續高僧傳 20
English (machine translation) 20
- Language
- English
20.1
Composed by Śramaṇa Daoxuan of Ximing Monastery in the Great Tang
20.2
Practice of Meditation 5: Fourteen Principal Biographies, Five Appended Biographies
20.3
Biography 1: Śramaṇa Dao'ang of Hanlingshan Monastery in Xiangzhou of the Tang (Lingzhi)
20.4
Biography 2: Śramaṇa Daozhe of Da Zhuangyan Monastery in the Tang Capital (Daocheng, Jing'an)
20.5
Biography 3: Śramaṇa Tanrong of Fazhu Monastery in Luzhou of the Tang
20.6
Biography 4: Śramaṇa Jinglin of Hongfa Monastery in the Tang Capital
20.7
Biography 5: Śramaṇa Huibin of Hongfu Monastery in the Tang Capital
20.8
Biography 6: Śramaṇa Zhichao of Guangyan Monastery in Fenzhou of the Tang
20.9
Biography 7: Śramaṇa Tanyun of Wutaishan Monastery in Weizhou of the Tang
20.10
Biography 8: Śramaṇa Huisi of Jishan in Qizhou of the Tang
20.11
Biography 9: Śramaṇa Daochuo of Xuanzhong Monastery in Bingzhou of the Tang (Daofu)
20.12
Biography 10: Śramaṇa Mingjing of Maosheng Monastery in Mizhou of the Tang (Huirong)
20.13
Biography 11: Śramaṇa Huixi of Konghui Monastery in Yizhou of the Tang
20.14
Biography 12: Śramaṇa Shiyu of Dashi Monastery in Mianzhou of the Tang
20.15
Biography 13: Śramaṇa Zhicong of Qixia Monastery on Sheshan in Jiangzhou of the Tang
20.16
Biography 14: Śramaṇa Sengche of Xianquan Monastery on Mount Gujie in Puzhou of the Tang
20.17
Shi Dao'ang: his clan name is not recorded. He was a native of Wei Commandery. Upholding faith and marking out the essential tenets, his bearing and spirit were pure and penetrating. Singularly possessing exceptional integrity, he was noble and aloof beyond worldly affairs. His insightful understanding matured early, as if scarcely needing instruction to awaken. At first, he went to Dharmabhāṇaka Lingyu and left the household life under him. Lingyu's mental acuity was firm and concise, his haughty spirit reaching the clouds; closely assessing his aptitude, he imparted clear instructions to him. Dao'ang bathed in this pure edification, personally receiving it with love and reverence. As the seasons of heat and cold accumulated, his pure conduct stood at the head of the ranks. He often dwelt at Hanling Mountain Monastery, synthesizing the fundamental teachings and bringing together the deep principles of the profound lineage. Like the sun shining upon a high mountain, it truly applied to him. When he lectured on the Avataṃsaka Sūtra and the Daśabhūmivyākhyāna, his comprehensive scholarship was vast and deep, his talent and eloquence seemingly bestowed by Heaven. When inquiries struck like an unbroken chain, his thoughts penetrated the enduring principle. Yet he blended his reputation and fame with humility, concealing his capacity; his subtle achievements truly rivalled those of former luminaries. Devoting the remainder of his days to transforming beings, he fixed his aspirations on the Western Region and constantly vowed to be born in the Land of Peace and Sustenance. As his practice and interaction bore fruit, his Way flourished across the Zhang River, and all were enriched by its benevolence. Later, knowing that his lifespan was nearing its end, he told those with whom he had karmic affinities beforehand: 'When the beginning of the eighth month arrives, I will come to take my leave.' At the time, they could not fathom his words. When the appointed month arrived, he had no illness at all. He asked whether the mealtime had arrived. Just as the sun approached noon, he ascended the high seat. His body possessed wondrous signs, and the censer emitted an extraordinary fragrance. Guiding the fourfold assembly, he administered the Bodhisattva Precepts to them. His phrasing and reasoning were so incisive and pressing that the listeners' hearts ran cold. At that time, the sevenfold assembly surrounded him, partaking of his departing flavor. Dao'ang lifted his eyes and gazed upward, and behold, heavenly beings swarmed in profusion, their stringed and wind instruments congregating in abundance. Amidst them was a clear voice, distant and resonant, which announced to the assembly: 'The music of Tuṣita Heaven descends to welcome him.' Dao'ang said: 'The heavenly realm is the root of birth-and-death; it has never been my desire. I have always prayed from my heart for the Pure Land. How can this sincere wish not be granted?' As he finished speaking, he saw the heavenly music soar upward, vanishing into the distance in a moment. Then they saw the incense, flowers, and instrumental music of the West fill the space like rolling clouds flying and surging toward them; circling above his head, the entire assembly beheld it. Dao'ang said: 'Great assembly, fare well! Now the wondrous signs of the West have come to welcome me; by circumstance I must go as vowed.' Having spoken, they saw only that the incense censer fell from his hands, and he passed away sitting upright upon the high seat. He passed away in Baoying Monastery at the age of sixty-nine, in the eighth month of the seventh year of Zhenguan. Clergy and laity wept in deep sorrow, the onlookers gathering like mountains. As they took him in their arms to prepare for burial, they inspected him and found words such as 'Universal Radiance Hall' appearing on the soles of his feet. Had he not been one whose realization joined with spiritual chapters and whose conduct matched that of the near-sage, how could he have manifested such auspicious responses? At that time, near and far lamented and chanted, their breath condensing into shade. He was already sitting cross-legged, with the markings on his palms turned upward. Having witnessed the signs and traces, grief and rejoicing met together. They escorted him back to Hanling Mountain, carved out a cave, and placed him therein. After passing the spring, he had not decayed, appearing serene as before. Ever since Dao'ang's reputation for the Way spread throughout the eastern realm, his compassionate moisture was gentle and mild, and the light of virtue was truly his. He once kept a dog that was deaf in both ears; whenever it followed him, he would reduce his own food to feed it. After Dao'ang passed away, its whereabouts were lost. Also, on an evening when he ascended to lecture, it happened to be dark and overcast with no lamps or candles. Dao'ang raised his palm and held it high; an extraordinary light immediately shone forth, brightly illuminating the hall. The assembly beheld this auspicious omen and wondered where it came from. Dao'ang said: 'This light has always been in my hand. Why should you marvel at it?' The profundity of his spiritual cultivation and his resonance with the unseen and manifest truly cannot be measured. Thus was he a man whose Way surpassed the elevated world. At that time in Xiangzhou, there was the śramaṇa Lingzhi, also a disciple of Master Lingyu. Quick-witted and astute, he was famous in his day. He often served as Lingyu's chief lecturer; his eloquence and cantillation expressed his true heart, fully satisfying everyone's expectations. Moreover, he possessed a clear understanding of the sūtras and treatises. Whenever he ascended the seat of mystery, his phrasing and meaning were expansive, his wondrous thoughts falling like frost and snow, his sharp refutations of difficult questions commanding preeminence across the Zhang and Ye regions. For this reason, all within the four seas looked up to him and followed his repute and instruction. Later, he suddenly realized that the shore of wisdom is difficult to exhaust, that the practice of the Dharma must be relied upon, and that constructing a boat in vain ultimately requires mooring the oars. He then shut out commentaries and sub-commentaries, turning instead to cultivate the practice of concentration. Measuring time by footsteps and guarding his mind, he emptied his heart to accomplish his tasks. Begging for food in the dhūta manner, he purified his spiritual vigor. Handing down a model for beings, his glorious virtue blossomed. In the eighth year of Zhenguan, he passed away in Ye at the age of seventy-five. Later, many who studied and practiced frugality attached themselves to his footsteps.
20.18
Shi Daozhe, surnamed Tang, was a native of Linyi in Qi Commandery. At first, he went to Dharmabhāṇaka Mingji of Yingchuan to study the Daśabhūmika and the Bodhisattvabhūmi, being admired by his fellow listeners. After receiving full ordination, he directly adhered to the path of practice. He also received the Four-Part [Vinaya] from Vinayadhara Xi of Wei Commandery. Xi was also a guide of the age, held in high regard by the five groups. Daozhe received instruction and gained broad understanding over nearly six years, investigating the phrasing and essentials of minor and major offenses to the bottom of their textual structure. Yet, though he was versed in morality and wisdom, he had not yet harbored the practice of concentration. There was Chan Master Xun of Henan, whom the assembly esteemed as unfathomable, the foremost master of the present age. Pleased with Daozhe's utmost sincerity, he poured out his heart to preach for him. With a single awakening to the ultimate truth, he suddenly attained broad comprehension. The assembly of chan practitioners deferred to him, for his understanding equalled those who entered the chamber. Hearing that the Way flourished in the capital, he followed on foot. Upon first arriving, he stayed at Renjue Monastery. The śramaṇa Tanqian had a reputation for discerning people; observing full decorum toward a teacher, he received the Mahāyānasaṃgraha from him. Savoring the ultimate principle, he understood the text; he had a method for his goals and standards, not merely relying on verbal instructions. He then grew weary of and withdrew from the human world, secluding himself in Luo Valley of the Zhongnan Mountains. Mountain provisions were difficult to sustain, and offering and receiving had to be pure. Lacking an attendant, he went on an empty stomach for multiple nights, rejoicing in this flavor of concentration. There was a pure believer named Zhang Hui who had attended him for many years, asking for instruction and providing offerings. Once, having gone down the mountain briefly, he suddenly encountered heavy snow. The precipitous paths being blocked, he arrived only after seven days. Because there was no one to hand over the food, though Daozhe faced the food vessels, he held fast to right mindfulness even unto death. Hui pushed through the snow to reach the hermitage, and snapping his fingers to awaken him, Daozhe only then arose from concentration. Such was indeed his prudence in sustaining himself. Because Daozhe had long possessed a reputation for the Way, the Great Da Zhuangyan Monastery in the capital invited him to reside in its splendid halls. At first, he complied with the wishes of the assembly, but later retired to a small room. Eating once a day from alms-begging, he did not accept monastic wealth, and the assembly respected him all the more. The people of Zhouzhi County, because he had previously lived in seclusion in Luo Valley, had many who placed faith in him; they joined together to welcome and invite him, and so he went there. He constructed a chan sanctuary, established disciples, and urged them to their tasks. Mountain folk and companions of the Way gathered in crowds to follow him. He instructed them in the true Dharma and trained them in the rules of discipline. Relying on this rustic recluse, his fame reached the metropolitan region. Suddenly one day he said to his disciples: 'Impermanence has arrived! The great assembly will be hard to see again. When closing the eyes comes, what words can express the lasting sorrow?' He then returned east to Da Zhuangyan Monastery. Having inquired after eminent virtues, he passed away peacefully in his former room at the age of seventy-two, in the first month of the ninth year of Zhenguan. He was buried in the western suburbs of the capital. His old acquaintances in the old district of Changcheng admired his renown and exemplary conduct; they excavated the tomb, received his coffin, and brought it back to Zhouzhi. They performed circumambulations and offered a vegetarian feast to accompany the cremation. Gathering his remaining ashes, they erected a stūpa for him two li west of the city wall, beside the Duanzheng tree in Long'an Township. Rows of poplars and cypresses were planted, and passersby would bow in veneration. Daozhe was exceptionally endowed with natural genius, not merely learning by imitating the past. He composed the Ten-Fascicle Contemplation Gate of the Hundred Conscious States, the Six-Fascicle Treatise on the Wisdom-Illumination of One's Own Nature, and the Mahāyāna Treatise on Hearing and Contemplation, which circulate in the world. His disciples Jing'an and Daocheng both inherited and practiced his lineage, managing affairs in proper order. An concealed his traces among the forests and springs, keeping his mind in concentration to preserve the work. Cheng's conduct moved the mysterious realm; he was modest and cultivated himself, embracing the Vinaya section and frequently holding lectures on the Way. At first he resided at Great Da Zhuangyan Monastery; because of his lofty inherited work, he has now been summoned to enter Yaotai to guide and transform beings there. The remaining waves secretly spread, achieving magnificent success in the capital.
20.19
Shi Tanrong, whose secular surname was Zhang, was a native of Jiumen in Dingzhou. His lineage originated in Southern Deng and branched out, settling in Gaoyang because of a fiefdom. At the age of nineteen, he was a student who applied himself earnestly to abstruse principles, yet could find nowhere to place his mind. When Dharma Master Lingyu was lecturing on the Avataṃsaka Sūtra, he tentatively went to listen, whereupon he awakened to its grand paradigms and grasped its essential meaning. He then threw himself upon Yu's guidance. Yu was stern in spirit and pure in demeanor; observing Rong's diligence and self-restraint, he immediately ordained him. After receiving full ordination, he specialized in the Vinaya school for more than six years, reverently putting into practice the disciplinary rules and clarifying their permissions and prohibitions. He then further frequented lecture halls and thoroughly heard the various sections. Because he especially practiced the Great Vehicle, he took the Bodhisattvabhūmi (Dichi) as the foundation of his studies. When the Zhou dynasty proscribed the two teachings, he concealed his appearance in the secular realm; though externally he mingled with its dust, internally he partook of the flavor of the Way. When the Sui dynasty once again promoted Buddhism, he did not seek official fame, but transformed others according to conditions without ever clinging. At the age of forty, dedicated to the Way, he traveled westward. Reaching the various mountains of Lucheng and Licheng in Shangdang, he built a hut leaning against the cliffs and went into eternal seclusion. Since his eminent virtue was abundant, both monastic and lay turned to him in reverence. He then expanded his brushwood barrier and extensively erected meditation halls. From all four directions, hearing of his reputation, people flocked together at once. Rong's appearance and understanding were profound; alleging illness, he devised methods of instruction, and all who partook [of his teaching] were delighted by the supreme benevolence. Ritual offerings grew daily, and people came to entrust themselves in droves. During the chaos at the end of the Sui, many among the populace were conscripted; stepping ahead into war and starvation, they hoped to keep their monastic vows intact. Rong wished to cleanse away former defilements, which required clear guidelines. Since this matter lay in safeguarding and upholding, he personally acted as the Dharma master. Every spring and summer he established vaipulya and pratyutpanna [retreats], and each autumn and winter he promoted seated meditation and recitation. Monks and nuns had separate compounds, so there were four locations in all. As a result, the five assemblies gathered like smoke, and hundreds of offerings arrived in dense shoals. Auspicious joy increased day by day, bursting into exuberant clamor. Throughout the states of Jin, Wei, Han, Zhao, Zhou, Zheng, and others, that the sons of the Śākya renewed their precepts was truly due to Rong's merit. He once went to Yansheng Temple in Xiang County of Hanzhou to establish a repentance ritual. The regional inspector, Feng Tongren, had long revered the Buddhist fold, and his family had passed down offerings [of relics]; he sent three relics to present to the circumambulating assembly. Rong, approaching eighty years of age, personally led three thousand clerics and laypeople to walk out into the countryside to welcome them, a route stretching over twenty li. The grandeur of the retinue was renowned in that era. Upon arriving at the temple, he addressed the assembly, saying: 'The power of relics is extraordinarily transformative and boundless. If accumulated karma can be dissolved, our prayers may be fulfilled.' He then had a water bowl placed separately before each person, accompanied by an incense burner, and they ardently sought [relics] through the night. By morning, a total of more than four hundred relics had been obtained in the bowls. His renown reached the local district. The county magistrate, fearing that this gathering of crowds violated regulations, was terrified and halted the matter. That night, a strange beast howled at his administrative halls, leaving officials and commoners unsettled all night. The next morning, he made confession, and only then complied with Rong's practice. Such was the way his virtue influenced both the holy and the mundane in all instances like this. In the summer of the ninth year of the Wude era (626 CE), when he established the Dharma and practiced circumambulation in Jiaozhang Village of Lucheng, the hall where he stayed suddenly collapsed on its own. The niche, the image, and the relics miraculously emerged intact, scattered across the courtyard without any damage whatsoever. Furthermore, in the seventh year of the Zhenguan era (633 CE), the pure faithful Chang Ningbao and others invited Rong to the Fazhu Temple in the prefectural capital to conduct the vaipulya repentance ritual. On the fourteenth day of the seventh month, a monk of this temple named Sengding, whose precept practice was pure and steadfast, saw a great light in the sanctuary, alternating in five colors, descending from above. Within it were seven Buddhas, their marks and signs extraordinary. They spoke to Sengding, saying: 'I am Vipaśyin Tathāgata, Arhat, Samyaksambuddha. Because your sins have been dissolved, I have come to bear witness; yet since I am not your root teacher, I do not confer prophecy upon you.' The [first] six Buddhas all spoke these same words. The final Buddha said: 'I am your root teacher, Śākyamuni. Because your sins have been dissolved, I come to confer prophecy upon you. Tanrong is your good condition for extinguishing sins; in the Bhadrakalpa his name will be the Buddha Funing. Your physical vessel is pure; in the future you will become a Buddha named Puming.' That such spiritual wonders and auspicious responses were manifested is truly difficult to fathom! Later, when lying sick in bed, tears flowed from his eyes. His disciple Yuanzong said: 'From the time Upādhyāya was born, mindfulness and wisdom have never been lacking; what could cause this weeping?' He replied: 'My death is pressing near. I regret only that I can no longer wash away the karmic sins for the seven assemblies.' Zong said: 'Why must it come to this?' He replied: 'Even if I do not die, I am already useless. Since the revival of the Buddha's Dharma, I do not recall a single occasion when I did not listen to the recitation of the precepts. Now, bedridden with severe illness, merely expressing my intention [to attend] means I must certainly die.' In the twelfth month of the thirteenth year of the Zhenguan era (640 CE), he died at Fazhu Temple at the age of eighty-five. He was soon laid to rest in the open country. Later, his disciples retrieved his remaining bones, buried them south of the temple, and erected a pagoda to mark the site. Rong endured manifold hardships yet exalted the Buddhist tradition. His physique was magnificent, exceeding eight feet in height; his speech was warm and plentiful, his style forceful and far-reaching. Upon reaching the age of forty, he ceased eating grain to cultivate his body, always consuming minerals to maintain inner balance, thereby reducing troubles. Yet in following the teachings to designate pure spaces, rarely was someone like him ever seen. Daily he went to the monastic kitchen to inspect the overseer of food; if there was any contamination, he personally observed the overturning of the defiled food, and only after making the utensils clean would he return to his room. In witnessing eminent virtues, one has seldom heard of such a practice. Moreover, throughout the various rooms of the monastery, he frequently designated pure spaces to serve as places for warming and boiling the four medicines; thus those who had entered his lineage and dispersed to the various directions all inherited this pure standard and were freed from lingering contamination. Furthermore, his annual repentance ritual always included both categories: offenses of the two chapters and below were purified in accordance with the Vinaya, first making them keep their robes, recite their purity, and take vows for the rest of their lives, and only then performing the karma-procedure to resolve them according to discipline and restore the person; the primary offenses of the initial group were appropriately treated in accordance with the Great Vehicle, still causing the mental function regarding principle and phenomena to be unattached to existence or emptiness, while the bodily and verbal deportment conformed to the scrutiny of the Vinaya. Therefore, those who followed his instructions and upheld the Dharma without defect maintained it to the very end of their lives. When I traveled to Lucheng in search of those proficient in the Way, I had the honor of paying respects to his pure presence and thoroughly learned of his brilliant plans; therefore, I dare not let his fragrant legacy fall into oblivion.
20.20
Śramaṇa Jinglin, whose lay surname was Zhang, was originally from Nanyang and later resided in Huayuan of Jingzhao. In his youth he turned his back on the mundane world and purely attached himself to the monastic community. On the day of his birth, a foreign monk said, “This child will be noble. If he enters the monastic life, he will greatly propagate the Buddha-Dharma.” At the age of seven, he turned to the monks and underwent pravrajyā. He was set to work in the fields, which did not accord with the guidance of the Path; failing to fulfill his original aspiration, he deeply reflected that this was contrary to the Dharma. Looking back at himself, he said, “If I have not abandoned this, how am I different from the worldly?” He then followed another master and devotedly received the correct transformation. When the Zhou dynasty suppressed the Dharma, he temporarily accommodated to mundane conditions. In his twentieth year, his lofty aspirations never waned. Meeting with the rise of the Sui dynasty, he immediately went to Dharmabhāṇaka Tanmeng. Tanmeng accommodated him with the two provisions (material support and Dharma) for five years; Jinglin still served as a novice and did not yet dare receive full ordination. Rejoicing that the Dharma was reopened, he wished to broaden his learning, so he took leave of his original master and traveled south to Fan and Deng, whereupon he received the full precepts in that region. Having newly received the Dharma, he was not yet versed in the pure regulations, so he traveled far to Qing and Qi to listen to the Vinaya prohibitions. Setting out later, he arrived earlier, leading all the listeners. He also heard and received the Daśabhūmika under Dharmabhāṇaka Jue. Turning his steps to the capital of Ye, he listened to and studied the Avataṃsaka, Laṅkāvatāra, and Viśeṣacintā under Dharmabhāṇaka Ju. In all of them he penetrated the subtle principles, his wondrous thought outstanding. Passing along old interpretations and establishing new ones, he frequently proved his caliber. He was immediately urged by the contemporaries to propagate and teach; when he lectured and expounded the obscure principles, everyone was astonished by what they had never heard before. Yet what he retained in his own mind he still considered insufficient. Traveling around to listen widely throughout Dongchuan, accumulating understanding while seeking teachers, he arrived at Pu and Jin. There were the śramaṇas Daoxun and Daoshun, eminent monks of great renown. He was detained to lecture on the Daśabhūmika Sūtra through cold and heat. Although the disciples who listened were delighted, his own intention became ever more obstructed and agitated. Descending from his seat to his room, he pressed his chest and examined himself, saying, “The Dharma is originally meant to cure disease, but now pride in the Dharma only increases. Moreover, the Path values vacant penetration, yet now clinging is ever firmer. This will not do.” He immediately abandoned lecturing and devoted himself exclusively to dhyāna. At first he studied the contemplation of impurity and the foundations of mindfulness, but he disliked their pettiness and trouble in checking human thought, and so he studied the Mahāyāna contemplations of non-attainment. Consciousness-only beyond conceptualization was what he most propagated as his principle. For every single insight he practiced, he cultivated and refined it for ten years, mastering his former knowledge while constantly renewing his later practice. Wearing shabby clothes and eating coarse food, sensual desires were eradicated. Later he entered Mount Bailu. Because provisions were rarely supplied in the mountains, he experimented with the method of abstaining from grain, dwelling alone on an extreme crag for several years. When his concentration in the mountains was troubled by torpor and sleep, he approached an abrupt precipice overlooking a chasm of thousands of paces. At its edge grew a single tree that could just hold a person; laying grass upon it, he sat cross-legged upon it. Binding his mindfulness there, he spent days and nights without stirring. Since the fear of death was intense, he concentrated deeply on the vast contemplation. Later he heard that Mount Tai had exceptional spiritual anomalies, so he went thither to seek them out. Arriving at that mountain, he saw at night torches surrounding and brightly illuminating the peaks and crags. Pursuing them, it took several days before he arrived. There he saw five or six nuns sitting erect discussing the Path. When Jinglin first exchanged greetings and discussed with them the principles of Vijñaptimātratā, before they had finished speaking they suddenly vanished. Melancholy for a long time, he realized that the nature of phenomena is truly like this. Later he entered the Guanzhong region and encountered Dhyāna Master Tanqian expounding the Mahāyānasaṃgraha. Hearing it once, it was like old knowledge, his wisdom seeing nothing new. In the fourth year of Renshou, an imperial decree ordered relics to be sent to Shende Monastery on Mount Shimen in Huayuan. Jinglin then resided there, dwelling in quietude and pursuing his practice. The fame of his practice and understanding spread throughout the capital. In the third year of Daye, śramaṇa Huanyuan and others invited him to the imperial capital, where he lectured on the Mahāyānasaṃgraha in Minglun, Miaoxiang, and other monasteries; those of discernment took refuge in him. Soon after, an imperial decree summoned him to enter the imperial chapel. Arriving in the Eastern Capital, his dhyāna quarters were even more crowded. Prince Jian of Qi had a deep love for principle and dhyāna; he often came to inquire intimately and invited him to his mansion to receive the refuges and precepts. Honglu [Qing] Su Kui, whose learning surpassed the ancients and who was revered by the entire court of officials, received the master's teachings as a boat and a bridge. Daoxiong and Daoti of Gaoyang, Daoxian and Mingze of Zhaojun, all majestic phoenixes of the Buddhist gate and bright jewels in the sea of wisdom, received the taste of principle and drew from its flowers and fruit. Hongzhe of Xiangyang, whose virtue was esteemed throughout Chu and whose energetic spirit was astonishing, heard that Jinglin's reputation was solemn among contemporary talents, and came expressly to confront him. He then questioned him: “Many embrace the Path; on what practice do you concentrate your mind?” Seeing that his words were rigid and contentious, Jinglin casually tested him by referring to concrete things, saying: “The mountains and valleys are high and deep; where does your mind fix them?” Zhe replied: “Mountains are high and valleys are deep; it has always been naturally so.” Jinglin said: “If it is as you say, were one to take earth from elsewhere to fill the valley level with the mountain, would it still be fixed as high?” Zhe was awakened by this single phrase, and spoke words of praise and submission. From this, outstanding figures attached themselves to his ford, and those consulting him on doubts came in crowds, so that his fair reputation spread abroad and his assemblies became ever more flourishing. Considering that since the simulated teaching moved east, the disciplinary net was strict, yet correct standards of monastic deportment were not yet widely clarified, Jinglin wished to travel everywhere in Jambudvīpa to visit all the sacred traces. Within the thirteenth year, he submitted a full memorial to the Emperor. He was favored with an imperial decree ordering envoys to tour the regions, and was provided with couriers to transmit official state credentials. He traveled as far as Xiangyang, heading toward the southern seas. Just then, bandits and rebels invaded, and the Central Plains revolted; the roads were blocked, and he returned to Nanyang. In the second year of Yining, he was summoned to enter the capital and resided at Dazongchi Monastery, propagating the Dharma as usual. As time passed, students gathered like a forest. In the third year of Wude, Li Anyuan, Duke of Zhengping, memorialized to build Hongfa Monastery. Having long revered and believed in him, he specifically had Jinglin summoned. Jinglin intended to abandon external conditions, gather his thoughts, and foster the Path. Meeting with the reopening and expansion under the Tang dynasty after the blockage of the late Sui, monastics and laypeople took refuge, rejoicing in its glorious prosperity. He then cut away the complex and adopted the simple, lecturing solely on the Mūlamadhyamakakārikā as his central tenet, while also expounding the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa and the Awakening of Faith according to people's capacities. At night, he urged them with mindfulness and wisdom, scrutinizing everything, and causing understanding to arise from their own minds without depending on transmission from others. Vinaya Master Xuanwan, whose virtue reigned over the Yellow River region, personally received his excellent guidelines; among the rest of the Dharma companions, extraordinary peers were offered up year after year. The Prince of Rencheng, the Grand Dowager Consort, the Grand Dowager Consort of Chu, Princess Anping, and others of the imperial lineage requested precepts at their mansions, bestowing lavish courtesies repeatedly. Xiao Jing, Libationer of the Directorate of Education; Zhang Liang, Minister of Works; Du Zhenglun, Supervisor of the Household; Li Daoyu, Minister of Agriculture; and others all vowed to become his disciples, providing all Dharma requisites and always seeing to his provisions. Long concerned that his disciples' doctrinal studies were deficient in the Vinaya school, he personally invited Vinaya Master Zhishou to expound the Dharmaguptaka Vinaya. At one stroke it was expounded ten times, with Jinglin leading the assembly in person; thus the maintenance of the teachings was praised as the foremost in the capital, so that even novices and pure men (śraddhāvats) understood the characteristics of the Vinaya, truly through his achievement. Suddenly in the early autumn of the fourteenth year of Zhenguan, he fell ill. At dawn on the twenty-sixth day of the tenth month, his illness worsened. Śramaṇa Fachang, who was renowned throughout the imperial capital and had long associated with him, came expressly to bid farewell. Jinglin said: “I do not long for this life, nor am I greedy for future retribution. When conditions gather, there is existence; when conditions disperse, there is non-existence.” His spirit remained serene and clear, never perturbed. Once, when he was sick and someone asked after his illness, he replied: “Because of my own illness, I feel pity for the illnesses of others; hence my tears flow, thinking of the various realms of suffering.” He then gathered all the monks and his disciples, telling them: “The road of birth and death is long; the days of those with mind are brief. Each should respect himself and not burden your spirit.” He then lay on his right side and shortly passed away in his monastery, at the age of seventy-six. The rest of his body was completely cold, only his crown extremely hot; it was not until the day of cremation that his spirit finally dispersed. His physical complexion was fresh and soft, remarkably unlike ordinary people. He was brought to Zhixiang Monastery on Mount Zhongnan to be cremated. Only his tongue remained intact; when burnt again, it became even brighter and purer. This was truly the power of his correct speech. His disciples, numbering over forty, knelt before his compassionate countenance with no further way to express their reverence. Within one hundred days, they notified those with karmic affinity to jointly turn the Mahāyāna scriptures, totaling over forty thousand scrolls, and built a wooden pagoda for one thousand relics, fifty feet high, its carvings and decorations brilliantly shining into mid-sky, widely distributed with donations to repay his spiritual grace. At first, when Jinglin was in the world, he was famous for transforming others through truthful conduct. Whenever he related the ultimate, profound principle, none failed to weep, praise, and revere him. His words never touched upon frivolous matters, and his actions were never in vain. There was Li Haode, a Court Gentleman for Communications, who had once received instruction from Jinglin in Luoyi. Later, while serving as an official in Tianmen, he was exhausted by worldly affairs and fled to the mountains, having a disciple ordain him. According to the imperial decrees, this crime warranted capital punishment. Later, someone jealous of Haode framed him for a capital crime. When Jinglin was summoned to prison for interrogation, he never denied or concealed anything. The prison warden, deeply knowing the circumstances, had no grounds to rescue him, but the matter was treated as an oversight and Jinglin was released. Those of understanding considered that his truthfulness was a ladder to heaven, and his knowing of measure even unto death could not be surpassed. From the time he first sought the Dharma, he feared neither smoothness nor hardship. When his clothes tore, he patched them with paper; when his bed was too warm, he moderated it by sitting on a bamboo mat. He also measured his strength, whether robust or frail; fame and profit never touched him. In speech and silence he was calm and still, training and restraining his deportment, with an extraordinary reputation. Phlegm and spittle never showed from his mouth or nose; he never spoke of food as good or bad. In the extreme of respect and prudence, what could surpass him? Moreover, his spiritual attainments were difficult to fathom; fleas and lice never stayed on his body, and even if any landed on him, they immediately ran away. Such debts having been canceled, his retributions were exceptionally rare. Once, living in a mountain valley where waiting for grain was troublesome, he concocted a dose of ‘Center-Preserving Pills’ of about a dou, which could sustain him for a year. Jinglin took them to prolong his sustenance for three years. At the time of excretion, he collected and washed them to take again; thus his dhyāna concentration was firm and bright, undistracted and unshakeable. When famine occurred, villagers came to rely on him; whatever he received he immediately distributed, comforting the poor and suffering. Once, at a lecture gathering, three laymen plotted to kill an enemy. Two went to commit the murder; one repented midway and took the precepts from Jinglin. After many years, all died. The one who took the precepts suddenly died while his heart remained warm; later, upon reviving, he saw the former enemy and co-conspirators bringing accusations of the murder. The precept-holder protested his innocence and refused to submit, citing Jinglin as a witness. The King [Yama] then summoned a witness, and a voice testified that Jinglin was born in the world of Golden Millet in another realm. The King, convinced by the testimony, released the man. Throughout his life, wherever Jinglin went in monasteries, he was humble and self-restrained. Even when his reputation grew lofty, his fortune heavy, and donations increased daily, he entrusted everything to his attendants without ever asking again. Later, when funds were needed for meritorious deeds and people regretted having no wealth, they brought them out to show him; Jinglin said, “I have no recollection of possessing such things at all.” His sole concern was based on the Path, without worldly entanglement; this is worthy of being recorded for the later ages as a model and mirror. From the time he resided at Hongfa Monastery and spread his teaching in the four directions, disciples and visiting monks arrived like a bustling market. He consoled and pacified them, taking care of them according to need; yet his management of public and private affairs followed proper regulations. Thus, though externally strictly guarded, internally things flowed smoothly. Those of the mountains and forests looked to him as a refuge, and established standards served as models. After his death, these regulations were even more respected. Therefore, among the fifty-odd monasteries in the capital, none was higher than Hongfa in welcoming guests with courtesy and maintaining harmonious monastic deportment. Furthermore, the monastery was located at an ancient foundation with only one Buddha hall, where the community originally stayed in cramped and poor conditions. Jinglin encouraged the Dharma companions to construct it together; now the halls and chambers surround it, and storehouses are abundant, where guests and hosts mingle freely, coming and leaving at will. Dharmabhāṇaka [Ling]yu said: “By the Path one reaches things, things are moved by the Path; benefits come from the Path, and return to support the community of the Path. Therefore, the monastic community truly relies on guests, which has profound, invisible merit.” These words of Yu were truly close to Jinglin.
20.21
Śramaṇa Huibin was surnamed He and was a native of Yanzhou. He read extensively across the classics and arts, gaining a penetrating comprehension of literature and principles. He was especially versed in the etymological origins of characters and extraordinarily enlightened regarding textual decoration. At age nineteen, revered by his home district, he served as a provincial assistant instructor (zhujiao). Yet inwardly, weary of worldly entanglements and vexations, he harboured a longing to leave the world. Only at age twenty-three did he enter the monastic life and take the tonsure. Immediately thereafter he listened successively to scriptures and vinaya treatises over the course of two years. Witnessing how the lecture halls were turbulent and clamorous, concerned solely with reputation and worldly influence, he withdrew into Mount Tiantai to cultivate various forms of quiet meditation (śamatha). During this single retreat of eight years, he fully carried out the methods of contemplation (vipaśyanā). He then traveled to various monasteries on Mount Tai and Mount Lingyan, taking circumambulation (caṅkramaṇa) as his foremost practice. Only at age thirty-four was his name officially entered into the civil register of monks, and he resided at Cundao Temple on Mount Zeng, Liangfu, in Qinzhou. He further explored the Vinaya Piṭaka and broadly attended lectures on sūtras and śāstras. Because he was fond by nature of monastic groves of meditation, his reputation became celebrated far and wide. When Empress Xian died and dhyāna meditation came to be widely promoted, an imperial decree summoned him, whereupon he returned to the imperial capital. At that time, eminent virtues of great fame converged from all eight directions in one season, each demonstrating their peerless brilliance, showing their pre-eminence like fish displaying scales or birds displaying wings. Although Huibin was the junior-most in monastic seniority, his renown was all the more elevated. Beyond his robes and alms bowl, he kept not a single chest or bundle. His appearance and temperament were pure and plain, rising strikingly above the common run. Clerics and laity gazed upon him, and none failed to direct their devotion; he was indeed an exemplary, pure and austere monk in the final age of the semblance of the Dharma. Moreover, his ascetic practice was unadulterated, and in speech he never engaged in critical evaluations of others. Whenever he heard others engaged in criticism, he would immediately fall silent. He guarded the monastic deportment and precepts, holding compassion and salvation as his foremost concerns. Every summer when walking, he would hold a broom and sweep before his steps, fearing that he might harm insects or ants. Whenever he received offerings of gain, he secretly practiced charitable donations—either fashioning water strainers or distributing them to clerics and laity, bestowing aid only where there was urgent need, and repeatedly enjoining them never to reveal it to the world. When the Emperor built a monastery and inquired beforehand concerning officers of the monastic assembly (karmadāna / samgha-sthiti), the entire capital was unanimous in praise, holding that none was more eminent than Huibin. An imperial edict was thus issued summoning him to serve as abbot of Hongfu Temple. He brought harmony to superiors and subordinates, and none dared to deviate from correct monastic principles. On the sixth day of the tenth month in the nineteenth year of Zhenguan, he fell ill and passed away at the temple at the age of seventy-two. From the time Huibin entered the Way, throughout his life his constant practice was mostly focused on the practice of circumambulation and incantations. He would either recite the names of Śākyamuni and Avalokiteśvara, or perform the Mañjuśrī repentance ritual. In the course of a year, he observed the six periods of religious practice for eighty-one days, accumulating across his life a total of eighty sessions in the ritual hall. With joyful body and mind, the Dharma benefits he attained remain beyond measure. As for his instruction to his disciples, he spoke only of the necessity of cutting off defilements. Whenever someone confessed a transgression or exposed a fault, he never failed to shed tears on their behalf. Joy and anger did not show on his face, and his recitation and retention of texts never failed him. Therefore, as an expert in the ritual acts of the saṅgha (karmavācanā), the entire community of monks looked up to him. Monastics and laypeople taking refuge and receiving the precepts under him were exceedingly numerous. Thus, from the Prince of Wei downward, both imperial relations and high ministers from Liang and Song all received the pure precepts from him. Early on, Huibin's father, He Lang, had seven sons; their household had been dedicated to Confucian learning for generations, and Huibin was the second son. In the Renshou era, when Huibin was summoned to the court, there was no opportunity for father and son to see each other. As Lang reached nearly a century of age, the bell chimed and the water-clock drained away; ties of present and past were severed, and their paths parted in life and death. He thus established a charitable well at the intersection of nine thoroughfares on the north bank of the Wen River, and further erected a grand stele to extol his father's virtue. Its inscription stated in summary: 'Lamentable parents, / bearing and nurturing me. / Once I was born a son, / they guided my steps and embraced me. / In a morning I abandoned them; / mountains and rivers fill my gaze. / Clouds veil the heavy passes; / winds startle the great valleys. / The way of love and reverence: / familial bonds reside herein. / Deep sorrow in waning years, / with no hope to see my son. / Digging a well to supply all, / I lodge my feelings in these verses. / How many days in a hundred years? / Facing this, endless sorrow. / South of the Jade Tablets, / north of Mount Yiyang; / the plain where the qilin was captured, / a land upholding the rites. / You possessed a splendid administration; / the customs favored scholars and writers. / The jade well is flung wide open; / this lofty stele is carved.'
20.22
Śramaṇa Zhichao was surnamed Tian and was a native of Pingyi in Tongzhou. His distant ancestors lived as migrants and eventually settled in Yuci in the Bingbu region. From childhood his wisdom and capacity surpassed ordinary people, he was unstinting in rigor, transcended the multitude, and possessed an elegant bearing of far-reaching distinction. Disgusted with the world, he sought the Way, his comprehension penetrating the deepest recesses of the mind. His parents relied entirely on Zhichao, having no other sons; although he expressed his intention to leave home, they constantly suppressed it in the hope of continuing the ancestral lineage. He thus studied under Confucian scholars, reading widely through diverse writings and catalogs. As he approached the age of marriage, his family arranged a betrothal for him in secret. Hearing of this, Zhichao sought to evade such defiling worldly dust and fled into the forests and wilds. His kinsmen searched everywhere for him, while he hid without leaving a trace. Once captured, he was compelled to enter the marriage. At first they joined together to observe the nuptial ceremonies, and in the end they were shut in the bedchamber, in the hope that the wedding would be consummated. There was only a single bed; Zhichao pulled out the felt matting onto the floor, instructed his wife to sit on the bed above, while he remained on the mat below, serenely crossing his legs and diligently expounding the Dharma for her. His explanations were profoundly lucid and evidenced. His wife shed tears, made prostrations, and apologized, offering to take the blame upon herself. This continued night after night, his resolve like a golden image; though repeatedly tempted, his sincerity surpassed flawless jade. Seeing that his determination was firm and immovable, his parents finally gave up and let him go. At the age of twenty-seven, he went to Dhyāna Master Huizan of Kaihua Temple in Bingzhou. Huizan's aspiration and virtue were serene and luminous, his conduct serving as a model for the multitude. Before granting ordination, he would subject aspirants to various trials. Zhichao purified his body and mind, diligently applying himself to various monastic tasks. The monks numbered over a hundred, and offerings for their daily necessities were diverse. He constantly provided their two meals and never neglected the six intervals of prayer; whenever there was arduous labor, he invariably took the lead. Huizan personally inspected his resolve and, observing his restraint and adherence to the monastic rules, permitted him to receive full ordination. Having received the precepts, he devoted himself to cultivating proper deportment. He immediately went to Dingzhou to search through the Vinaya Piṭaka, extracting its essentials and pruning away redundancies. In fewer than five summer retreats, he had fully mastered the threefold teachings. He then returned to his native place, relying on crags and cliffs to synthesize his practice. Initially, he entered Mount Bigan west of Taiyuan, gathering eminent individuals and establishing a meditation hermitage. Morning and evening he diligently cultivated, awakening both concentration and wisdom. His four postures relied upon the discipline of the precepts; his two practices were based on the guidance of the Dharma. Students of contemplation gathered in crowds, maintaining solemnity without the need for strict authority, so that those who heard of his repute came from afar. In the early years of the Daye era, imperial laws were severe: monastery gates were shut fast, and monks were forbidden to go out. Hearing of this, Zhichao sighed and went forth to remonstrate. Donning his robes and raising his staff, he walked to the commandery seat, hoping that someone would arrest him and hand him over so that he might present his remonstrance. But neither officials nor commoners paid him heed. He then reached Jiangdu and presented the matter to the imperial court. The Palace Secretariat, judging the matter not to be of critical import, refused to usher him in and sent him back to the Bingbu region. Toward the end of the Sui dynasty, amidst many disasters, bandits and rebels rampaged widely; people were cast into ditches, and more than half died. Zhichao gathered disciples and encouraged them to store up surplus grain so that supplies were never exhausted. Fearing that robbers would invade and cause the community to disperse, he urged them with the warnings of the Dharma not to change their purpose: 'When the karmic mirror approaches, to what realm could one flee?' Moved by his words, the assembly felt their resolve clarified; following the regulations of meditation and rituals, they practiced without interruption. Once while they sat in dhyāna at night, a gang of bandits suddenly broke down the door and rushed straight in, raising torches in confusion and brandishing naked blades. The whole assembly sat upright, unmoving as sculpted statues. Thereupon the bandits threw down their weapons onto the ground, prostrated themselves, and took refuge in him. Zhichao then guided them according to the circumstances, skillfully conferring the Dharma upon them based on their capacity; all of them gave rise to revered devotion, joined their palms, and withdrew. His firm, skillful means in restraining and transforming people were all of this nature. When Emperor Gaozu raised the righteous banner in Taiyuan, people from all four quarters flocked to him. Zhichao considered that the Way lay in benefiting living beings, and that upholding righteousness was a vehicle for merit. He immediately led his disciples to Jinyang to reside at Ningding Temple. The meditation practitioners numbered several hundred, and their purity and discipline established a model, so that clerics and laity revered them, and both high and low respected them. When the imperial banners pointed south and the metropolitan region was cleared of dust, in the second year of Yining, Zhichao led over twenty disciples to the capital to offer congratulations. Emperor Wuhuang had long heard of his fine reputation and treated him as an immortal, escorting him up to the Hall of Great Ultimate and treating him with extraordinary courtesy. Left Assistant Minister of the Department of State Affairs, the Duke of the State of Wei, Pei Ji, possessed transcendent character and broad capacity; within his private mansion, he constructed a separate compound as a monastic dwelling, inviting the entire community to take up residence there. Several winters and summers passed, and their spiritual practice grew ever more rigorous. However, because visits by nobles were clamorous and worldly intrusions offered no recourse, Zhichao felt compelled to dwell among forested hills to set a pattern of distant longing. At that time, the śramaṇas of Huagan Temple on Mount Lantian, including Lingrun, Zhixin, and Zhiguang, who probed the deep subtleties of doctrinal meanings and honored the inner mental study, sought him out as birds of a feather flock together, feeling an affinity as if they were old acquaintances, and invited him to dwell on that mountain. His aspirations of seclusion were thus fulfilled; students responding to causes gathered in clouds, and whether in speech or silence, the noble and wise deeply respected one another. Yet the monastery was not completely secluded, being connected to public post roads, so that those seeking reclusion found it hard to sustain their practice. Yielding to worldly affairs outside the pass and with the intent to deliver beings, he returned to the Jin River region to seek an illustrious place. In the fifth year of Wude, he entered Mount Jie and established a retreat for meditation companions. The cliff was named Baofu (Embracing the Belly), bounded on four sides by gullies; looking down, it plunged a hundred fathoms, while looking up, it met sheer cliffs of a thousand fathoms. Springs and rocks made music around this dwelling of immortals; winds and rains swept pure across the canopy of the forest, causing visitors upon arrival to cleanse their worldly minds. He untiringly instructed others, never tiring of those seeking spiritual instruction. Furthermore, in Jiexiu County of Fenzhou, he established Guangyan Temple, personally overseeing the construction of halls, shrines, and corridors, making it so magnificent and majestic as to resemble a divine palace. Thus, those whose practice was deep dwelled in the crags, while those whose realization was shallow resided in the city. Master and disciples were solemn and harmonious, scrupulously sincere in their duties; they listened to his voice and observed his countenance, always feeling that their own efforts were insufficient. Suddenly falling ill, he knew that his time was short, and earnestly gave admonitions, pointing out the nature of misfortune and merit. On the eleventh day of the third month in the fifteenth year of Zhenguan, he passed away at the urban monastery at the age of seventy-one. The mountain hermits and the secular world both lamented, host and guest wept alike; with the departure of his virtue and benevolence, the teaching assembly dispersed. He was buried on a hill south of the city. Ever since he gave his allegiance to the Śākyan lineage, his mind was set on preserving the Dharma; day and night he exerted himself without rest, guiding and gathering later students. For this reason, he divided his daily tasks, bowing in reverence to five hundred Buddhas each day. Sitting in dhyāna during the four periods, he personally disciplined the community, setting penalties for those who fell behind; holding an incense burner himself, he bowed down following each chant, never placing the censer on the ground or omitting a single prostration. When the assembly sat in meditation, they admonished one another; as soon as someone grew drowsy, he would personally go round to encourage them. Whenever people came to seek ordination under him, he immediately tonsured them and conferred the rules of precepts, guiding their movements and monastic deportment, providing for them and receiving them with courtesy surpassing that of kin. At that time, an imperial decree imposed capital punishment on unauthorized ordinations, yet he felt no hesitation, shaving heads as usual. Consequently, from across the lands, recluse monks fleeing the world and cherishing righteousness relied upon him as upon a great mountain, following him to cultivate the Way. He occasionally lectured on the Mahāyānasaṃgraha, Vimalakīrtinirdeśa Sūtra, and Awakening of Faith, speaking only after thorough deliberation, his profound explanations precisely matching the capacities of the listeners. Once in the seventh year of Wude, while staying at Baofu, the monks numbered nearly a hundred, and their supplies were devoted especially to the great vegetarian feast. There were only six piculs of wheat stored in a single granary, from which five pecks were ground daily to supply the daily ration. From spring to summer, the calculated consumption was vast; puzzled by this, they inspected the store, only to find that only two piculs had been ground down. According to conventional calculation, this matter was truly profound and wondrous to ponder. Moreover, he repeatedly moved unusual monks to appear, flying through the void back and forth; although there was no verbal communication, their forms and deportment could be clearly witnessed. If anyone slackened in practice, they received spiritual warnings. As for the assembly-calling bell, it would sound on its own according to the appropriate hours; the mountain spring surged upward, its volume adjusting to the number of people. Auspicious omens arose repeatedly, not once or twice. In holding the Vinaya precepts with veneration, few could rival him; he guarded his dignified deportment with caution, unwavering from beginning to end. Across the two dynasties of Sui and Tang, those he personally tonsured into the monastic life numbered nearly a thousand. His instructions and teachings as a model master remain remembered and witnessed. The narrator formerly attended the end of his assembly and received his benevolent instructions; having personally witnessed his achievements, I have set down this account.
First 22 of 81 passages. Read on
Linked texts (1)
- 續高僧傳 — 道宣, Classical Chinese