續高僧傳 13.25

13.25

釋海順。姓任氏。河東蒲坂人。容貌方偉音韻圓亮。長面目少髭髯。儀服不群於眾有異。少處寒素生於田野。早喪慈父與母孤居。孝愛之情靡由師傅。廉直之性獨拔懷抱。每恨家貧無資受業。故年在志學尚未有聞。乃慷慨辭親。脫落求道出家。依于沙門道遜。道光玄胄名扇儒宗。具見後傳。順躬事學禮晝夜誦經。初無暫替。文不再覽日殆三千。歲登具受履操逾遠志業尤勇。念守所持誓無點累。仍以威儀麁著身過可防。語笑易為口非難護。乃因他患緘默不言。却掃蓬扉事心而已。方以學行之始慧解為先。遂閱討眾經伏膺玄宰。方等諸部咸稟厥師。皆探賾研幾貴言領意。有栖巖寺沙門神素者。性好幽栖尤專二論。順遠承寄調思扣沖關。乃荷帙登峯諮參講肆。徒屬既眾鑽仰殊多。有所詢求但舉綱要。順頻時屬請微以為繁。雖慍色不形。而勞心可驗。順逡巡退席曰。昔陳亢問一得三。今者請一蒙二。亦何遽乎。曰何謂耶。答曰。一則見忤。一則聞義。素既悟其所述。因斯自革。於是無疑不斷。有滯必申。至於雜心隱括備在婆沙。研精專一始終該統。或下山分衛。而執卷披文。或企足接明假照尋讀。莫不洞開樞要妙鑒幽原。順嘗以餘席言於素曰。海順曠劫深尤不逢賢聖。周旋五趣莫能自免。致生茲穢土對此凡緣。未能出有欲河登無為岸。將不由心駒失轡而晦沈坑塪者乎。因涕泣𣽈襟。歔欷哽塞。又曰。每念二輪交轍。息駕何門。六道長驅。思歸無路。言及斯事載懷惶悚。且生得為人。啟期亡憂於貧賤。出家弘道。僧度不易於公侯。順今兼之。一何可慶。又以。大冥之室仰屬傳燈。雖不面奉如來。而幸遇法師耳。不量短綆輒揆深源。願得賜以明珠投之渾浪。如此則一生有獲。千載無恨也。遂即言笑如常容儀自若。素曰。敢聞君子志矣。恐不副雅懷。素後累居僧任。果停講席。順以法輪罕遇。遂欣禪味。有沙門道傑者。頴秀定慧。希慕風景。乃致書曰。敢稽首大師門下。每欲理靜攝心山泉畢志。但以無明大夜非慧炬不輝故。栖寄法筵聽覽玄旨。至於人物聚集。頗勞低仰。況乃大限百年小期一念。儻從風燭前路奚憑。所以策駑駘之疲。想千里之遠。定門玄妙輒希趣入。逆其不逮益用盤桓。伏願開含養之懷。退人以禮。傑得書美其銳情玄暢也。乃報曰。促路非騏驥之逸轡。灌木豈是鸞鳳之栖息。故當引水而沐枯魚。戢翼而朋寡鶴耳。脫其不爾。幸無略光陰。順得書會疾。遂不果行。而為人高簡雅素。自歸清眾絕交氓俗。嘗有說種性高尚祖禰榮貴者。以誇於順。順莞爾而笑曰。我釋種餘暉。法王之子。尚須謙讓自下不敢傲誕欺人。豈期庸庸之徒翻欲恃鬼陵物。遂振手而去。故趨時之士。皆不及其門。反俗之賓頗入其室。而道行純潔性好追蹤。曾刺血洒塵供養舍利。兼以血和墨書七佛戒經。剋己研心類皆如此。嘗尋付法藏傳說。如來涅槃法付承繼。迄於師子罽賓囑累。斯書詞事既顯若親面焉。因斯悽感涕零如雨。曰恨不及彼聖人拔茲沈俗也。又常於宵分歸命三尊。同住隣居無得聞者。或解納覆彼寒夫。或減食而充餧者。志好恬愉無求知足。有贈衣帛者。終不以介意。曾縱容曰。自任則樂。而未曾制物從我。隨物則苦。而未曾以我違物。且鳥不栖淵魚不巢樹。未必解隨和讓之道。而各得其所宜者。亦猶我不奪物榮物不妨我辱矣。又作三不為篇。其一曰。我欲偃文修武身死名存。研石通道祈井流泉。君旴在內我身處邊。荊軻拔劍毛遂捧盤。不為則已為則不然。將恐兩虎共鬪勢不俱全。永存今好長縱來怨。是以反跡荒逕息景柴門。其二曰。我欲刺股錐刃懸頭屋梁。書臨雪采牒映螢光。一朝鵬舉萬里鸞翔。縱任才辯遊說君王。高車反邑衣錦還鄉。將恐鳥殘以羽。蘭折由芳。籠餐詎貴。鈎餌難嘗。是以高巢林藪深穴池塘。其三曰。我欲衒才鬻德入市趨朝。四眾瞻仰三槐附交。標形引勢身達名超。箱盈綺服厨富甘肴。飄揚弦管詠美歌謠。將恐塵栖弱草露宿危條。無過日旦靡越風朝。是以還傷樂淺非惟苦遙。順神晤駭群出言成錄。著集數卷。于時真法陵遲俗尚諛諂。訥言敏行者為愚。巧詞令色者為智。廉潔正性眾或致譏。故順履貞直之心。居危不亂涅而不緇。可謂懷素風焉。有沙門行友者。志行嚴正才慧英悟。與順素交。因疾參候。順曰。先民有言。曰古之學者為己。今之學者為人。三覆斯言一何可信。世人強求知解。而不欲修行。每思此言良用悽咽。吾謂夷煩殄惑。豈直專在說經。以法度人。何必要登高座。授非其器。則虛失其功。學不當機。則坐生自惱。友遂製息心論以對之。文甚宏冠。順曰。觀弟此作。理如未盡。友曰。息心之論應有數篇。謂顯觀述宗釋疑成義。但以理玄詞密非當世之所聞故。容與於靈津。戢鱗而未進。慨時哉之不遇。始絕絃於此耳。順乃重說遺教。悲歎無已。先有沙門慧本者。逸亮高世僧也。思與順結山林之操。會順方學問未暇允之。本獨謝時世。罔測所往。後每思之。言輒凄泫曰。本公若乘龍之遊濯足雲表。吾雖攀戀自恨縈身囂俗。昇沈相異徒為悲矣。且忘懷去來者。朝市亦江湖。眷情生死者。幽栖猶桎梏。苟其性之不失。不無居而不安。其得志慕情為如此也。于時臥病連稔。自知不痊。遺文累紙呈諸師友。而形同骨立精爽逾健。旁問後事。順曰。患身為穢器。暫捨欣然。魚鳥無偏水陸何簡。然顧惟老母宿緣業重。今想不得親別矣。若棄骸餘處。儻來無所見。有致煎惱。但死不傷生。古言可錄。順雖不孝。豈敢以身害母耶。既報不自由。可側柩相待。遂令遜法師說法。領悟欣然。須臾卒於住寺。春秋三十。即唐武德元年八月十五日也。沙門行友著己知沙門傳。致序其事。友今被召弘福。充翻譯之選。建名時俗云。

Śramaṇa Haishun, whose secular surname was Ren, was a native of Puban in Hedong. His appearance was square and imposing, and the timbre of his voice was full and clear. He had a long face and eyes, with little beard or whiskers, and his deportment and dress were unordinary, setting him apart from the crowd. In his youth he lived in plain poverty, born in the countryside. Having lost his affectionate father early on, he lived alone with his mother. His filial and loving feelings did not derive from a master's instruction; his uncorrupted and upright nature was an innate trait of his heart. He constantly lamented that his family was poor and lacked the means for him to receive schooling; thus, when he reached the age of fifteen, he had not yet heard [the teachings]. Thereupon, he impassionedly took leave of his mother, cast off [worldly ties] to seek the Way, and left home, relying upon the śramaṇa Daoxun—whose Buddhist lineage shone brightly and whose fame stirred the Confucian school, as is fully detailed in his later biography. Shun personally attended upon him and studied the rites, reciting scriptures day and night without ever pausing for a moment; never needing to look at a text twice, he could cover nearly three thousand [words] a day. When he reached the age of full ordination, his conduct and discipline became ever loftier, and his determination and practice grew especially valiant. Mindfulness guarded what he observed, and he vowed never to suffer any blemish or stain. Furthermore, considering that bodily faults, being coarse and manifest in deportment, can easily be guarded against, but speech and laughter, being easy to engage in, make offenses of the mouth hard to prevent, he took advantage of another illness to keep his mouth sealed and utter no word, shutting his wicker door and solely attending to the mind. Believing that at the beginning of learning and practice, understanding of wisdom comes first, he then examined and investigated the scriptures, submitting his heart to the profound principle. He received all the vaipulya sections from his master, probing the depths and scrutinizing subtleties, prizing words for grasping their meaning. There was a śramaṇa at Xiyan Monastery named Shensu, whose nature favored secluded living and who was particularly devoted to the Two Treatises. Shun, having heard from afar of his refined style, wished to knock at the profound barrier; he therefore carried his book-satchel up the peak to consult and join his lecture assemblies. As the disciples were numerous and their eager inquiries exceedingly frequent, whenever someone asked a question, [Shensu] would only give the essential outline. Shun frequently made requests, which [the master] found slightly troublesome; though displeasure did not show in his face, his weary mind was evident. Shun withdrew from his seat with hesitation, saying: "In the past, Chen Kang asked one thing and gained three; now I have requested one and received two—why should it be so hasty?" [Shensu] said: "What do you mean?" He replied: "First, I incurred your displeasure; second, I heard the doctrine." Once Su realized what he meant, he reformed himself accordingly. From then on, there was no doubt he did not resolve, and no difficulty he did not clarify. As for the *Miśraka-abhidharma-hṛdaya*, whose broad principles are fully contained in the *Vibhāṣā*, Shun scrutinized it with single-minded devotion, covering it comprehensively from beginning to end. Sometimes when going down the mountain on almsrounds, he would hold a scroll and read the text; sometimes he would stand on tiptoe to catch the light, relying on its reflection to study, never failing to penetrate the vital pivots and wonderfully contemplate the hidden origin. Shun once said to Su from beside his seat: "Throughout kalpas of vast time, Haishun accumulated deep faults and failed to meet the wise and holy. Wandering through the five destinies, unable to exempt myself, I have come to be born in this defiled land and face these mundane conditions, unable to emerge from the river of desire and ascend to the shore of the unconditioned. Is this not because the colt of the mind lost its reins and plunged into the dark pit?" Thereupon, tears soaked his lapel, sobbing and choking with emotion. He also said: "Whenever I contemplate the alternate tracks of the two wheels, at which gate can I halt my carriage? Driven along the six destinies for so long, there is no road to return. Speaking of this matter brings fear and trembling to my heart. Yet, to be born as a human being—Rong Qiqi cast away grief over poverty and lowliness; to leave home and propagate the Way—Sengdu would not trade it for duke or marquis. Now Shun possesses both—how greatly to be rejoiced! Moreover, in this house of great darkness, one must look up to the transmission of the lamp; though I have not personally served the Tathāgata, I am fortunate to have met a Dharma master. Without measuring my short rope, I venture to fathom the deep source; I wish to be granted a bright pearl to cast into the turbid waves. If so, this single life will have gained something, without regrets for a thousand years." Thereupon he spoke and smiled as usual, his demeanor composed. Su said: "I have ventured to hear the gentleman's intent, but I fear it may not match your refined aspirations." Later, Su repeatedly held monastic offices and indeed stopped lecturing. Shun, considering that the turning of the Dharma wheel was rare to encounter, then took delight in the flavor of dhyāna. There was a śramaṇa named Daojie, who was exceptionally eminent in concentration and wisdom; admiring his reputation, he sent a letter saying: "I venture to bow my head before the Great Master. I have always wished to calm the mind with principle and fulfill my aspirations among mountain springs. Yet, in the great night of ignorance, without the torch of wisdom it cannot shine; therefore I rested at the Dharma hall, listening and examining the profound purport. When crowds gather, bowing and rising is quite wearying. How much more so given that the great limit is a hundred years, while the minor span is a single thought! If one follows the wind-blown candle, what can one rely on for the path ahead? Therefore, spurring on my exhausted nag, I think of the journey of a thousand li; the profound gate of concentration is something I rashly hope to enter. Knowing in advance my inadequacy makes me hesitate all the more. I humbly hope you will show a nurturing heart and decline me with courtesy." When Jie received the letter, he praised the sharpness of his sentiment and the depth of his understanding, and replied: "A cramped road is no place for the unrestrained gallop of a thoroughbred; a cluster of shrubs is hardly where the luan and phoenix perch. Therefore one should draw water to bathe a dried fish, or fold one's wings and befriend a solitary crane. If it cannot be so, I hope you will not let the passing time slip by." When Shun received the letter, he fell ill and in the end did not carry it out. He was lofty, simple, refined, and plain, taking refuge only among the pure assembly and cutting off relations with common people. Once, someone boasting of his noble lineage and illustrious ancestors tried to flaunt it before Shun. Shun smiled faintly and said: "As a remaining glow of the Śākya clan and a son of the Dharma King, I still must practice humility and self-effacement, not daring to be arrogant or deceive others. How could I expect mediocre men to turn around and rely on dead ghosts to bully others?" He then waved his sleeve and left. For this reason, men who pursued worldly affairs never approached his gate, while guests who turned away from secular ways often entered his chamber. His practice of the Way was pure and spotless, and by nature he loved following the traces of the ancients. He once pricked his blood to sprinkle dust in offering to relics, and mixed blood with ink to write the *Precept Sūtra of the Seven Buddhas*; his self-discipline and mental cultivation were all of this sort. Once, consulting the *Fu fazang zhuan*, which relates the Tathāgata's transmission of the Dharma in succession down to Simha in Kaśmīra, the words and deeds were so vivid that it seemed as if he were seeing them face-to-face. Moved to sorrow by this, his tears fell like rain, and he said: "I lament that I did not reach those holy men to pull me out of this sunken world!" Moreover, he often took refuge in the Three Jewels in the middle of the night, without those living in the same room or neighboring quarters ever hearing him. Sometimes he would take off his patched robe to cover a cold man, or reduce his own food to feed the starving. His intent was tranquil and serene, seeking nothing and knowing contentment. If anyone presented him with robes and silks, he never paid any mind to it. He once said at ease: "Allowing oneself free rein is joy, yet I have never constrained external things to follow me; following external things is suffering, yet I have never let myself oppose things. Moreover, birds do not roost in abysses and fish do not nest in trees; they do not necessarily understand the way of following others and yielding, yet each attains its proper place. This is just like how I do not usurp another's glory, and another's glory does not hinder my lowliness." He also composed a piece titled "Three Things I Do Not Do." The first reads: "I wished to cast aside the civil and cultivate the martial, dying with a lasting name; grinding stone to open a road, praying at a well for springs to flow. The lord makes dawn within, while my body dwells at the frontier. Jing Ke drew his sword; Mao Sui held the bronze tray. If one does not do it, so be it; but if one does, it cannot be like that. I fear the two tigers would fight each other, their forces unable both to remain whole. To preserve present goodwill forever and indulge future resentment for long—therefore I turn my steps back to the deserted path and rest my shadow behind a brushwood gate." The second reads: "I wished to pierce my thigh with an awl and hang my head from the rafters; reading by the reflection of snow, perusing documents by the glow of fireflies. In a single morning, soaring like the peng bird, flying ten thousand li like the luan; giving full rein to eloquence to persuade kings and lords, returning to my town in a high carriage and coming home in embroidered robes. I fear a bird is destroyed because of its feathers, and an orchid is broken because of its fragrance. How could food in a cage be noble? A baited hook is hard to taste. Therefore I nest high in the grove and make deep caves in ponds." The third reads: "I wished to peddle my talents and hawk my virtue, entering the market and rushing to court; looked up to by the four assemblies, befriended by the three ministers; establishing a presence, wielding power, attaining success, and surpassing renown; trunks filled with patterned robes, kitchens rich with sweet delicacies; strings and pipes drifting in melody, chanting beautiful songs. I fear dust rests upon fragile grass, and dew perches on precarious boughs; it cannot last beyond a single morning, nor outlive a windy dawn. Therefore I turn back, grieving that joy is shallow, not merely that suffering is distant." Shun's spiritual comprehension astonished the multitude, and his spoken words were compiled into writings, producing several fascicles of collections. At that time, the true Dharma was declining, and the secular world esteemed flattery; those slow in speech and prompt in action were deemed foolish, while those with clever words and ingratiating manners were deemed wise. Those of incorruptible and upright character were sometimes mocked by the crowd. Yet Shun maintained an unyielding and upright heart; in dangerous situations he was not disordered, and like a stone dipped in black dye, he remained unstained—he truly possessed the unadorned character. There was a śramaṇa named Xingyou, whose discipline was stern and upright, and whose talent and wisdom were brilliant and perceptive; he was an old friend of Shun. On account of Shun's illness, he came to visit him. Shun said: "An ancient man had a saying: 'Scholars of old learned for themselves; scholars of today learn for others.' Reflecting repeatedly on these words, how truly trustworthy they are! People of the world strive for intellectual understanding, but do not wish to practice. Whenever I ponder these words, I am truly choked with sorrow. I say that pacifying defilements and destroying delusions—how could it be solely in expounding scriptures? Converting people through the Dharma—why must one ascend the high seat? If one imparts it to one who is not a proper vessel, the effort is lost in vain; if one's learning does not suit the capacity, one merely brings affliction upon oneself." You then composed the *Xixin lun* (Treatise on Quieting the Mind) in reply to him, the text being exceedingly grand. Shun said: "Looking at this work of yours, younger brother, the principle does not seem fully exhausted." You said: "The Treatise on Quieting the Mind should have several sections, namely Revealing Contemplation, Explaining the Tenet, Resolving Doubts, and Establishing Meaning. But because the principle is profound and the words dense, not being what the present world should hear, I hesitated at the spiritual ford, folding my fins without advancing. Lamenting that the times are not favorable, I only cut the strings here." Shun then expounded again the *Sūtra of the Buddha's Last Teaching*, sighing in sorrow without end. Previously there had been a śramaṇa named Huiben, an eminent monk of lofty brilliance beyond his generation. He wished to establish the discipline of mountain forests together with Shun, but as Shun was engaged in study at the time, he had no leisure to accept. Ben took leave of his era alone, and no one knew where he went. Later, whenever Shun thought of him, he always spoke of him with tears, saying: "Master Ben is like one riding a dragon, washing his feet beyond the clouds. Though I yearn after him, I regret that I am entangled in noisy vulgarity. Our rising and sinking are different, so grief is in vain. Furthermore, for one who forgets the coming and going of conditions, the court and market are also rivers and lakes; for one with emotional clinging to birth and death, secluded living is still fetters. If one does not lose one's nature, there is nowhere one cannot dwell in peace." His attainment of aspiration and longing for refined ideals were like this. At that time, he lay sick for consecutive years, knowing he would not recover. He presented multiple sheets of parting writings to his masters and friends; though reduced to a skeleton in form, his spirit grew ever more vigorous. When those by his side asked about his funeral arrangements, Shun said: "Distressed by this body as an impure vessel, I am glad to cast it off for a while. With no bias between fish and birds, what choice is there between water and land? Yet considering my elderly mother, whose past karma is heavy, I suppose I will not be able to bid her a personal farewell now. If my remains are discarded elsewhere and she happens to come and find nothing, it will cause her burning anguish. But 'let not the dead harm the living' is an ancient saying worth recording. Although Shun is unfilial, how would I dare harm my mother with my body? Since retribution cannot be freely controlled, you may leave the coffin on its side to await her." He then asked Dharma Master Xun to expound the Dharma, and he grasped it with joyful comprehension. Soon after, he passed away at his residing monastery at the age of thirty, on the fifteenth day of the eighth month of the first year of the Wude reign of the Tang dynasty. Śramaṇa Xingyou composed the *Biographies of Śramaṇas Known to Me*, in which he included an account of these events. You has now been summoned to Hongfu [Monastery] to join the selection of translators, establishing renown among the contemporaries.