續高僧傳 19.24

19.24

釋智滿。姓賈氏。太原人。立意矜特不群凡小。七歲出家隨師請業。凡所受道如說修行。年登冠肇進受具戒。律儀成範資訓彌弘。又聽涅槃等經。盡其大旨。名教略圓味靜終業。遂往上黨石墨山。聚徒行道。門徒肅穆緇素歸依。禮供駢羅積而能散。時屬隋初創弘大法。智滿蒸仍國化引而廣之。故使聞風造者負笈奔注。眾雜精麁時兼久近。初則設儀。禮懺用攝恒情。後便隨其樂欲。靜思宴坐。滿躬事眾法身預僧倫。形止方雅威嚴猛肅。眉目濃朗白黑交臨。預有參拜莫不神駭而毛動。咸加敬仰為菩薩戒師。而滿不重身名不輕正法。雖苦邀請未即傳授。乃親為竭誠方等。行道要取明證。夢佛摩頂。并為說法。宛如經相。方為授法。故道俗思戒者相趍不絕。而專意靜觀厭此諠浮。乃徙居黎城之東山南流泉精舍。息心之士又結如林。禪懺兼修止觀齊捨。志弘經遠隨務或乖。又往雁門川。依瓚禪師。涉緣念慧。瓚僧中藻鏡定室羽儀言行清澄。具如別傳。滿嗟遇後展欣附有餘。從瓚歷遊所在宗習。又依住開化結慮修心。俄為文帝追瓚入京。定門斯壞眾侶乖張。滿乃錄其同志五十餘人。西入嵐州土安山內。如前綜業。大感學徒。隋季道消。賊徒蜂起。生民墜於溝壑。而滿眾宛然不散。斯亦道感之會也。大唐建義四眾歸奔。乃率侶入城就人弘道。初住晉陽真智寺。以化聲廣被歸宗如市。武皇別勅。引勞令止許公宅中。供事所須並出義府。躬往禮問覩而懼之。顧語裴寂曰。孤見此禪師。衣毛驚起何耶。答曰。計無餘相。應是戒神所護耳。重以他日修覲曰。弟子濟拔蒼生。今義興大造。願往還無障。當為立寺。既登京輦天下略平。武德元年。乃詔滿所住宅為義興寺。四事供養一出國家。至三年以滿德為物歸道聲更遠。帝欲處之京室下勅徵之。又以北蕃南侵百姓情駭。都督弘農公劉讓啟留滿住用鎮眾心。有勅特聽同安朝寄。武德五年。玁狁孔熾戎車載飾。以馬邑沙門雄情果敢。烽燿屢舉罔弗因之。太原地接武鄉兵戎是習。乃勅選二千餘僧。充兵兩府。登又下勅。滿師一寺行業清隆。可非簡例。由是重流景行光問遐邇。晉川髦彥沙汰之餘。覩滿坐受嘉慶。皆來稱美。或拜伏戒範者。或依承習住者。常數二百餘人。而滿恒業無怠。精厲其誠。時或惰學親召別誡。委引聖量誘化凡心。預在聞命莫不淚流而身伏。噎歎良久並由承法。行已感發前人。故得機教不妄弘矣。貞觀二年四月。初因動散微覺不悆。遂淹灰管本性無擾。門人同集日遺誡勸。有沙門道綽者。夙有弘誓。友而敬奉。因喻滿曰。法有生滅道在機緣。觀相易入其門。涉空頗限其位。願隨所說進道有期。滿乃盱衡而告曰。積年誠業冀此弘持。緣虛無相可緣。引實有何所引。豈以一期要法累劫埋乎。幸早相辭勿塵妄識。綽乃退焉。其堅白持微為若此也。既而氣將漸弱。而志力猶強。侍人圍遶觀者充室。滿端坐舉面徐視學徒。時次昆吾溘然而卒。春秋七十有八。即貞觀二年六月九日也。當終前夕大地振動寺樹摧枝。合眾悲驚衰相現矣。泰山其頹乎。法人斯逝。聯類如此。舉邑酸切若喪其心。即以其月十二日。旋殯於龍山童子谷中。立塔碑德。自滿捨俗從道六十餘年。潔己清貞氷霜取喻。弊衣節食纔止饑寒。頻經斷穀用約貪染。目不邪視言不浮華。淨色子女未嘗瞻對。弱年登歲者不宿房中。受具多夏者方令近侍。約時臨眾誡以行科。餘則靜處小房。晬朝方出。室中唯一繩床。盋袋挂于壁上。隨道資具坐外更無。致使見者懍然改容不覺發敬矣。又偏重供僧勤加基業。慈接貧苦備諸藥療。焭焭遑遑意存利物矣。

Shi Zhiman's secular surname was Jia, and he was a native of Taiyuan. He possessed an exceptional and distinguished determination, standing aloof from the ordinary and petty. At the age of seven, he renounced household life, following his master to seek instruction; whatever doctrine he received, he practiced strictly in accordance with the teachings. When he reached capping age, he advanced to receive the full precepts; his monastic comportment became an exemplary standard, and his guidance grew all the more extensive. Furthermore, he listened to such scriptures as the Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra, thoroughly grasping their primary import. Having roughly rounded out [his study of] the nominal teachings, he chose tranquility to conclude his cultivation. Thereupon, he went to Mount Shimo in Shangdang, where he gathered disciples to practice the way. His disciples were solemn and respectful, and both monks and laity took refuge in him. Reverent offerings piled up, but he amassed them only to disperse them. It was then the beginning of the Sui dynasty, when the great Dharma was newly being promoted. Zhiman continued to propagate the state's conversion, expanding its reach. Consequently, those who heard of his fame came carrying their book-chests, rushing like a torrent. The crowd was a mixture of refined and coarse, both long-standing and recent followers. At first, he established ceremonies of worship and repentance to restrain worldly dispositions; afterward, following their inclinations, they engaged in quiet contemplation and tranquil sitting. Zhiman personally attended to the assembly's affairs, his presence gracing the monastic ranks. His deportment was upright and elegant, his majestic aura severe and imposing. With striking brows and clear eyes, he confronted both monks and laity; all who participated in paying respects felt their spirits awestruck and their hairs stand on end, universally regarding him with reverence as a preceptor of the Bodhisattva Precepts. Yet Zhiman did not value personal renown, nor did he treat the correct Dharma lightly. Though people bitterly implored him, he would not immediately transmit them; instead, he personally exerted utmost sincerity in the Vaipulya repentance, circumambulating to seek definitive verification. Only when he dreamed of the Buddha rubbing his crown and preaching the Dharma to him—exactly as depicted in the sūtras—would he then bestow the transmission. Hence, both monastics and householders longing for the precepts flocked to him without cessation. Yet, intent solely on quiet contemplation and weary of such noisy superficiality, he moved to the South Stream Hermitage on the east mountain of Licheng. Mind-quelling practitioners once again gathered like a forest. Cultivating both dhyāna and repentance, they discarded neither serenity nor insight. But as his aspirational reach was vast and enduring, it was at times disrupted by practical affairs. He then traveled to Yanmen Valley to rely on Dhyāna Master Zan, engaging with conditions to cultivate mindfulness and wisdom. Zan was a discerning mirror among monks, an exemplary guide in the halls of meditation, his speech and deeds pure and lucid, as detailed in his separate biography. Zhiman lamented having met him late, but his joy in following him was immense. Following Zan, he traveled widely, learning from whatever he honored. He also dwelt at Kaihua Temple, settling his thoughts to cultivate the mind. Soon after, Emperor Wen summoned Zan to the capital; the gates of meditation thus collapsed, and the assembly dispersed. Zhiman thereupon gathered more than fifty of his like-minded companions and went west into Mount Tu'an in Lanzhou, continuing their work as before and profoundly moving students. In the twilight of the Sui, when the way declined and rebel bands arose like bees, the common people fell into misery; yet Zhiman's assembly remained peaceful and unbroken—such was the fruition of spiritual resonance with the Way. When the Great Tang raised its righteous uprising, the fourfold assembly rushed to take refuge. He then led his companions into the city to draw near to people and propagate the Way. Initially, he resided at Zhenzhi Temple in Jinyang; as the fame of his teachings spread widely, those returning to take refuge crowded like a marketplace. Emperor Gaozu issued a special edict to relieve his toil, ordering him to reside in the residence of the Duke of Xu, with all provisions supplied directly from the Righteous Granary. The Emperor personally went to pay respects and inquire, but looking upon him, he was filled with awe. Turning to Pei Ji, he said: 'Why is it that upon seeing this dhyāna master, my hair stood on end?' Pei Ji replied: 'I reckon there can be no other mark; it must be the protection of the precept spirits.' Later, on another day of audience, the Emperor said: 'I, your disciple, am delivering the common people; now that the great creation of our righteous uprising has arisen, I pray there will be no obstacles to my going and returning, and I will build a temple for you.' Once the Emperor ascended the imperial throne in the capital and the realm was largely pacified, in the first year of Wude, an imperial edict designated the residence where Zhiman lived as Yixing Temple, with all four requisites of offering provided solely by the state. In the third year, as Zhiman's virtue commanded worldly reverence and his reputation spread further, the Emperor wished to lodge him in the capital and issued an edict summoning him. But as northern barbarians invaded southward and the people were terrified, Area Commander Liu Rang, Duke of Hongnong, petitioned to keep Zhiman in order to steady the public mind. A special decree was granted allowing him to stay, thereby reassuring court concerns. In the fifth year of Wude, the Xianyun flared violently, and war chariots were repeatedly deployed. Because the monks of Mayi were bold and daring, beacon fires were repeatedly lit on their account. Taiyuan bordered Wuxiang, where military ways were customary. An imperial edict was therefore issued to select over two thousand monks to fill the ranks of the two prefectural garrisons. Immediately, another decree was handed down: 'The religious practice and conduct of Master Zhiman's single temple is pure and eminent; it shall be exempt from this draft.' Because of this, his radiant deeds were praised anew, and his glorious reputation reached near and far. Among the distinguished scholars of Jinchuan who survived the purge, seeing Zhiman calmly receive this auspicious blessing, all came to praise him; some bowed in submission to his precept standards, while others relied on him to practice and dwell there, consistently numbering over two hundred. Yet Zhiman never slackened in his constant cultivation, strictly maintaining his sincerity. Whenever someone lagged in study, he would personally summon and admonish them separately, thoroughly citing sacred authority to guide and transform their ordinary minds. All who were present to receive his instruction shed tears and prostrated themselves, choking with sighs for a long time—all because his personal conduct in upholding the Dharma inspired those before him. Hence, his matching of teachings to capacity was never in vain. In the fourth month of the second year of Zhenguan, on account of overexertion and disruption, he slightly felt unwell. Though the illness lingered, his fundamental nature remained undisturbed. Disciples gathered daily to receive his final instructions and exhortations. There was a śramaṇa named Daochuo, who long held great vows and was a devoted and reverent friend; he thus urged Zhiman: 'Dharmas arise and cease; the Way resides in conditions. Contemplating marks makes it easy to enter the gate, while delving into emptiness heavily restricts attainment. Please advance along the Way as you have preached, with a firm date in mind.' Zhiman looked directly at him and said: 'My accumulated years of sincere cultivation hoped to uphold this: when conditions are empty, there are no marks to be conditioned by; when leading to the real, what is there to lead? How could I, for the sake of an expedient Dharma of a single lifetime, remain buried for kalpas? Please take your leave early and do not defile your deluded consciousness.' Daochuo then withdrew. Such was Zhiman's unyielding rectitude in guarding the subtle truth. Soon his breath gradually weakened, but his will and strength remained robust. Attendants stood around him, and onlookers filled the room. Zhiman sat upright, raised his face, and slowly surveyed his disciples; at the hour of Kunwu, he suddenly passed away at the age of seventy-eight, on the ninth day of the sixth month of the second year of Zhenguan. On the eve before his demise, the great earth shook, and the branches of the temple trees broke. The whole assembly mourned in fright, knowing the signs of decline had appeared. 'Mount Tai has collapsed!' The man of Dharma has departed—the grief was just so. The entire town was grief-stricken as if they had lost their minds. On the twelfth day of that month, he was temporarily interred in Tongzi Valley on Mount Long, where a stūpa was erected and a stele inscribed to record his virtues. From the time Zhiman abandoned the secular world to follow the Way, over sixty years passed; he cleansed himself in purity and rectitude, like ice and frost. In tattered robes and on meager food, he merely warded off hunger and cold; he frequently refrained from grains to restrict greed and attachment. His eyes never cast improper glances, his words were never frivolous, and he never looked upon women of fair complexion. Those of tender age did not sleep in his room; only those who had received the full precepts for many rains-retreats were permitted to serve near him. At set times, he faced the assembly to admonish them with monastic rules; at other times, he secluded himself in his small room, emerging only at daybreak. In his room was only a single corded chair, with his begging bowl bag hanging on the wall; apart from what was needed for sitting in accordance with the Way, there was nothing else. This caused all who beheld him to stand in awe, changing their countenance and unconsciously giving rise to reverence. Moreover, he placed special emphasis on making offerings to the Saṅgha and diligently built monastic foundations; he kindly welcomed the poor and destitute, providing all manner of medicines and remedies, untiring and vigilant in his intent to benefit living beings.