at twelve he accompanied his maternal uncle, of the Linghu clan, to study in Xuchang and Luoyang; thus he was a scholar from his youth. At twenty-one, wishing to cross the Yangtze to study under Fan Xuanzi, the royal roads were blocked at that time, and his ambition could not be realized. In the region west of the passes, he met the monk Dao'an. Upon a single meeting, he was settled in reverence and considered him his true teacher. He thereupon pulled out his hairpin, shaved his head, and sought to enter the bodhimaṇḍa. The monk Tanyi regularly provided him with the expenses for lamps and candles. Master Dao'an said, “The Taoist [Tanyi] truly knows men.” By the spiritual intelligence of countless eons, the Master manifested the divine wisdom of his present life. His religious aspirations were profound, and his insight was deep and subtle. In the ford of the unproduced prajñā and the contemplation of quieting the mind through the practice of the Way, subtle principle and high awakening were completely penetrated together; the dark principle and the profound mind arrived simultaneously. Master Dao'an sighed, “If the Way is to flow into the eastern land, will it not depend on Huiyuan?” In the beginning of the Taiyuan era, Xiangyang having fallen, he shook his staff and traveled south, building his chamber at Mount Lu and constructing his dwelling on the sheer cliffs. Those of like mind responded like echoes without being summoned, and hearing of the Way, they vowed their pacts enduring frost and snow. Considering himself to have reached the age of sixty, his feet did not stray past the mountain. The Huan clan attempted to bend and summon him with the prestige and power that shook sovereigns, but the Master remained firm and unyielding, declining on grounds of age and illness. Soon after, an edict was issued ordering monks to pay full homage to the ruler. Fearing that the Great Dharma would decline, the Master protested to the Son of Ten Thousand Chariots. Huan Xuan knew he could not force him, and bowed in compliance. As his Way gradually influenced the central plains and his renown spread to distant realms, monks from foreign lands all faced east and bowed. Were he not one whose Way was deep and virtue vast, how could both the manifest and the hidden turn together, and foreign lands render homage? Moreover, the new scriptures had not yet appeared in the Jin state, and the Vinaya Piṭaka had not been rectified for years. The amṛta of the method of dhyāna had not been heard of in the realm, and on the fundamental principle of the True Mark, people held conflicting views. Harboring vast plans to extend great rescue to all living beings, the Master commanded his disciples to welcome and invite dhyāna masters, to search out original scriptural texts, crossing the Pamir Mountains and traversing the deserts. After many passing years, they all returned. Having obtained and translated them, the Dharma teachings were fully complete. For this reason, the scriptures on mind and dhyāna produced from Mount Lu amounted to nearly a hundred fascicles. Furthermore, considering that the mind is originally non-dual and that the discourses of the three schools on the identity of matter do not exhaust the subtle reality, he composed the *Treatise on Dharmatā*. Its principles are profound, its diction refined, and its conception uniquely transcendent. When Kumārajīva saw the treatise, he marveled, “A Han person, without having seen the new scriptures, has already secretly concurred with the principle!” As for his warm heart that was skilled in gentle guidance, whenever he spoke, it was always profound; dwelling in forests and ridges, his joy in wandering reached the heights. Though wind and clouds repeatedly shifted, he was free of partiality; looking up and down within the realm of worldly transformation, his spirit roamed at the gate of non-birth. Truly, these were words worthy of utterance, deeds worthy of delight. From pillowing on stones and rinsing with streams, he remained consistent from beginning to end; tranquility and wisdom nourished each other for more than thirty years. At the age of eighty-three, his life ended on the precipitous peak. In his testamentary words, he requested that his corpse be exposed in the pine forest, merged with the grasses and trees. The spiritual rendezvous of one who has attained understanding of life ended thus. The ancients said, “The Way abides, but the man is gone”; this applies to the Master. All of us disciples, moved by the fading of his noble bearing and grieved by the perpetual cessation of his discourse, dare to use our shallow views to proclaim his virtue in stone and bronze. The inscription reads: The nine schools stray from truth, the three vehicles return to Buddha. / The Way ascends and leaves no trace; returning with compassion, it meets the world. / Who is it that removes ignorance and makes our wisdom-sun shine? / Gathering disturbance through meditative absorption, restraining evil through discipline. / The subtle Dharma ever abides; vast and enduring, it does not pass away. / If a person rides on birth, brightly he contemplates from afar. / Reflecting on oneself and reflecting on things, knowing the narrow and knowing the wide. / Quieting the mind in the empty valley, instructing disciples in the secluded land. / The First Emperor of Qin was grandly deluded, blocking principle and indulging passions. / Wangsun held partial understanding, clinging to death while seeking to comprehend life. / The Master’s awakening alone shone brightly across manifold eons. / Looking up to the high, he matched the precipitous; looking down to the deep, he harbored purity. / Purity and steepness were such that they severed contact with the mundane. / High and profound, his purpose was lofty and his wisdom immaculate. / Formerly at Gandhamādana, now he was a luminary sage. / With successors to carry it on, the ruined and missing were truly restored. / In the Skandhaka, categories were refined; amṛta flowed as a stream. / The Vinaya Piṭaka was swept of old errors, and the Dharma-nature gained fresh luster. / All who aspired to the Way came to know humaneness day by day. / The sunlight grows faint, the life-span ends; the school is shaken, the principle obscured. / Cold and heat alternate in turn, grief and joy on the earthly mounds. / Autumn tumbleweeds drift in four directions, spring wild geese sound their five calls. / The lone pine stands singularly noble, its virtuous voice forever distant. / Seasons shift and change, yet thoughts of him remain unforgotten. / First day of the second month in spring, the second year of the Yuanxi era [420 CE]. Composed by Xie Lingyun, Duke of Kangle.