續高僧傳 6.25

6.25

釋慧約。字德素。姓婁。東陽烏場人也。祖世蟬聯東南冠族。有占其塋墓者云。後世當有苦行得道者為帝王師焉。母劉氏夢。長人擎金像令吞之。又見紫光繞身。因而有孕。便覺精神爽發思理明悟。及載誕之日。光香充滿身白如雪。時俗因名為靈粲。故風鑒貞簡神志凝靜。撫塵之歲有異凡童。惟聚沙為佛塔。疊石為高座。七歲便求入學。即誦孝經論語。乃至史傳披文見意。宅南有果園。隣童競採常以為患。乃捨己所得空拳而返。鄉土以蠶桑為業。常懷悲惻。由是不服縑纊。季父憙畋獵化終不改。常嘆曰。飛走之類去人甚遠。好生惡死此情何別。乃絕羶腥。叔父遂避於他里恣行勦戮。夢赤衣使者。手持矛戟謂曰。汝終日殺生。菩薩教化又不能止。促來就死。驚覺汗流。詰旦便毀諸獵具深改前咎。約復至常所獵處。見麋鹿數十頭。騰倚隨之。若有愧謝者。所居僻左不嘗見寺。世崇黃老未聞佛法。而宿習冥感心存離俗。忽值一僧訪以至教。彼乃舉手東指云。剡中佛事甚盛。因乃不見。方悟神人。至年十二始遊于剡。遍禮塔廟肆意山川。遠會素心多究經典。故東境謠曰。少達妙理婁居士。宋泰始四年。於上虞東山寺辭親翦落。時年十七。事南林寺沙門慧靜。靜於宋代僧望之首。律行總持。為特進顏延年司空何尚之所重。又隨靜住剡之梵居寺。服勤就養年踰一紀。及靜之云亡。盡心喪之禮。服闋之後。却粒巖栖。餌以松朮。蠲疾延華深有成益。齊竟陵王作鎮禹穴。聞約風德雅相嘆屬。時有釋智秀曇纖慧次等。並名重當鋒同集王坐。約既後至年夏未隆。王便斂躬盡敬。眾咸懷不悅之色。王曰。此上人方為釋門領袖。豈今日而相待耶。故其少為貴勝所崇也如此。齊中書郎汝南周顒為剡令。欽服道素側席加禮。於鍾山雷次宗舊館造草堂寺。亦號山茨。屈知寺任。此寺結宇山椒疏壤幽岫。雖邑居非遠。而蕭條物外。既冥賞素誠。便有終焉之託。顒嘆曰。山茨約主清虛滿世。齊太宰文簡公褚淵。太尉文憲公王儉。佐命一期功高百代。欽風味道共弘法教。淵嘗請講淨名勝鬘。儉亦請開法花大品。淵遇疾晝寢見胡僧云。菩薩當至。尋有道人來者是也。俄而約造焉。遂豁然病愈。即請受五戒。齊給事中婁幼瑜。少有學術。約之族祖也。每見輒趣為禮。或問。此乃君族下班。何乃恭耶。瑜曰。菩薩出世方師於天下。豈老夫敬致而已。時人未喻此旨。惟王文憲深以為然。且約孝通冥感思歸遄返。而二親喪亡。並及臨訣。孺慕嬰號不交人世。積時停鄉以開慈道。後還都又住草堂。少傅沈約。隆昌中外任。携與同行。在郡惟以靜漠自娛。禪誦為樂。異香入室猛獸馴階。常入金華山採桔。或停赤松㵎遊止。時逢宿火乍屬神光。程異不思故略其事。有道士丁德靜。於館暴亡。傳云。山精所弊。乃要大治祭酒居之。妖猶充斥。長山令徐伯超立議。請約移居曾未浹旬。而神魅弭息。後晝臥見二青衣女子。從㵎水出禮悔云。夙障深重墮此水精。晝夜煩惱。即求授戒。自爾災怪永絕。及沈侯罷郡。相携出都。還住本寺。恭事勤肅禮敬彌隆。文章往復相繼晷漏。以沈詞藻之盛秀出當時。臨官蒞職。必同居府舍。率意往來。未嘗以朱門蓬戶為隔。齊建武中謂沈曰。貧道昔為王褚二公供養。遂居令僕之省。檀越為之當復入地矣。天監元年沈為尚書僕射。啟勅請入省住。十一年臨丹陽尹。無何而歎。有憂生之嗟。報曰。檀越福報已盡。貧道未得滅度詞旨悽然。俄而沈殞。故其預契未然皆此類也。既而留心方等研精九部。皆蘊匱胸襟陶鎣懷抱。顯說弘通當仁不讓。劬勞汲引隆益群品。皇帝斵彫文璞。信無為道發菩提心。搆重雲殿。以戒業精微功德淵廣。既為萬善之本。實亦眾行所先。譬巨海百川之長。若須彌群山之最。三果四向緣此以成。十力三明因茲而立。帝乃博採經教撰立戒品。條草畢舉儀式具陳。制造圓壇用明果極。以為道資人弘理無虛授。事藉躬親民信乃立。且帝皇師臣大聖師友。遂古以來斯道無墜。農軒周孔憲章仁義。況理越天人之外。義超名器之表。以約德高人世道被幽冥。允膺闍梨之尊。屬當智者之號。逡巡退讓情在固執。慇懃勸請辭不獲命。天監十一年始勅引見。事協心期道存目擊。自爾去來禁省禮供優給。至十八年己亥四月八日。天子發弘誓心受菩薩戒。乃幸等覺殿。降彫玉輦。屈萬乘之尊。申在三之敬。暫屏袞服恭受田衣。宣度淨儀曲躬誠肅。于時日月貞華天地融朗。大赦天下率土同慶。自是入見別施漆榻。上先作禮然後就坐。皇儲以下爰至王姬。道俗士庶咸希度脫。弟子著籍者凡四萬八千人。嘗授戒時有一乾鵲。歷階而昇。狀若飡受。至說戒畢然後飛騰。又嘗述戒。有二孔雀驅斥不去。勅乃聽上。徐行至壇俛頸聽法。上曰。此鳥必欲滅度別受餘果。矜其至誠更為說法。後數日二鳥無何同化。又初授戒。夜夢從草堂寺以綿罽席路。直至臺門。自坐禪床。去地數丈。天人圍遶為眾說法。以事而詳。等黃帝之夢往華胥。同目連之神登兜率。至人行止孰能議之。而愛悅閑靜祥華虛室。寺側依棲咸生慈道。故使麕䴥群於兕虎。鳧鶩狎於鷹鸇。飛走騰伏自相馴擾。非夫仁澤潛化。孰能如此者乎。後靜居閑室忽有野媼。齎書數卷置經案上。無言而出。并持異樹自植於庭云。青庭樹也。約曰。此書美也不我俟看。如其惡也亦不勞視經七日又見一叟請書而退。此樹葉綠花紅扶疏尚在。又感異鳥。身赤尾長形如翡翠。相隨棲息出入樹間。中大通四年夢見舊宅。白壁朱門赫然壯麗。仍發願造寺。詔乃號為本生焉。大同一年又勅。改所居竹山里。為智者里。縉雲舊壤傳芳圖諜。山川靈異擅奇函夏。福地仙鄉此焉攸立。而約飯餌松朮三十餘年。布艾為衣過七十載。鳴謙立操擅望當時。乃以大同元年八月。使人伐門外樹枝曰。輿駕當來勿令妨路。人未之測。至九月六日現疾。北首右脇而臥。神識恬愉了無痛惱。謂弟子曰。我夢四部大眾幡花羅列空中迎我凌雲而去。福報當訖。至十六日勅遣舍人徐儼參疾。答云。今夜當去。至五更二唱異香滿室左右肅然。乃曰。夫生有死自然恒數。勤修念慧勿起亂想。言畢合掌便入涅槃。春秋八十有四。六十三夏。天子臨訣悲慟。僚宰輟聽覽者二旬有一。其月二十九日。於獨龍山寶誌墓左𡒨之。初約臥疾。見一老公執錫來入。及遷化日。諸僧咸卜寺之東巖。帝乃改葬獨龍。抑其前見之叟。則誌公相迎者乎。又臨終夜所乘青牛忽然鳴吼淚下交流。至葬日勅使牽從部伍發寺至山。吼淚不息。又建塔之始。白鶴一雙繞墳鳴唳聲其哀婉。葬後三日欻然永逝。下勅竪碑墓左。詔王筠為文。

Shi Huiyue, styled Desu, was surnamed Lou and was a native of Wuchang in Dongyang. For successive generations his ancestors formed an unbroken line of premier clans in the southeast. A geomancer who examined his family grave said: “In a later generation there will surely be one who attains the Way through ascetic practice and becomes a preceptor to emperors and kings.” His mother, Lady Liu, dreamed of a tall man holding a golden statue and bidding her swallow it; she also saw purple light encircling her body. Thereupon she became pregnant, and at once felt her spirit turn bright and keen, and her reasoning clear and perceptive. On the day of his birth, radiant light and fragrance filled the room, and his body was as white as snow. The locals therefore called him Lingcan. By nature his judgment was upright and simple, and his mind calm and settled. Even in the years of sweeping dust [as a toddler], he differed from common boys: he would only gather sand to make stupas, or pile stones to serve as high seats. At seven he asked to enter schooling, whereupon he could recite the Classic of Filial Piety and the Analects; coming to the histories and biographies, he grasped the meaning as soon as he opened the texts. South of his residence was an orchard, which neighbouring children vied to plunder, constantly causing trouble; [Huiyue] simply gave away all he had obtained and returned empty-handed. His home district engaged in sericulture as its livelihood; he constantly felt sorrow and pity for it, and from then on refused to wear silk or floss. His younger uncle was fond of hunting and would not change despite admonition. [Huiyue] often sighed: “Birds and beasts are far removed from human beings, yet they love life and dread death; how does their feeling differ from ours?” He thereupon cut off all meat and pungent food. His uncle then went off to other hamlets to slaughter freely, but dreamed of an envoy in red robes holding a spear and halberd, who said to him: “You kill living beings all day long, and even the bodhisattva’s instruction cannot stop you. Hurry and face death!” He awoke startled and dripping with sweat, and at dawn smashed all his hunting gear, deeply reforming his former faults. When Yue went again to the usual hunting grounds, he saw dozens of elks and deer jumping and lingering as they followed him, as though expressing remorse and gratitude. He lived in a remote and secluded quarter, where he had never seen a monastery; the locals venerated Laozi and the Yellow Emperor and had never heard the Buddha’s Dharma. Yet through past karmic predispositions he had an unseen resonance, and his heart was set on leaving the secular world. Suddenly he met a monk, whom he asked about the supreme teaching; the monk raised his hand, pointed east, and said: “In Shan Buddhist affairs flourish greatly.” Then he vanished, and only then did [Yue] realize he was a divine being. At the age of twelve he first travelled to Shan, paying homage everywhere to stupas and temples and wandering freely among the mountains and rivers; meeting far away with his original aspiration, he investigated the scriptures in great depth. Thus a ballad in the eastern region ran: “The young Lou Upāsaka, / who has mastered the subtle truth.” In the fourth year of the Taishi era of the Song (468), he took leave of his kin and shaved his head at Dongshan Monastery in Shangyu, at the age of seventeen. He served the śramaṇa Huijing of Nanlin Monastery. Jing stood foremost in prestige among the monks of the Song dynasty; he held to the Vinaya discipline in its entirety and was esteemed by the Special Commissioner Yan Yannian and the Minister of Works He Shangzhi. [Yue] also followed Jing to reside at Fanju Monastery in Shan, attending upon him with diligent care for over a decade. When Jing passed away, he observed the funeral rites with full devotion. After the mourning period concluded, he abstained from grains and dwelt in the crags, feeding on pine needles and atractylodes; this eliminated illness and prolonged his youth, yielding profound benefits. King of Jingling of the Qi governed the region of Yu’s Cave; hearing of Yue’s refined character and virtue, he deeply admired and esteemed him. At that time, Shi Zhixiu, Tanxian, Huici, and others—all men of prominent fame in their day—were gathered together in the King’s assembly. Yue arrived later, and his monastic age was not yet advanced, yet the King bowed respectfully and paid him the utmost reverence. The assembly all showed displeasure on their faces. The King said: “This eminent person is destined to become a leader of the Buddhist order; how could I treat him merely as he is today?” Thus was he revered by the noble and eminent even in his youth. Zhou Yong of Runan, a Secretariat Drafter of the Qi, served as the Magistrate of Shan; admiring his virtuous plainness, he vacated his seat to pay him special courtesy. At the former lodge of Lei Cizong on Mount Zhong, he built Caotang Monastery, also known as Shanci, and invited Yue to take charge of monastery affairs. This monastery had its halls set on the mountain ridge, its soil cleared by hidden gorges; though not far from the towns, it was desolate and beyond worldly affairs. Since it profoundly accorded with his original sincerity, he committed to make it his final resting place. Yong sighed: “Yue, the master of Shanci, is pure and aloof, unequalled in the world.” Chu Yuan, Duke Wenjian, the Grand Preceptor of Qi, and Wang Jian, Duke Wenxian, the Grand Defender, had assisted their dynasty in founding the empire, their merits outstanding for a hundred generations; admiring his wind and tasting the Way, they joined in promoting the Dharma teachings. Yuan once invited him to lecture on the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa and Śrīmālādevī Sūtras; Jian also invited him to open the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka and Pañcaviṃśatisāhasrikā Prajñāpāramitā Sūtras. When Yuan fell ill, he napped during the day and saw a foreign monk say: “A bodhisattva is about to arrive; the man of the Way who comes shortly is he.” Soon afterward Yue came to visit, and [Yuan’s] illness was immediately cured; he at once requested to receive the five precepts. Lou Youyu, a Palace Attendant of Qi, had engaged in scholarship from his youth and was Yue’s great-uncle. Whenever they met, he would always rush to pay him homage. Someone asked: “This is merely a junior relative of your clan; why are you so respectful?” Yu replied: “A bodhisattva has appeared in the world and is about to be a preceptor to all under heaven; how could it be that only this old man pays him reverence?” The people of that time did not grasp this point; only Wang Wenxian thoroughly agreed. Moreover, Yue’s filial piety resonated with the unseen realm; longing to return home, he swiftly went back, yet both his parents had died, and he only arrived in time to bid them farewell. Weeping like an infant, he cut off all contact with the secular world, remaining in his home district for a long time to open up the way of compassion. Later he returned to the capital and again resided at Caotang Monastery. During the Longchang era, Junior Preceptor Shen Yue took up an external appointment, and brought Yue along with him. In the commandery [Yue] took pleasure solely in quietude and detachment, delighting in meditation and recitation. Rare fragrance entered his chamber, and wild beasts became tame before his steps. He often entered Mount Jinhua to gather citrus fruits, or stayed and wandered by the Chisong Stream. Sometimes he came upon old flames, or suddenly encountered divine radiance; their wonders were inconceivable, so the details are omitted here. There was a Daoist, Ding Dejing, who died suddenly in his lodge; it was rumoured that he had been brought down by mountain spirits. They thereupon invited a Libationer of the Great Cure to dwell there, but the apparitions remained rife. Xu Bochao, Magistrate of Changshan, made a proposal: they invited Yue to move in, and before ten days had passed, the spirits and ghosts were pacified. Later, while resting by day, he saw two maidens in green clothes emerge from the stream water, bow, and repent, saying: “Our past karmic hindrances were grave, so we fell to become these water spirits, suffering afflictions day and night.” They immediately asked to be granted the precepts. From that time forth, disasters and strange occurrences ceased forever. When Lord Shen left his post in the commandery, they returned to the capital together, and Yue took up residence again at his original monastery. [Shen] served him with reverent diligence, his respect growing ever deeper. Their literary exchanges followed one upon another without pause. Because Shen’s literary talent was renowned, standing preeminent in his day, whenever he took up office and attended to duties, they would always live together in the government quarters; Yue came and went as he pleased, never letting vermilion gates or wattle doors stand between them. During the Jianwu era of the Qi, he said to Shen: “In the past I was supported by the two dukes Wang and Chu, and consequently resided in the offices of the directors and vice directors. When you, Dānapati, take that post, I shall have to enter the ground again.” In the first year of Tianjian (502), Shen became Vice Director of the Department of State Affairs; he petitioned for an imperial edict to invite him to live in the department. In the eleventh year (512), when he was Prefect of Danyang, Shen sighed for no reason, lamenting the sorrows of life. [Yue] replied: “Your karmic rewards as a Dānapati are already exhausted, and I have not yet attained extinction.” His words were full of sorrow. Shortly afterward Shen passed away; Yue’s foreknowledge of what had not yet happened was always of this sort. Afterwards he devoted his mind to the Vaipulya sūtras and studied the nine divisions of scriptures intensively; all were stored in his treasury of a heart and polished within his bosom. He expounded them openly and propagated them widely, never stepping back when benevolence was at stake; labouring to guide others, he brought great benefit to all living beings. The Emperor, carving the plain jade of culture, put faith in the unconditioned Way and gave rise to the bodhicitta; he constructed the Chongyun Hall. Because the practice of the precepts is subtle and refined, its merit deep and vast, it is indeed the root of the ten thousand virtues and the foremost of all practices—like the great ocean, chief of the hundred rivers, or Mount Sumeru, highest of the mountain peaks; the three fruits and four stages of realization are achieved through this, and the ten powers and three knowledges are established because of this. The Emperor thereupon gathered widely from the scriptural teachings, composed and established the precept categories, drafted every clause, and fully laid out the rituals. He constructed a round altar to clarify the ultimate fruit. Believing that the Way depends on people to be propagated, and that principles are not transmitted in vain, he held that things require personal practice before the people’s faith can be established. Moreover, emperors and monarchs have had ministers as teachers, and great sages have had friends as teachers; since ancient times this way has never fallen away. The Divine Farmer, the Yellow Emperor, the Duke of Zhou, and Confucius modelled their laws on benevolence and righteousness; how much more so should this be for the principle that transcends heaven and humanity, the meaning that surpasses names and rank! Considering Yue’s virtue to be lofty above the human world and his realization to extend to the unseen realm, [the Emperor judged that] he was truly worthy of the honour of an ācārya and corresponded to the title of “Wise One” (Zhizhe). [Yue] demurred and yielded, steadfastly declining; yet after earnest entreaties, his refusal could not prevail. In the eleventh year of Tianjian (512), an imperial decree was first issued to summon him to an audience; their concerns were in harmony with what their minds had expected, and the Way was recognized at a glance. From then on he came and went from the imperial palace, receiving abundant offerings of respect. On the eighth day of the fourth month of the eighteenth year, a yihai year (519), the Son of Heaven gave rise to a vast vow and received the bodhisattva precepts. He proceeded to Dengjue Hall, descended from his carriage of carved jade, lowered his dignity as lord of ten thousand chariots, and displayed the reverence due to the three masters. Setting aside his imperial robes for a time, he respectfully received the robes of fields [of merit]; after the pure ritual of ordination was pronounced, he bowed in sincere solemnity. At that time the sun and moon shone pure and glorious, and heaven and earth were bright and clear. An amnesty was granted to all under heaven, and the entire land celebrated together. From then on, when Yue entered for an audience, a separate lacquered couch was set out; the Emperor first bowed to him and only then took his seat. From the heir apparent down to the imperial princesses, both clergy and laity, scholars and commoners, all hoped for liberation; the disciples registered on the rolls numbered forty-eight thousand in all. Once, while he was conferring the precepts, a magpie ascended the steps, looking as though it were receiving food; it stayed until the recitation of the precepts was finished, and only then flew away. On another occasion, while he was expounding the precepts, two peacocks could not be driven away. An imperial order permitted them to come up; they walked slowly to the altar, bowed their necks, and listened to the Dharma. The Emperor said: “These birds surely wish to attain extinction and receive another fruit of rebirth.” Pitying their sincere devotion, Yue preached the Dharma further for them; a few days later, both birds transformed and died for no apparent reason. Furthermore, when he first conferred the precepts, he dreamed by night that carpets and rugs were laid from Caotang Monastery all the way to the palace gates; he himself sat upon a dhyāna bed several tens of feet above the ground, surrounded by heavenly beings, preaching the Dharma to the multitude. Examining this in light of events, it is equal to the Yellow Emperor’s dream of visiting Huaxu, and identical to Maudgalyāyana’s spirit ascending to Tuṣita. Who could pass judgment on the conduct of a supreme man? Yet he loved quietude, and auspicious flowers bloomed in his empty chamber. Those dwelling near the monastery all gave rise to the way of compassion, so that roe deer and stags flocked with rhinos and tigers, and wild ducks and geese grew familiar with hawks and falcons; flying and running, soaring and creeping creatures became tame with one another. Were it not for the subtle transformation wrought by his benevolent grace, who could have accomplished this? Later, while he was dwelling quietly in an empty room, a rustic old woman suddenly brought several fascicles of books, placed them on the sutra desk, and departed without a word; she also carried a strange tree and planted it in the courtyard, saying it was a “Qingting tree”. Yue said: “If these books are good, they need not wait for me to read them; if they are bad, it is also not worth the trouble to inspect them.” After seven days an old man appeared, asked for the books, and withdrew. The tree still remains with its green leaves, red flowers, and spreading branches. He also attracted strange birds, with red bodies and long tails, shaped like kingfishers, which roosted together, coming and going among the tree. In the fourth year of Zhongdatong (532), he dreamed of his old residence, with white walls and vermilion gates, splendid and magnificent; he thereupon vowed to build a monastery, and an imperial decree named it Bensheng. In the first year of Datong (535), an imperial decree also renamed his dwelling in Zhushan Hamlet to Zhizhe Hamlet. The old territory of Jinyun has its fragrant reputation passed down in maps and registers; its mountains and rivers are divinely wondrous, boasting unique beauty throughout China; an auspicious site and immortal land was thus established here. Yet Yue fed on pine needles and atractylodes for more than thirty years, and wore clothes of coarse hemp for over seventy years; he conducted himself with modest restraint and enjoyed the highest reputation in his day. In the eighth month of the first year of Datong, he ordered someone to cut the tree branches outside the gate, saying: “The imperial carriage will be coming; do not let them block the road.” People could not fathom his meaning. On the sixth day of the ninth month he manifested illness; he lay with his head to the north and on his right side, his consciousness tranquil and joyful, entirely free of pain or distress. He said to his disciples: “I dreamed of the assemblies of the four divisions with banners and flowers arrayed in the air, welcoming me and soaring into the clouds; my karmic rewards are about to end.” On the sixteenth day, the Emperor sent Palace Attendant Xu Yan to inquire after his illness; Yue replied: “I shall depart tonight.” At the second call of the fifth watch, a rare fragrance filled the room, and those around him fell silent in awe. He then said: “That there is death where there is life is the natural and constant rule. Cultivate mindfulness and wisdom diligently, and do not give rise to scattered thoughts.” Having spoken, he joined his palms and entered nirvāṇa. His worldly age was eighty-four, and his monastic age was sixty-three. The Son of Heaven wept bitterly in farewell; the ministers and officials suspended their administrative reviews for twenty-one days. On the twenty-ninth day of that month, he was buried to the left of the tomb of Baozhi on Mount Dulong. Earlier, when Yue lay ill, he saw an old man holding a staff enter; when the day of his passing came, the monks divined a site on the eastern crag of the monastery, but the Emperor relocated the burial to Mount Dulong. Could the old man seen previously have been Master Zhi welcoming him? Moreover, on the night of his demise, the blue ox he rode suddenly bellowed, its tears streaming down. On the day of the funeral, an imperial envoy led the ox along with the entourage from the monastery to the mountain, its bellowing and weeping never ceasing. In addition, when the stupa was first constructed, a pair of white cranes circled the mound, crying sorrowfully and plaintively; three days after the burial, they suddenly departed forever. An imperial decree ordered a stele to be erected to the left of the tomb, and commissioned Wang Yun to compose the text.