續高僧傳 10.26

10.26

Shi Jingyuan, whose secular surname is unknown, was a native of Daizhou. He renounced household life at the age of thirty. Possessing wide learning and a robust memory, he had long-established standards in scrutinising the scriptures and treatises, and was early on venerated by all scholars. When he first entered the full monastic precepts, he studied exclusively under the Vinaya branch. Having passed his thirties, his lofty undertakings flourished even more. From dawn to daybreak he toiled with rigorous vigour, consolidating his study. After observing and culling [the materials] five times, he proceeded to lecture on them. At first, because he had entered the Path in his prime, many looked down on him with contempt. Yet when they tried listening to his discourses and observed his literary reasoning, it was clear, penetrating, expansive, and utterly free of impediment. Each threw their hearts [at his feet] from their seats, none failing to pay homage. Yuan gave sequential lectures on the *Cāturvargīya-vinaya*, holding ten series in succession. He also listened to the *Daśabhūmika*, *Avataṃsaka*, and various minor treatises. Later, he took the *Mahāyānasaṃgraha* as his standard, mastering its essential framework, chapters, and sentences. Proficient in scholarly debates, he pushed himself rigorously. He dissected and annotated the sacred words, formulating divisions according to understanding, and broadly circulated treatises and subcommentaries. Later, he entered the capital region to gather what he had not yet heard. Though he held [many works] in his breast, there was not a single new doctrinal technique [to him]. At that time, people had not yet fathomed his thorough illumination. He resided in Baocha Monastery, concealing his demeanor and arts. Later, on the occasion of a Dharma assembly, Yuan wished to display his brilliance. It came to the turn of establishing an argument; with his mind set on the five aggregates, he ascended the seat and stood. Because they considered him out of their class, the assembly fell silent without a word. After a long hush, Yuan looked down at the assembly and said: 'I have set up the proposition for a long time. Why are there no questions?' The assembly said: 'What proposition have you established, that you invite questions?' Yuan said: 'The nominal characteristics have been set for a long time; you simply did not realise it yourselves. You bhadantas rely on oral transmission while seated; I, however, set forth both form and mind simultaneously.' Thereupon he settled calmly in his seat, his courageous spirit surging like clouds. He remarked of himself: 'Calculations have not yet worn me out; this is merely attending to human affairs for now.' At that time, people regarded this as affected eccentricity and ostentatious purism. Yet when the volleys of objections flew back and forth, his responses poured like clouds and rain. In each case he first fixed the number of exchanges, and subsequently exhausted his arguments according to that number. Opening or blocking was left to the occasion; unorthodox and orthodox depended on his clearing or impeding. Where there were profound doubts and accumulated difficulties that had historically gone unresolved, he was able to articulate and penetrate their principles, bringing refreshing clarity. Thereupon, many among the intelligent and bright turned their steps toward him. He then moved to Baochang Monastery. Across the four seasons he continued without cease; it was upon earthen platforms in grass huts that he thus propagated the teaching. During the formal hours he lectured on the *Mahāyānasaṃgraha*, and late at night on the *Saṃyuktābhidharmahṛdaya*. At times he comprehensively explained the *Nirvāṇa Sūtra*, and at times he analysed and elucidated the *Cāturvargīya-vinaya*. Without choosing any spare leisure, he served as a model for later worthies. Whatever words he opened were contrary to old interpretations. Once his commentaries were written, he never looked over them again; when it came time to lecture and call out points, everything conformed to rule and measure. His erudition and retentive memory were rarely matched in the world. As for the *Śāriputrābhidharma*, its literary principles are doubly obscure; readers still found it difficult, let alone comprehending its meaning. Yuan took up the scrolls and opened the text, clearly fathoming it completely. He then composed a commentary in ten fascicles, its prose exceedingly rich and abundant. It happened that Emperor Wen was erecting pagodas, and an imperial decree dispatched [monks] to convey relics to Lushan Monastery in Tanzhou. When he first arrived at the administrative seat of the prefecture and crossed to the west bank of the Xiang River, approaching the site of the mountain, suddenly there were strange birds, flocking in tens of thousands, their five colours fluttering. Flying and skimming the water, they moved in ranks toward the boat, as if welcoming and guiding it. When they reached the relics, they flew ahead again, darting back and forth with great speed; none in the crowd failed to marvel. When they climbed onto the shore, the birds gazed from their perches and then flew together through the air, accompanying them to the pagoda site. Those with discerning knowledge considered this to be a transformed manifestation of the mountain spirit's retinue. Yuan reported this auspicious omen to the court, and the Emperor praised it greatly. Yet Yuan took instruction as his duty; he did not slacken in the initial protocols of the six daily periods of worship and repentance. He reverently observed the Vinaya rules, putting them into practice just as he had heard them. Seeing for himself that Dharma masters mostly neglected the Vinaya tradition—owing to a deficiency in faith and an overemphasis on theoretical study—Yuan combined both virtues, uniquely enlightened in a decadent age. He may indeed be called an illuminated person who upheld the precepts. Initially, when his fame resounded in the capital, all admired him. But when they saw that his lectures and explanations on scriptures and methods revised the ancient models and altered previous literary debates, those who clung to words were numerous and could not bear his evaluations; they remained mired in their habitual routines, and his listeners numbered fewer than ten. Moreover, because his speech was so lofty that it was not what beginner minds could aspire to, it was inaccessible to later entrants. In the early years of Daye, Dharmabhāṇaka Bianxiang was summoned to enter Huiri Monastery. Seeing a hundred disciples who all recognised the path of knowledge, he entrusted them all to Yuan. From then on, Yuan enlightened them as was his habit; the crowd was double what had been heard before. They spurred and praised one another, spreading his renown even further. People from all four quarters converged on his lecture hall day by day; all heard what they had never heard before and rejoiced at reaching the difficult doctrines. When it came to his articulating profound truths, subverting [fallacies], and holding high the essential tenets, those seated unwittingly rose from their mats and moved forward on their knees, all praising the outstanding brilliance of his doctrinal exposition. After a continuous year of this, he suddenly met with impermanence at the age of sixty-odd, in the fifth month of the fifth year of Daye. Yuan had the merit of vast insight, yet was meager in meritorious fortune. This is attested by his following disciples: no sooner did they flourish in numbers than he passed away—how could it not be so? Furthermore, the *Śāriputrābhidharma* was ultimately never expounded in public lectures, and his commentary was subsequently lost, cutting off its transmission to later generations. This, too, is a source of profound sorrow.