續高僧傳 9.24.3

9.24.3

裕靜慮口緣念佛。 相繼達于明相。 奄終于演空寺焉。 春秋八十有八。 即大業元年正月二十二日也。 哀動山世。 即殯於寶山靈泉寺側。 起塔崇焉。 初裕清貞潔己正氣雲霄。 器識堅明抗迹塵表。 師資傳授斯寄得人。 身佩白光映照幽晦。 眄睞高視瞻見遠近。 而奉禁自守杜絕世煩。 虔虔附道克念齊聖。 母病綿篤追赴已終。 中路聞之竟不親對。 嗟曰。 我來看母今何所看。 宜歸鄴寺為生來福耳。 割略親愛如此之類。 至於弘法軌模。 萬代宗轄。 志存遠大不𢩁偏授。 故有單講雙時。 雅為恒度。 略文對講生常不經必有傳講。 要須延請供承顒仰方登法座。 嘗有一處敷演將半。 因行遊觀乃近韮園問其本緣云。 是講主所有。 裕曰。 弘法之始為遣過原。 惡業未傾清通焉在。 此講不可再也。 宜即散之。 便執錫持衣徑辭而出。 講主曰。 法師但講。 此業易除耳。 復未足憂之。 便借倩村民犁具。 一時耕殺四十畝韮。 擬種穀田。 斯道俗相依。 言行無越。 一人而已。 其講悟也始微終著。 聲氣雄遠辯對無滯言罕重宣。 或一字盤桓動移數日。 或一上之中便銷數卷。 及至後講更改前科。 增減出沒乘機顯晦致學者疑焉。 裕曰。 此大士之宏規也。 豈可以恒情而斷之。 故十夏初登。 而為領袖傾敬。 或大德同集間以謔情。 及裕之臨席。 無不肅然自持諠鬧攸靜。 所以下座尼眾莫敢面參。 而性剛威爽服章麁弊。 貴達之與廝下。 承對一焉。 去來自彼曾無迎送。 故通儒開士積疑請決。 藝術異能抱策呈解。 皆頂受絕歎。 言不寫情。 可謂坐鎮雅俗於斯人矣。 故鄴下諺曰衍法師伏道不伏俗。 裕法師道俗俱伏。 誠其應對無思發言成論故也。 又營諸福業。 寺宇靈儀。 後於寶山造石龕一所。 名為金剛。 性力住持。 那羅延窟面別鐫法滅之相。 山幽林竦言切事彰。 每春遊山之僧。 皆往尋其文理。 讀者莫不歔欷而持操矣。 其遺迹感人如此。 自前後行施悲敬兼之。 袈裟為惠出過千領。 疾苦所及醫療繁多。 但得厚味先必奉僧。 身預倫伍片無貯納。 講授之隙正面西方。 凡所涕涶返而咽之。 一報無棄。 形不妄涉口不浮詞。 人畜訓誨絕於呵捶。 乃至責問童稚誡約門人。 自述己名彼號仁者。 苦言切斷聞者淚流。 自有師資希附斯軌年登耳順養眾兩堂。 簡以未具異室將撫。 言行有濫即令出眾。 非律所許。 寺法不停女人尼眾。 誓不授戒。 及所住房由來禁約不令登踐斯勵俗後代之弘略也。 沙彌受具和上德難。 故盡報不行。 自餘師證至時臨眾。 若授以三聚則七眾備傳。 故使弘法之時方聽女眾入寺。 並後入先出直往無留。 致有法席清嚴嚮傳㝢內。 侍者供給不預沙彌。 僧制澄正無論主客。 內惟護法外肅愆過。 身服清修不御綾綺。 垂裙踝上四指。 衫袖僅與肘齊。 祇支極長至脛而已。 設見衣制過度則處眾割之。 故方裙正背大氈被褥。 皮革上色錢寶等物。 並不入房。 何況身履而為資具。 斯又處儉之後教矣。 常服五條由來以布。 縱有繒帛成施。 終以惠人。 祇支亦爾。 餘則弊納而已。 世有激刺。 頗用以為邀名者。 時或達之。 裕曰。 吾聞君子爭名小人爭利。 復何辭乎。 或曰。 名本利緣耳。 裕曰。 吾得利便失名矣。 又曰。 此乃詐為善相。 答曰。 猶勝真心為罪也。 時人以為佳言。 其志行之儀可垂世範。 故傳者不漏其節焉。 自年三十即存著述。 初造十地疏四卷。 地持維摩波若疏各兩卷。 華嚴疏及旨歸合九卷。 涅槃疏六卷。 大集疏八卷。 四分律疏五卷。 大乘義章四卷。 勝鬘央掘壽觀仁王毘尼母往生論上下生遺教等諸經各為疏記。 成實毘曇智論各抄五卷。

Yuyu sat in quiet contemplation, his mouth occupied with recollecting the Buddha, continuing without break until the appearance of the morning star, when he suddenly passed away at Yankong Temple. His earthly years were eighty-eight; it was the twenty-second day of the first month of the first year of Daye (605). Grief shook mountain and world alike. He was buried beside Lingquan Temple on Baoshan, where a stūpa was erected in his honour. Initially, Lingyu was pure, upright, and chaste, his upright energy reaching the clouds; his capacity and understanding were resolute and clear, leaving footprints beyond the dust of the world. In the lineage transmission between master and disciple, the teaching found its true heir in him. His body was enveloped in a white radiance that illuminated the dark and obscure. With a soaring gaze he could survey both the near and the far. Yet he observed the prohibitions, kept himself guarded, and severed worldly vexations, reverently cleaving to the Way and conquering his thoughts to match the sages. When his mother fell gravely ill, he rushed to her side, but she had already passed away; learning of it on the road, he never came face to face with her. He sighed and said, "I came to see my mother; now what is there to see? It is better to return to the temple in Ye to cultivate future merit on her behalf." His severing and setting aside of affectionate ties was of such a kind. As for his model of propagating the Dharma, it served as a supreme guide for ten thousand generations. His aspirations were set on the distant and great, never being swayed into one-sided instruction. Thus he held solitary lectures and paired sessions, which he gracefully took as the standard rule. When lecturing against an abbreviated text, he never engaged in what was uncanonical throughout his life; whenever there was an established tradition of exposition, he required being invited, reverently attended, and looked up to before he would mount the Dharma seat. Once, having expounded halfway through at a certain place, he went out for a stroll and came near a leek garden; upon asking about its origins, he was told it belonged to the lecture master. Lingyu said, "The beginning of propagating the Dharma is to eliminate the root of faults. When evil karma has not yet fallen away, where can purity and penetration be found? This lecture cannot be held a second time; it should be dissolved immediately." He then took his staff, gathered his robes, and walked straight out to depart. The lecture master said, "Dharmabhāṇaka, simply continue your lecture. This karma is easily removed; it is not yet worth distressing yourself over." He then borrowed plowing implements from the villagers and in a single moment plowed under and destroyed forty mu of leeks, intending to plant a grain field. Such was this reliance between clerical and lay: in word and deed, neither overstepped—he stood alone in this. In his awakening through exposition, it was subtle at first and evident at the end; his tone and bearing were magnificent and far-reaching, his debates fluent without blockage, his words rarely repeated. Sometimes he lingered over a single word, going on for several days; sometimes within a single session, he would dispose of several rolls. When it came to a later lecture, he would revise the previous headings, adding, deleting, surfacing, and submerging, taking advantage of the occasion to reveal or conceal, which caused students to harbor doubts. Lingyu said, "This is the vast paradigm of a great being; how could it be judged by ordinary sentiments?" Thus, barely having attained ten summer retreats, he became a leader whom others revered. Occasionally, when bhadantas gathered together, they indulged in jocular moods; but when Lingyu took his seat, none failed to maintain solemn self-possession, and all clamour fell silent. Hence the lower-seated bhikṣuṇīs dared not approach him in person. Yet his nature was firm, awe-inspiring, and straightforward; his robes were coarse and worn. High nobility and lowly servants alike received identical treatment when facing him. Coming and going was up to the person; he never went out to welcome or see anyone off. Therefore, erudite scholars and enlightened persons who had accumulated doubts to resolve, or those with unique skills and arts who brought forward their proposals to submit their understandings, all bowed their heads in supreme admiration, words failing to express their feelings. One can indeed say of this man that he anchored both the refined and the vulgar. Hence the proverb in Ye went: "Master Yan subdues the clerical but not the lay; Master Yu subdues both clerical and lay." Truly, this was because his responses required no premeditation and his utterances turned into treatise. Furthermore, he established various fields of merit, temple halls, and sacred images. Later, on Baoshan, he constructed a stone niche named "Adamantine, Intrinsic-Power Abiding: Nārāyaṇa Grotto", carving on different faces the signs of the Dharma's extinction. With the mountains secluded and the forests towering, the words were earnest and the matters clearly presented; every spring, monks wandering the mountain would go there to investigate the literary principles, and not one who read them failed to sigh and renew his discipline. The inspiring nature of his remaining traces was such as this. In his lifetime practice of giving, he combined both compassion and reverence. His donations of kāṣāyas exceeded a thousand robes; where illness and suffering reached, his medical treatments were numerous. Whenever he obtained rich and flavorful foods, he invariably offered them first to the saṅgha. Being himself among the ranks, he did not store or keep the slightest bit. In the intervals between lecturing and instructing, he faced due west; whenever he spat or coughed up phlegm, he turned back to swallow it, discarding nothing in this single retribution body. In bodily deportment he did not tread improperly, and from his mouth came no frivolous words. In instructing humans and training animals, he completely renounced scolding and beating. Even when reprimanding youngsters or cautioning disciples, he referred to himself by his own name and called the other "Benevolent One"; his earnest words were so cutting that those who heard them shed tears. Naturally, disciples wished to emulate this model; having reached the age of sixty, he nourished the assemblies in two separate halls, setting apart those not yet fully ordained in a separate chamber to guide them. If words or deeds were improper, he immediately ordered them expelled from the assembly. Anything not permitted by the Vinaya was not allowed to persist as temple law. To women and bhikṣuṇīs he vowed never to administer the precepts, and the room where he resided was by rule forbidden, allowing none to set foot therein; this was his grand strategy for admonishing the worldly and future generations. Since it is difficult for an upādhyāya to possess the requisite virtue to confer full ordination upon a śrāmaṇera, he never did so for his entire life; as for other presiding and witnessing masters, they approached the assembly when the time arrived. But if it came to conferring the three groups of pure precepts, he transmitted them comprehensively to all seven assemblies. Hence, only during times of Dharma propagation were assemblies of women allowed to enter the monastery, arriving later and leaving earlier, walking straight through without lingering. Consequently, the purity and strictness of his Dharma assemblies were renowned throughout the realm. Attendants and servers never included śrāmaṇeras. The monastic regulations were clear and upright, without distinction between host and guest: inwardly meditating on protecting the Dharma, outwardly disciplining errors and faults. His personal dress was pure and austere, never wearing patterned silks. The hem of his lower robe hung four fingerbreadths above the ankle; his shirt sleeves barely reached the elbow; his saṃkakṣikā was at most long enough to reach the shins. If he saw robes cut beyond the proper measure, he would sever them in front of the assembly. Therefore, square skirts, stiff waistcoats, large felt spreads, padded mattresses, high-grade leather, coins, gems, and the like never entered his room, let alone being worn on his body as personal requisites. This was another lasting lesson of his frugality. His everyday five-strip robe had always been of plain cloth; even if finished fabrics or silks were offered to him, he ultimately gave them away to others. The same was true for his saṃkakṣikā; the rest were merely patched rags. In the world there were cynical criticisms, some taking this as seeking fame; at times this reached his ears, and Lingyu said, "I have heard that the gentleman competes for fame while the petty man competes for profit; what need is there to refuse it?" Someone said, "Fame is essentially the condition for profit." Lingyu said, "Once I obtain profit, I lose fame." Another said, "This is merely feigning a virtuous appearance." He replied, "It is still better than having a sincere heart that commits sins." People of the time considered these fine words. The deportment of his resolute conduct could serve as a model for the world; hence the biographer has not omitted these details. From the age of thirty, he dedicated himself to writing. First he composed the *Commentary on the Ten Stages* in four rolls; commentaries on the *Bodhisattvabhūmi*, *Vimalakīrti*, and *Prajñā* in two rolls each; the *Avataṃsaka Commentary* and *Zhigui* together in nine rolls; the *Nirvāṇa Commentary* in six rolls; the *Mahāsaṃnipāta Commentary* in eight rolls; the *Commentary on the Four-Part Vinaya* in five rolls; the *Essay on the Meaning of the Mahāyāna* in four rolls; and commentaries and records on various scriptures such as the *Śrīmālā*, *Aṅgulimāla*, *Amitāyur-dhyāna*, *Kāruṇikarāja*, *Vinayamātṛkā*, *Rebirth Treatise*, the *Upper and Lower Birth [of Maitreya]*, and the *Legacy Teaching [Sūtra]*. He also compiled excerpts of the *Satyasiddhi*, *Abhidharma*, and *Mahāprajñāpāramitopadeśa* in five rolls each.