續高僧傳 2.11.4

2.11.4

The Qin and Liang dynasties set store by literary talent, but [translations] still mostly followed what was unadorned. It was not that there were no four or five men of eminent virtue to stitch them together with the Way, nor eight or nine great scriptures catalogued and corrected with precision. From that time on, authors handed down and expounded upon them in succession. The old standards and established models could indeed serve as regulations. Transmitted from hand to hand with uniform understanding, they were routinely copied down together. None asked right from wrong; who ever plumbed beginning from end? Saṅghāṭī was merely an item worn before the face, yet it was turned into 'flower garland' (mālā); añjali was originally the name for joining the palms, but routinely became 'meditation' (dhyāna). Cases of this kind were indeed exceedingly numerous. Bodhiruci in the city of Luoyang added little novelty to the doctrine; Paramārtha in the Chen era decorated his words with much variation. If the Indic master is allowed to decide alone, the subtle words will seldom be altered; if the scribe takes part in the formulation, superfluous phrasing is sure to mix in. In my view, it is better to value unpolished simplicity that approaches the principle than to employ artfulness that turns its back on the source. If one sees genuine simplicity, let him not take offense or find it strange. In the past, even when gazing up directly at the Honoured Countenance, their views were still not uniform; hearing the wondrous roar in person, what they heard still differed. When disputatious debates arose in confusion, the prediction of nirvāṇa had already made provision; when factions arose and clung to their views, the scriptures of Mañjuśrī were set down in advance. Although the Buddha also permitted the meaning of the two extremes, bhikṣus have not yet agreed on the import of the path between the two. In the Twin Groves [the sun of the Buddha] was early obscured, and the single flavour was first impaired; a thousand sages shared the same aim and assembled together for ninety days. Yet regarding minor and trivial rules, the original precepts were soon corrupted; the verse of the water-curlew before long distorted the former scripture. Once a single sage has died, the Dharma-gate immediately diminishes; now that a thousand years have grown distant, people's minds have turned ever more spurious. Lacking the hearing that pours like water from one vessel to another, and being destitute of preaching that rushes forth like a hanging river, if one seeks a dark resonance, how could it be obtained? Furthermore, even the ancient texts of the Ruist tradition changed and produced errors; the current speech of worldly people is still transmitted with discrepancies. How much more so when ordinary and holy are of different classes, and East and West are separated realms! Difficult among difficulties, discussion can never exhaust it. One must be diligent in examining thrice, never being hasty with a single word. When reckoned by the year, the benefit is bountiful; when calculated by the day, the effort seems insufficient. Opening the great brightness and spreading forth the standard, illuminating the long night and completing the task—nothing can surpass the undertaking of translation. The scriptures are not easy, and the principle relies on renowned worthies. I constantly reflect on evaluating them, yet in the end I feel ashamed before the clear mirror. Taking them together, there are eight qualifications: Having a sincere heart that loves the Dharma, a vow to benefit others, and not shrinking from long duration—this is the first qualification. Being about to tread the place of enlightenment, first securing the feet of the precepts and remaining unstained by criticism or wrongdoing—this is the second qualification. Thoroughly understanding the Tripiṭaka, penetrating the doctrines of both vehicles, and not suffering from dullness or obstruction—this is the third qualification. Having broad acquaintance with the ancient classics and histories, and being skilled at composing classical prose without being overly clumsy—this is the fourth qualification. Having a fair and forgiving disposition, an open and tolerant capacity, and not being fond of stubborn obstinacy—this is the fifth qualification. Immersed in the arts of the Way, indifferent to fame and gain, and not wishing to flaunt oneself proudly—this is the sixth qualification. Having essential knowledge of the Indic language so as to be versed in correct translation and not let that learning fall into decay—this is the seventh qualification. Having a slight acquaintance with the Cangjie and Erya, a rough knowledge of the seal and clerical scripts, and not being blind to this writing—this is the eighth qualification. When these eight are complete, only then is the right person found; the three types of karma are sure to grow, and their style will never be broken. If one searches thoroughly, within ten paces fragrant herbs are sure to be found; by gathering them for a single use, one will timely encounter fine timber. Though those of the past are hard to match, one hopes that those to come will be able to succeed them. As long as the bridge of the Dharma is not broken, what more is there to say? Then the likes of Sengyou and Dao’an would not uniquely flourish in the Wei dynasty, nor would the peers of Dharmarakṣa and Faxian flourish solely in the Jin! Someone asked: 'The one voice is preached from afar, and the four kinds of living beings each understand; broadly covered by the great compassion, all receive distant awakening. As for opening the source at Baima Monastery, the words followed Luoyang; beginning the preface in the Chiwu era, the speech conformed to Jianye. One should not need to forcibly alter this cadence before it tallies with the ultimate intent. One must be skilled in perusing the texts to plumb the profound tenet. Relying on the text one encounters is true steadfast faith; following the constant without alteration is what the world calls respectful transmission. Sincerity lies in the single mind and does not concern the four types of unhindered eloquence. Must one insist on preserving the Indic? How is that a comprehensive approach?' I replied: 'To discourse without scripture makes one inwardly ashamed before the broadly learned; to study without friends makes one withdraw in shame before being ill-informed. Grasping merely a tube and an awl cannot measure heaven and earth; when the principle transcends names and concepts, it is all the more difficult to chisel through. In the past, beneath the full voice, spiritual power was secretly bestowed; amid the complete syllables, those of sharp faculties remotely tallied. But now the land is far from Rājagṛha and the people are different from the Golden Mouth; even if one has natural intuition, one definitely knows it is hard to encounter. If the sound of the scriptures were fully complete, refined sentiments would naturally accord; one would directly ingest the Indic reverberations—why wait for translated words? Even the original falls short of full perfection; how could translation be purely real? In both not being fully real, they are not without distance and proximity. The original firmly retains the sound, whereas translation risks altering the sense. If one can consistently uphold it, the ten examples can be made clear; to judge doctrine relying merely on subjective sentiments is something I truly dare not do. As for filial piety from beginning to end, governing the family and governing the state: these suffice to proclaim the utmost virtue and can propagate the essential Way. How much more so Vimalakīrti's exhortation to arouse the mind, or Sujāta's taking refuge in wondrous enlightenment? Why need one shave the hair and cut the beard, bitterly violating worldly instruction, and take the robes and hold the bowl, abruptly changing worldly deportment? Sitting and receiving the title of monk—let us examine whether this is proper. Learning Indic texts from afar—how could that ever be unprincipled? Honoring the Buddha as master, yet feeling ashamed to investigate the origin of the word 'Buddha'; carrying on Śākya as one's tradition, yet feeling disgraced to seek the import of Śākya speech; blankly staring at the scripture leaves without giving rise to reverence, and seeing Indic monks everywhere and routinely generating contempt—to abandon the root and chase the branches, alas, is it not laughable? The semblance age is approaching its end, yet this Dharma continues to be preserved; relying on this to carry on the transmission, is it not truly sorrowful?' Because the text is extensive, it is not recorded in full. Master Cong valued fundamental authorities and deeply plumbed the source of the teachings; therefore, commentaries, notes, subcommentaries, and records could none of them match his. In authoring books and treatises, he did not dwell on the ancient secular texts. He wrote the Futian lun (Treatise on the Field of Merit), the Sengguan lun (Treatise on Monastic Officials), the Cibei lun (Treatise on Compassion), the Moyu lun (Treatise on Silence and Speech), the Guishen lu (Record of Ghosts and Spirits), the Tongji lun (Treatise on Penetrating the Ultimate), the Biansheng lun (Treatise on Distinguishing the Sages), the Tongxue lun (Treatise on Comprehensive Learning), and the Shanzhishi lu (Record of Good Friends), and others. All were composed with grand and broad phrasing, and their precise principles were clear and penetrating. The first one he composed, the Tongji lun, refuted worldly scholars and Ruists who did not believe in karma, clung to doctrinal traces, and loved to generate heterodoxies; what this treatise took as its doctrine was the principle of the Buddha as the ultimate. The Biansheng lun explained that the teaching of Śākya expounds the absolute, while the teaching of Confucius propagates the mundane; it discussed Laozi's teaching as being no different from mundane Ruism, whereas the Lingbao and other scriptures are not encompassed by Ruism. The Tongxue lun urged Ruist scholars to learn broadly from both Confucius and Śākya, causing them to know both internal and external and fully understand both the mundane and the absolute. The Shanzhishi lu maintained that this is a great causal condition for ascending to sainthood and transcending the ordinary, and that without relying on a good friend, no one can attain it. His disciple Xingju, who was the son of Cong's elder brother, established a record of his deeds and circulated it in the world. From youth, Ju followed Cong in study, consulting him and receiving instruction in the palm-leaf scriptures. He took part in translation at both the Eastern and Western institutes. By nature he was quite fond of literary writing, and extensively perused the classical records. Early on, he was recognized by Fang Xuanling, the Right Vice Director of the Department of State Affairs, and was treated with deep courtesy. In the early Zhenguan era, an imperial decree summoned him to enter [the capital]. Having reached the capital, he was about to engage in translation when he fell ill and died, so he did not succeed in expounding [the texts].