續高僧傳 20.22

20.22

釋志超。俗姓田。同州憑翊人也。遠祖流寓遂居并部之榆次焉。少在童齓智量過人。精厲不群雅度標遠。厭世從道貫徹藏俞。而二親恃超更無兄弟。雖述其志常用抑之望嗣宗族。遂從儒流遍覽流略。年垂壯室私為娉妻。超聞之避斯塵染。乃逃竄林野。親姻周覓藏影無方。既被執身抑從伉儷。初則合[承/巳]為蹤。終亦同掩私室。冀行婚禮也。惟置一床超乃抽氈席地。令妻坐上。躬自處床。儼思加坐勤為說法。詞極明據。妻便流淚禮謝辭以相累。頻經宵夕事等金形。屢被𧧷勸誠逾玉質。既確乎難拔。親乃捐而放之。年二十有七。投并州開化寺慧瓚禪師。瓚志德澄明行成眾範。未展度限歷試諸難。志超潔正身心勤履眾務。僧徒百數供雜五行。兩食恒備六時無缺。每有苦役必事身先。瓚親閱驗。其情守節度令受具。自進戒品專修行儀。即往定州尋採律藏括其精要刪其繁雜。五夏不滿三教備圓。乃返故鄉依巖綜習。初入太原之西比干山。栖引英秀創立禪林。曉夕勤修定慧雙啟。四儀託於戒節。二行憑於法依。學觀詵詵無威而肅。致使聞風不遠而至。大業初歲政網嚴明。擁結寺門不許僧出。超聞之慨而上諫。被衣舉錫出詣郡城。望有執送將陳所諫。而官私弗顧。乃達江都即以事聞。內史以事非要害。不為通引。還遣并部。至隋季多難寇賊交橫。民流溝壑死者太半。而超結徒勸聚餘糧不窮。但恐盜竊相陵便欲奔散乃以法誡勸無變爾情。鏡業既臨逃響何地。眾感其言心期遂爽准式禪禮課時無輟。嘗夜坐禪。忽有群賊排門直進。炬火亂舉白刃交臨合坐端然相同儀象。賊乃投仗於地拜伏歸依。超因隨宜誘引量權授法。咸發心敬合掌而退。其剛略攝御皆此類也。高祖建義太原。四遠咸萃。超惟道在生靈。義居乘福。即率侶晉陽住凝定寺。禪學數百清肅成規。道俗欽承貴賤恭仰。及皇旗南指三輔無塵。義寧二年。超率弟子二十餘人奉慶京邑。武皇夙承嘉望。待之若仙。引登太極敘之殊禮。左僕射魏國公裴寂。挺生不世器璉宏深。第中別院置僧住所。邀延一眾用以居焉。亟歷寒暑業新彌厲。但為貴遊諠雜外進無因。必附林薄方程慕遠。時藍田山化感寺沙門靈閏智信智光等。義解鉤玄妙崇心學。同氣相求宛然若舊遂延住彼山。栖志得矣。攝緣聚結其赴如雲。賢聖語默互相敦重。而寺非幽阻隷以公途。晦迹之賓卒難承業乃徇物關表意在度人。還返晉川選求名地。武德五年。入于介山創聚禪侶。巖名抱腹四方有㵎。下望百尋上臨千仞。泉石結韻於仙室。風雨飄清於林端。遂使觀者至止陶鑄塵心。自強誨人無倦請益。又於汾州介休縣治立光嚴寺。殿宇房廊躬親締搆。赫然宏壯有類神宮。故行深者巖居。道淺者城隱。師資肅穆兢業其誠。聆音察色惟若不足。忽因遘疾便知不久。誡累殷勤示以禍福。以貞觀十五年三月十一日卒於城寺。春秋七十有一。山世同嗟賓主齊慟。德仁既往學肆斯分。葬於城南山阜。自服膺釋種。意在住持。晝夜剋勤攝諸後學。所以日別分功禮佛五百。禪結四時身誡眾侶。有虧殿罰。而自執熏爐隨唱屈禮。未嘗置地及以虧拜。及坐禪眾也互相懲誡。纔有昏睡親行勵率。有來投造無不即度授以戒範。進止威儀攝養將迎禮逾天屬。時遭嚴勅度者極刑。而曾無介懷。如常剃落。致陸海慕義避世逸僧憑若大山依而修道。時講攝論維摩起信等。並詳而後說。深致適機。嘗以武德七年止於抱腹。僧徒僅百偏資大齋。麥惟六石同置一倉。日磨五斗用供常調。從春至夏計費極多。怪而檢覆止磨兩斛。據量此事幽致可思。又數感異僧乘虛來往。雖無音問儀形可驗。纔若墮者便蒙神警。至於召眾鐘聲隨時自響。石泉上涌隨人少多。靈瑞屢興如此者非一。而奉敬戒法罕見其儔。護慎威儀終始無替。自隋唐兩代親度出家者近一千人。範師遺訓在所聞見。傳者昔預末筵蒙諸惠誥。既親承其績故即而敘焉。

Śramaṇa Zhichao was surnamed Tian and was a native of Pingyi in Tongzhou. His distant ancestors lived as migrants and eventually settled in Yuci in the Bingbu region. From childhood his wisdom and capacity surpassed ordinary people, he was unstinting in rigor, transcended the multitude, and possessed an elegant bearing of far-reaching distinction. Disgusted with the world, he sought the Way, his comprehension penetrating the deepest recesses of the mind. His parents relied entirely on Zhichao, having no other sons; although he expressed his intention to leave home, they constantly suppressed it in the hope of continuing the ancestral lineage. He thus studied under Confucian scholars, reading widely through diverse writings and catalogs. As he approached the age of marriage, his family arranged a betrothal for him in secret. Hearing of this, Zhichao sought to evade such defiling worldly dust and fled into the forests and wilds. His kinsmen searched everywhere for him, while he hid without leaving a trace. Once captured, he was compelled to enter the marriage. At first they joined together to observe the nuptial ceremonies, and in the end they were shut in the bedchamber, in the hope that the wedding would be consummated. There was only a single bed; Zhichao pulled out the felt matting onto the floor, instructed his wife to sit on the bed above, while he remained on the mat below, serenely crossing his legs and diligently expounding the Dharma for her. His explanations were profoundly lucid and evidenced. His wife shed tears, made prostrations, and apologized, offering to take the blame upon herself. This continued night after night, his resolve like a golden image; though repeatedly tempted, his sincerity surpassed flawless jade. Seeing that his determination was firm and immovable, his parents finally gave up and let him go. At the age of twenty-seven, he went to Dhyāna Master Huizan of Kaihua Temple in Bingzhou. Huizan's aspiration and virtue were serene and luminous, his conduct serving as a model for the multitude. Before granting ordination, he would subject aspirants to various trials. Zhichao purified his body and mind, diligently applying himself to various monastic tasks. The monks numbered over a hundred, and offerings for their daily necessities were diverse. He constantly provided their two meals and never neglected the six intervals of prayer; whenever there was arduous labor, he invariably took the lead. Huizan personally inspected his resolve and, observing his restraint and adherence to the monastic rules, permitted him to receive full ordination. Having received the precepts, he devoted himself to cultivating proper deportment. He immediately went to Dingzhou to search through the Vinaya Piṭaka, extracting its essentials and pruning away redundancies. In fewer than five summer retreats, he had fully mastered the threefold teachings. He then returned to his native place, relying on crags and cliffs to synthesize his practice. Initially, he entered Mount Bigan west of Taiyuan, gathering eminent individuals and establishing a meditation hermitage. Morning and evening he diligently cultivated, awakening both concentration and wisdom. His four postures relied upon the discipline of the precepts; his two practices were based on the guidance of the Dharma. Students of contemplation gathered in crowds, maintaining solemnity without the need for strict authority, so that those who heard of his repute came from afar. In the early years of the Daye era, imperial laws were severe: monastery gates were shut fast, and monks were forbidden to go out. Hearing of this, Zhichao sighed and went forth to remonstrate. Donning his robes and raising his staff, he walked to the commandery seat, hoping that someone would arrest him and hand him over so that he might present his remonstrance. But neither officials nor commoners paid him heed. He then reached Jiangdu and presented the matter to the imperial court. The Palace Secretariat, judging the matter not to be of critical import, refused to usher him in and sent him back to the Bingbu region. Toward the end of the Sui dynasty, amidst many disasters, bandits and rebels rampaged widely; people were cast into ditches, and more than half died. Zhichao gathered disciples and encouraged them to store up surplus grain so that supplies were never exhausted. Fearing that robbers would invade and cause the community to disperse, he urged them with the warnings of the Dharma not to change their purpose: 'When the karmic mirror approaches, to what realm could one flee?' Moved by his words, the assembly felt their resolve clarified; following the regulations of meditation and rituals, they practiced without interruption. Once while they sat in dhyāna at night, a gang of bandits suddenly broke down the door and rushed straight in, raising torches in confusion and brandishing naked blades. The whole assembly sat upright, unmoving as sculpted statues. Thereupon the bandits threw down their weapons onto the ground, prostrated themselves, and took refuge in him. Zhichao then guided them according to the circumstances, skillfully conferring the Dharma upon them based on their capacity; all of them gave rise to revered devotion, joined their palms, and withdrew. His firm, skillful means in restraining and transforming people were all of this nature. When Emperor Gaozu raised the righteous banner in Taiyuan, people from all four quarters flocked to him. Zhichao considered that the Way lay in benefiting living beings, and that upholding righteousness was a vehicle for merit. He immediately led his disciples to Jinyang to reside at Ningding Temple. The meditation practitioners numbered several hundred, and their purity and discipline established a model, so that clerics and laity revered them, and both high and low respected them. When the imperial banners pointed south and the metropolitan region was cleared of dust, in the second year of Yining, Zhichao led over twenty disciples to the capital to offer congratulations. Emperor Wuhuang had long heard of his fine reputation and treated him as an immortal, escorting him up to the Hall of Great Ultimate and treating him with extraordinary courtesy. Left Assistant Minister of the Department of State Affairs, the Duke of the State of Wei, Pei Ji, possessed transcendent character and broad capacity; within his private mansion, he constructed a separate compound as a monastic dwelling, inviting the entire community to take up residence there. Several winters and summers passed, and their spiritual practice grew ever more rigorous. However, because visits by nobles were clamorous and worldly intrusions offered no recourse, Zhichao felt compelled to dwell among forested hills to set a pattern of distant longing. At that time, the śramaṇas of Huagan Temple on Mount Lantian, including Lingrun, Zhixin, and Zhiguang, who probed the deep subtleties of doctrinal meanings and honored the inner mental study, sought him out as birds of a feather flock together, feeling an affinity as if they were old acquaintances, and invited him to dwell on that mountain. His aspirations of seclusion were thus fulfilled; students responding to causes gathered in clouds, and whether in speech or silence, the noble and wise deeply respected one another. Yet the monastery was not completely secluded, being connected to public post roads, so that those seeking reclusion found it hard to sustain their practice. Yielding to worldly affairs outside the pass and with the intent to deliver beings, he returned to the Jin River region to seek an illustrious place. In the fifth year of Wude, he entered Mount Jie and established a retreat for meditation companions. The cliff was named Baofu (Embracing the Belly), bounded on four sides by gullies; looking down, it plunged a hundred fathoms, while looking up, it met sheer cliffs of a thousand fathoms. Springs and rocks made music around this dwelling of immortals; winds and rains swept pure across the canopy of the forest, causing visitors upon arrival to cleanse their worldly minds. He untiringly instructed others, never tiring of those seeking spiritual instruction. Furthermore, in Jiexiu County of Fenzhou, he established Guangyan Temple, personally overseeing the construction of halls, shrines, and corridors, making it so magnificent and majestic as to resemble a divine palace. Thus, those whose practice was deep dwelled in the crags, while those whose realization was shallow resided in the city. Master and disciples were solemn and harmonious, scrupulously sincere in their duties; they listened to his voice and observed his countenance, always feeling that their own efforts were insufficient. Suddenly falling ill, he knew that his time was short, and earnestly gave admonitions, pointing out the nature of misfortune and merit. On the eleventh day of the third month in the fifteenth year of Zhenguan, he passed away at the urban monastery at the age of seventy-one. The mountain hermits and the secular world both lamented, host and guest wept alike; with the departure of his virtue and benevolence, the teaching assembly dispersed. He was buried on a hill south of the city. Ever since he gave his allegiance to the Śākyan lineage, his mind was set on preserving the Dharma; day and night he exerted himself without rest, guiding and gathering later students. For this reason, he divided his daily tasks, bowing in reverence to five hundred Buddhas each day. Sitting in dhyāna during the four periods, he personally disciplined the community, setting penalties for those who fell behind; holding an incense burner himself, he bowed down following each chant, never placing the censer on the ground or omitting a single prostration. When the assembly sat in meditation, they admonished one another; as soon as someone grew drowsy, he would personally go round to encourage them. Whenever people came to seek ordination under him, he immediately tonsured them and conferred the rules of precepts, guiding their movements and monastic deportment, providing for them and receiving them with courtesy surpassing that of kin. At that time, an imperial decree imposed capital punishment on unauthorized ordinations, yet he felt no hesitation, shaving heads as usual. Consequently, from across the lands, recluse monks fleeing the world and cherishing righteousness relied upon him as upon a great mountain, following him to cultivate the Way. He occasionally lectured on the Mahāyānasaṃgraha, Vimalakīrtinirdeśa Sūtra, and Awakening of Faith, speaking only after thorough deliberation, his profound explanations precisely matching the capacities of the listeners. Once in the seventh year of Wude, while staying at Baofu, the monks numbered nearly a hundred, and their supplies were devoted especially to the great vegetarian feast. There were only six piculs of wheat stored in a single granary, from which five pecks were ground daily to supply the daily ration. From spring to summer, the calculated consumption was vast; puzzled by this, they inspected the store, only to find that only two piculs had been ground down. According to conventional calculation, this matter was truly profound and wondrous to ponder. Moreover, he repeatedly moved unusual monks to appear, flying through the void back and forth; although there was no verbal communication, their forms and deportment could be clearly witnessed. If anyone slackened in practice, they received spiritual warnings. As for the assembly-calling bell, it would sound on its own according to the appropriate hours; the mountain spring surged upward, its volume adjusting to the number of people. Auspicious omens arose repeatedly, not once or twice. In holding the Vinaya precepts with veneration, few could rival him; he guarded his dignified deportment with caution, unwavering from beginning to end. Across the two dynasties of Sui and Tang, those he personally tonsured into the monastic life numbered nearly a thousand. His instructions and teachings as a model master remain remembered and witnessed. The narrator formerly attended the end of his assembly and received his benevolent instructions; having personally witnessed his achievements, I have set down this account.