續高僧傳 20.31

20.31

論曰。經不云乎。禪智相遵念慧攸發。神遊覺觀惑使交馳。何以知其然耶。但由欲界亂善性極六天。色有定業。體封八地通為世結。愛味不殊。莫非諦集重輕。故得報居苦樂。終是輪迴諸界。未曰缺有超生。且據亂靜二緣。故略分斯兩位。然則三乘賢聖。及以六邪諸道。將欲厭煩栖慮。莫不依乎初定。良以心殊麁妙慧開通局。遂有總斯一地得延邪正之機。自釋教道東心學惟尠。逮于晉世方聞睿公。故其序云。慧理雖少。足以開神達命。禪法未傳。至於攝緣繫想。寄心無地。時翻大論有涉禪門因以情求廣其行務。童壽弘其博施。乃為出禪法要解等經。自斯厥後祖習逾繁。曇影道融。厲精於淮北。智嚴慧觀。勤志於江東。山栖結眾。則慧遠標宗。獨往孤征。則僧群顯異。雖復攝心之傳時或漏言。而茂績芳儀更開正級。不可怪也。逮于梁祖廣闢定門。搜揚㝢內有心學者。總集楊都。校量深淺自為部類。又於鍾陽。上下雙建定林。使夫息心之侶栖閑綜業。于時佛化雖隆。多遊辯慧。詞鋒所指波涌相凌。至於徵引蓋無所算。可謂徒有揚舉之名。終虧直心之實。信矣。或有問曰。大聖垂教正象為初。禪法廣行義當修習。今非斯時。固絕條緒其次不倫。方稱末法。乃遵戒之行。斯為極也。請為陳之。因為敘曰。原夫正象東設被在機緣。至於務道無時不契。然教中廣敘信法兩徒。誠由利鈍等機。所以就時分位。若能返源體道深厭諸有。學與佛世其德齊焉。故初千年為正法也。即謂會正成聖機悟不殊。第二千年依教修學。情投漸鈍會理叵階。攝靜住持微通性旨。然於慧釋未甚修明。相似道流為象法也。第三千年後末法初基。乃至萬年。定慧道離但弘世戒。威儀攝護相等禪蹤。而心用浮動全乖正受。故並目之為末法也。善見所述法住萬年。護持紹世斯蹤可錄。若依魔耶。時度千年不修靜觀。非通論也。約相兩敘矛盾乖蹤。就緣判教各有其致。至如世情煩掉人顯鋒奇。纔斆攝持皆耽昏漠。良由習熏既遠宗匠難常。即目易觀未遑誠教。善見萬載亦是明規。准法具修義無不獲。故論敘云。初五千年得三達智。後五千但遵戒法。前據道法。理觀住持。故云入聖。諒有從也後在事亂。相法住持。何能入道。故言是也。若乃心水鼓浪。則世業難成。想寂離緣。則理自清顯。涅槃敘定。豈不然哉。故使聚落宴坐神仙致譏。空林睡臥群聖同美。誠以託靜求心。則散心易攝。由攝心故。得解脫也。成論明誥。斯可師之。世有定學妄傳風教。同纏俗染混輕儀迹。即色明空。既談之於心口。體亂為靜。固形之於有累。神用沒於詞令。定相腐於脣吻。排小捨大獨建一家。攝濟住持居然乖僻。智論所敘前傳具彰。頃世已來宗斯者眾。豈不以力劣兼忘之道。神頓絕慮之鄉乎。所以託靜栖心。群籍皆傳其靈異。處喧攝慮。今古未章其感通。信可依矣。高齊河北獨盛僧稠。周氏關中尊登僧實。寶重之冠方駕澄安神道所通制伏強禦。致令宣帝擔負傾府藏於雲門。冢宰降階展歸心於福寺。誠有圖矣。故使中原定苑剖開綱領。惟此二賢。接踵傳燈流化靡歇。而復委辭林野歸宴天門。斯則挾大隱之前蹤。捨無緣之高志耳終復宅身龍岫。故是行藏有儀耶。屬有菩提達摩者。神化居宗闡導江洛。大乘壁觀功業最高。在世學流歸仰如市。然而誦語難窮。厲精蓋少。審其慕則。遣蕩之志存焉。觀其立言。則罪福之宗兩捨。詳夫。真俗雙翼。空有二輪。帝網之所不拘。愛見莫之能引。靜慮籌此。故絕言乎。然而觀彼兩宗。即乘之二軌也。稠懷念處清範可崇。摩法虛宗玄旨幽賾。可崇則情事易顯。幽賾則理性難通。所以物得其筌。初同披洗。至於心用壅滯惟繁云。之儔。羌難述矣。義當經遠。陶治方可會期。十住羅縠抑當其位。褊淺之識隳惰之流。朝入禪門夕弘其術。相與傳說謂各窮源。神道冥昧孰明通塞。是知。慮之所及。智之所圖。無非妄境惑心。斯是不能返照。其識浪執境緣心。靜波驚多生定障。即謂功用定力所知。外彰其說逞慢[示*呈]惑。此則未閑治障。我倒常行。他力所持宗為正業。真妄相迷卒難通曉。若知惟心妄境不結。返執前境非心所行。如此胥徒安可論道。有陳智璀。師仰慧思。思寔深解玄微。行德難測。璀亦頗懷親定。聲聞于天。致使陳氏帝宗咸承歸戒。圖像榮供逸聽南都。然而得在開弘失在對治。宗仰之最世莫有加。會謁衡岳方陳過隙。未及斷除遂終身世。隋祖創業偏宗定門。下詔述之。具廣如傳。京邑西南置禪定寺。四海徵引百司供給。來儀名德咸悉暮年。有終世者無非坐化。具以聞奏。帝倍歸依二世纘曆。又同置寺。初雖詔募。終雜講徒。故無取矣。當朝智顗。亦時禪望。鋒辯所指靡不倒戈。師匠天庭榮冠朝列。不可輕矣。至如慧越之捋虎鬚。道舜之觀牛影。智通之感奇相。僧定之制強賊。節操如鐵石。志概等雲霄。備彰後傳。略為盡美。又如慧瓚禪主。嘉尚頭陀行化晉趙。門庭擁盛。威儀所擬無越律宗。神解所通法依為詣。故得理事符允有契常規。道有窊隆固為時喪。致延帝里沒齒亡歸。頃有志超即承瓚胤。匡讚之德乃跨先摸。弘訓之規有淪其緒。故使超亡其風頹矣。觀夫慧定兩級各程其器。皆同佛日無與抗衡。然於祥瑞重沓預覿未然。即世恬愉天仙叶衛誠。歸定學蓋難奪矣。頃世定士多削義門。隨聞道。聽即而依學。未曾思擇扈背了經。每緣極旨多虧聲望。吐言來誚往往繁焉。或復耽著世定謂習真空。誦念西方志圖滅惑。肩頸掛珠。亂掐而稱禪數。納衣乞食。綜計以為心道。又有倚託堂殿遶旋竭誠。邪仰安形苟存曲計。執以為是餘學並非。氷想鏗然我倒誰識。斯並戒見二取正使現行。封附不除用增愚魯。向若纔割世網始預法門。博聽論經明閑慧戒。然後歸神攝慮。憑准聖言動則隨戒策修靜則不忘前智。固當人法兩鏡真俗四依。達智未知寧存妄識。如斯習定非智不禪則衡嶺台崖扇其風也復有相迷同好聚結山門。持犯蒙然動掛形網。運斤揮刃無避種生。炊爨飲噉寧慚宿觸或有立性剛猛志尚下流善友莫尋正經罕讀。瞥聞一句即謂司南唱言五住久傾十地將滿。法性早見佛智已明。此並約境住心妄言澄靜。還緣心住附相轉心。不覺心移故懷虛託。生心念淨豈得會真。故經陳心相飄鼓不停。蛇舌燈焰住山流水。念念生滅變變常新。不識亂念翻懷見網。相命禪宗未閑禪字。如斯般輩其量甚多。致使講徒例輕此類。故世諺曰。無知之叟。義指禪師。亂識之夫。共歸明德。返迷皆有大照隨妄普翳真科。不思此言互談名實。考夫定慧之務。諒在觀門。諸論所陳良為明證。通斯致也。則離亂定學之功。見惑慧明之業。若雙輪之遠涉。等真俗之同遊。所以思遠振於清風。稠實標於華望。貽厥後寄其源可尋。斯並古人之所同錄。豈虛也哉。

The treatise says: Do the sūtras not say that dhyāna and wisdom complement one another, and mindfulness and insight arise therefrom? When the spirit wanders in coarse examination and subtle reflection, delusions and defilements contend with one another. How do we know this is so? It is simply because the scattered goodness of the desire realm reaches its peak in the six heavens, while the form realm has fixed karma, its substance bound to the eight levels, which are all worldly fetters; their enjoyment of delight is no different [from lower realms], and none is other than the accumulation of suffering, heavy or light. Thus the retribution one obtains abides in pain or pleasure, yet in the end one is transmigrating through the various realms, and it cannot be called escaping existence and transcending rebirth. Now, relying on the two conditions of distraction and stillness, we briefly distinguish these two positions. Thus the sages and worthies of the three vehicles, as well as those of the six heretical paths, when wishing to weary of turmoil and lodge their thoughts in quietude, without exception rely on the initial dhyāna. Because their minds differ in coarseness and subtlety, and their insight varies in openness and restriction, they all occupy this one ground, which can accommodate both heretical and correct inclinations. Ever since the teachings of Śākya came east, the learning of the mind was exceedingly rare. Only in the Jin period was Venerable Rui first heard of. Thus his preface says: 'Although the principles of wisdom were slight, they were enough to open the spirit and attain understanding of life; yet the methods of dhyāna had not been transmitted. When it came to gathering conditions and binding thoughts, the mind had nowhere to lodge.' At that time, when translating the Mahāprajñāpāramitopadeśa, which touches upon the gate of dhyāna, he sought with devotion to expand its practice. Kumārajīva, widely promoting generous gift, thereupon translated texts such as the *Chanfa yaojie* (Essential Explanation of the Methods of Dhyāna). From that time onward, ancestral transmission became increasingly frequent. Tanying and Daorong exerted their vigor north of the Huai River; Zhiyan and Huiguan applied their will east of the Yangzi. In dwelling in the mountains and gathering assemblies, Huiyuan established the lineage; in solitary wandering and lonely journeying, Sengqun revealed the extraordinary. Although in the transmission of calming the mind there were occasional omissions of words, their outstanding achievements and fragrant models further opened the correct stages; one should not find it strange. Coming down to Emperor Wu of the Liang, he broadly opened the gate of dhyāna, searching for and promoting practitioners of the mind throughout the realm. Gathering them all at the capital Yangdu, he assessed their depths and categorised them. Moreover, at Mount Zhong, he built the Twin Dinglin Monasteries above and below, allowing those companions who pacified the mind to dwell in leisure and synthesize their tasks. At that time, although the Buddha’s transformation flourished, people mostly wandered in debate and cleverness; where their sharp words pointed, waves surged and clashed against each other, and their citations were beyond count. It may be said that there was merely the name of renown, while in the end the substance of a straightforward mind was deficient—truly so! Some may ask: 'When the Great Sage bequeathed his teachings, the True Dharma and the Semblance Dharma were the beginning. The wide practice of dhyāna methods was properly something to be cultivated then. The present is not that time; the threads are severed and their order is disrupted. It is now called the Final Dharma. Following the practice of the precepts is the utmost limit. Please explain this.' Thereupon I recount: Originally, the establishment of the True and Semblance Dharmas in the east was meant to cover conditions and capacities; as for applying oneself to the Way, there is no time when it does not tally. Yet in the teachings it broadly describes the two groups—those who follow faith and those who follow Dharma. This is truly due to sharp or dull faculties, and thus divisions of rank are made according to time. If one can return to the source and realise the Way, deeply weary of all realms of existence, one's learning and virtue will be equal to those in the Buddha’s era. Hence the first thousand years is the True Dharma, meaning that by meeting the correct one becomes a sage, and one's capacity for awakening is no different [from the past]. In the second thousand years, one cultivates and learns according to the teachings; feelings gradually turn dull, and ascending to the realisation of principle is difficult. One gathers stillness and maintains [the Dharma], faintly penetrating the essential purports of nature; yet in wise explanation one is not very cultivated or luminous. Streams that resemble the Way constitute the Semblance Dharma. The beginning of the third thousand years initiates the Final Dharma, lasting up to ten thousand years; the paths of dhyāna and wisdom have departed, and only worldly precepts are promoted. Comportment is guarded, outwardly resembling the traces of dhyāna, yet mental application is flighty and wavering, entirely contrary to correct absorption. Hence it is entirely designated the Final Dharma. What is stated in the *Samantapāsādikā* is that the Dharma abides for ten thousand years; guarding and transmitting it through generations is a path worthy of record. If one follows the *Māyā Sūtra*, after a thousand years one does not cultivate quiet contemplation, but this is not a general thesis. The two accounts of marks are contradictory and disparate, but judging teachings according to conditions, each has its rationale. As for worldly feelings being agitated and people showing off sharpness and novelty, as soon as they imitate self-restraint, they fall into gloom and stupor. Truly because habituation and perfuming are distant and great masters are hard to find constantly, relying on sight to alter one's view, one has no leisure for the genuine teachings. The ten thousand years in the *Samantapāsādikā* is also a clear rule: if one fully cultivates according to the Dharma, the meaning is that there is nothing that cannot be attained. Thus the treatises explain: in the first five thousand years one attains the three kinds of clear knowledge; in the latter five thousand years one only complies with the precepts. The former relies on the Dharma of the Way, where contemplative insight maintains it, hence it says one 'enters sagehood'—which is surely justified. The latter relies on worldly turmoil, where formal Dharma maintains it; how could one enter the Way? Hence that statement is correct. If the mind-water stirs up waves, worldly undertakings are hard to achieve; when thoughts are stilled and separated from conditions, the principle is naturally clear and manifest. When the *Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra* describes dhyāna, how could it be otherwise? Thus meditating quietly in a village brought the ridicule of ṛṣis, whereas sleeping in an empty forest won the shared praise of the holy ones. Truly, by relying on quietude to seek the mind, the scattered mind is easily gathered; and because the mind is gathered, one attains liberation. The clear proclamation of the *Satyasiddhiśāstra* may serve as our teacher. In the world there are students of dhyāna who falsely transmit customs and teachings; mired together in worldly defilements, they blur and disregard proper deportment. Identifying form with emptiness, they already discuss it in mind and mouth; realising turmoil as quietude, they inevitably embody it amidst encumbrances. The functioning of their spirit drowns in rhetoric; the marks of dhyāna decay upon their lips. Rejecting the Small and abandoning the Great, they uniquely establish a single school; their manner of gathering and maintaining [followers] is utterly perverted and eccentric. What the *Mahāprajñāpāramitopadeśa* recounts has already been fully displayed in earlier biographies. In recent generations, many have revered this. Is it not because of the path of dual forgetting due to weak capacity, and the realm of spirit suddenly severing all thought? Therefore, when one lodges in quietude to rest the mind, all texts transmit the spiritual wonders; but when one dwells in noise and restrains thought, past and present have not manifested such spiritual resonance. Truly it can be relied upon! In the Northern Qi, monks alone flourished in monk Sengchou in the Hebei region; in the Zhou dynasty, monk Sengshi was revered in Guanzhong. Their precious and revered crowns vied with Fotudeng and Dao'an; their penetration of the spiritual way subdued the recalcitrant and fierce. This caused Emperor Xuan to carry loads on his back and empty the state treasury at Yunmen, and the Prime Minister to step down the stairs and display his conversion of heart at Fucheng Monastery. Truly there was a design in this! Thus, in opening up the guidelines in the field of dhyāna in the Central Plains, it was only these two worthies who transmitted the lamp one after another, their flowing conversion ceaseless. Yet they also left the forests and wild lands to return and feast at the imperial gate; this was embracing the precedent of 'great hermits' and abandoning their lofty aspirations of being without worldly affinity. In the end, they once again lodged their bodies in the dragon caves—did their conduct and concealment not have proper deportment? There was also Bodhidharma, whose spiritual transformations made him an ancestral head, expounding and guiding along the Yangzi and Luo Rivers. His Mahāyāna wall-contemplation was the highest achievement; among worldly students, those who turned to him were as numerous as a marketplace. However, his recited words were difficult to fathom, and those who exerted vigor were few. If one scrutinises what they aspired to, the will toward casting off and clearing away was present; observing his established words, the foundations of both guilt and merit were discarded. To examine it in detail: the two wings of truth and convention, the two wheels of emptiness and existence, are not bound by Indra’s net, nor can desire and views lead them astray. When meditating quietly and calculating this, words are indeed cut off. Yet observing those two lineages, they are the two tracks of the vehicle. Chou embraced the foundations of mindfulness, whose pure pattern is venerable; Dharma took the school of emptiness, whose profound purport is dark and subtle. Being venerable, its matters of feeling are easily revealed; being dark and subtle, its rational nature is difficult to penetrate. Therefore, when people obtain the fish-trap, at first they are as if bathed and cleansed; but when it comes to the mind's function being obstructed and heavy, those of this sort are indeed hard to recount. Truly, one must go a long distance, and only through cultivation can the fruition be met. The ten abodes are like thin gauze, yet each corresponds to its rank. Men of narrow and shallow understanding, and those of slothful character, enter the gate of dhyāna in the morning and promote its techniques in the evening, passing on discourses to one another, claiming that each has fathomed the source. When the spiritual way is dark and obscured, who understands what is passable and what is blocked? Hence we know that what thought reaches and what intellect designs is nothing other than deluded objects and a confused mind; this is being unable to reflect back upon oneself. The waves of their consciousness grasp objects and condition the mind; when the waves of quietude are startled, many obstacles to dhyāna arise. Then they call this the knowledge of effort and dhyāna power, and outwardly display their theories, indulging arrogance and showing off confusion. This means they are not practiced in remedying obstacles, and the perversion of self-grasping is ever active. What is upheld by other powers they take as their proper practice; reality and delusion are mixed, and in the end difficult to understand clearly. If one knows that all is only mind, deluded objects do not form; turning around to grasp the object before oneself is not the practice of the mind. How could one discuss the Way with such fellows? Under the Chen, there was Zhicui, who looked up to and followed Huisi as master. Huisi truly possessed deep understanding of the subtle and abstruse, and his practice and virtue were difficult to fathom. Cui also quite embraced intimate dhyāna, and his fame was heard in the heavens, causing the Chen imperial clan to receive the refuges and precepts from him. His portrait received glorious offerings, and his renown surpassed others in the southern capital. However, his strength lay in broad propagation, while his shortcoming lay in therapeutic remedies. Although the reverence shown to him was unsurpassable in the world, only when he met with Master Nanyue Huisi at Mount Heng did he confess his faults; before he could sever them, he ended his life. When the founder of the Sui established his enterprise, he especially favored the gate of dhyāna. The edicts he issued recounting it are detailed extensively in the biographies. In the southwest of the capital he established the Chanding Monastery, summoning monks from across the four seas, and the hundred officials supplied their needs. The eminent and virtuous who came to stay were all in their twilight years; those who ended their lives all passed away while seated in meditation. These were fully reported to the throne, and the emperor's devotion doubled. When the second ruler succeeded to the throne, he likewise established monasteries; although recruits were gathered by edict at first, they eventually mixed with scriptural lecturers, hence there was nothing worthy of note. In the present dynasty, Zhiyi was also an eminent figure of dhyāna of his time; wherever his sharp eloquence pointed, none failed to lay down their arms. Being a master to the imperial court, his glory surpassed the ranks of court officials; he cannot be belittled. As for Huiyue stroking a tiger's whiskers, Daoshun contemplating the shadow of an ox, Zhitong eliciting extraordinary signs, and Sengding subduing fierce bandits—their integrity was like iron and stone, their spirit equalled the clouds and skies; fully displayed in the subsequent biographies, they are briefly shown in complete excellence. Furthermore, such as the dhyāna master Huizan, who lauded and prized dhūta practices, transforming Shanxi and Hebei: his gate was crowded with followers; the comportment he modeled did not surpass the Vinaya school; and what his spiritual understanding penetrated took the reliance on Dharma as its objective. Thus principle and phenomena coincided, tallying with the regular norms. The Way has its declension and flourishment, and his demise was truly a loss to the times; summoned to the imperial capital, he passed away there without returning. Recently, Zhichao succeeded Huizan; his virtue in guiding and assisting surpassed earlier models, yet the rules of his broad instruction lost their thread. Hence, when Chao passed away, his style collapsed. When observing the two stages of wisdom and dhyāna, each displays its vessel; both are equal to the Buddha-sun, and none can rival them. Yet with auspicious omens unfolding in layers and foreseeing what has not yet occurred, remaining serene in this world while heavenly spirits harmoniously protect them—devotion to the study of dhyāna is indeed hard to strip away. In recent generations, practitioners of dhyāna mostly discard the gate of doctrinal meaning. Following what they hear on the roads, they immediately rely upon it for practice; never having reflected and examined, they turn their backs on the definitive sūtras. Whenever they touch upon the ultimate purport, their reputation often suffers; words uttered invite ridicule, which is frequently abundant. Or again, they indulge in worldly dhyāna, claiming to practice true emptiness, reciting the Western realm with the intent to eradicate defilements; hanging beads around their necks, they pluck them at random and call it 'dhyāna enumeration'; wearing patched robes and begging for food, they scheme and take it as the path of the mind. Furthermore, there are those who lean upon halls, circumambulating with utmost sincerity, holding their bodies in crooked reverence, clinging to perverse schemes; grasping this as correct and considering all other learning wrong, their icy thoughts clink with rigidity—who recognizes their perversion of self-grasping? These are the actual manifestations of the two attachments to precepts and views. If clingings are not eradicated, it only increases their foolishness. If, upon barely severing the worldly net and first entering the Dharma gate, they were to broadly listen to treatises and sūtras, becoming clearly skilled in wisdom and precepts, and then gather the spirit and restrain thought, relying upon the holy words, moving in accordance with the precepts to spur their cultivation, and resting without forgetting their previous wisdom—then person and Dharma would both be mirrored, and truth and convention would accord with the four reliances. If attaining wisdom is not yet known, how could deluded consciousness remain? Cultivating dhyāna like this, there is no dhyāna without wisdom; thus the winds of Mount Heng and the cliffs of Tiantai spread their influence! Furthermore, there are those who delude each other with shared preferences, gathering at mountain gates: ignorant of observance and violation, every movement is caught in the physical net; wielding axes and flashing blades, they do not avoid living seeds; cooking, brewing, drinking, and eating, how could they feel ashamed of touching food overnight? Or there are those of fierce temperament whose aspirations go to the lowest; they do not seek good friends and rarely read the correct sūtras. Catching a single phrase, they take it as the compass, proclaiming that the five entrenchments have long been overthrown and the ten grounds are nearly fulfilled, that the dharmatā has already been seen and the Buddha's wisdom has been illuminated. These all fix the mind on objects and falsely claim it is clear and quiet; returning to conditions, the mind abides, and attaching to marks, the mind turns. Unaware of the mind shifting, they harbor hollow pretense. How can generating a mind that thinks of purity tally with the truth? Hence the sūtras state that the mind's marks flutter ceaselessly, like a serpent's tongue, a lamp's flame, or a torrent cascading down a mountain—moment by moment arising and ceasing, changing constantly anew. Not recognizing distracted thoughts, they instead embrace the net of views, calling each other 'the Dhyāna school' while not even understanding the word *dhyāna*. Those of this sort are exceedingly numerous, causing the lecturers habitually to belittle this kind. Thus the worldly proverb says: 'An ignorant old man refers to a dhyāna master; a man of confused consciousness is called an illustrious virtue.' Turning delusion on its head, all possess great illumination; following delusion, it universally obscures the true canons. They do not reflect that these words mutually discuss name and reality. When examining the task of dhyāna and wisdom, it truly lies in the gate of contemplation. What the treatises state is indeed clear proof. If one penetrates this rationale, then quieted dhyāna study has its merit, and insight eliminating doubts accomplishes its work—like two wheels traveling far, or truth and convention journeying together. This is why Huisi and Huiyuan stirred their pure wind, and Sengchou and Sengshi displayed their illustrious renown. Leaving their legacy to later generations, their source can be traced; these were all recorded together by the ancients—how could it be in vain?