續高僧傳 3.8.1

3.8.1

Śramaṇa Huijing, whose secular surname was Fang, was a native of Zhending in Changshan. His family had for generations been Confucian masters, celebrated with praise in their home commandery. Jing was the nephew of Huiyuan, who was Erudite of the National University during the Sui dynasty. Born with innate knowledge and naturally gifted, he had an elegant penchant for literature. His manner and bearing were lofty and steep, his capacity and temperament profound and distant. In his youth, he early studied the ancient classics; he soon understood literature and hymns, excelling as the crowning glory of his neighborhood. At fourteen he entered the monastic life, his aspirations vast and far-reaching. Daily he recited more than eight thousand words; in retaining the text and its meaning, few were his match. He visited lecture halls to inquire into major perplexities, probing the obscure and subtle, invariably reaching the profoundest depths. Hearing the Mahāprajñāpāramitōpadeśa and other scriptural divisions, his singular talent stood out, surprising all who saw and heard him. At that time, Master of Treatises Zhinian was famed throughout the Eastern Realm, reputed in his day to have plumbed the depths of the Hīnayāna cave. Jing then followed him to study the Samyuktābhidharmahṛdaya and the Mahāvibhāṣā; completing two full cycles of study, he thoroughly mastered the essential principles. Searching from roots to leaves, he made it his business to encompass their purest import. Because of this, his fine reputation spread far and wide, and students looked up to him with admiration. At the end of the Kaihuang reign, he arrived in the imperial capital; repeatedly breaking through difficult barriers, his fame spread even further. In the early years of Daye, following ancient traces, he reached Huaili. It happened that Yang Hong, the Magistrate of Shiping, assembled the religious and lay communities at Zhizang Monastery, wishing to have a Daoist initiate first open the Daoist scriptures. At that time, though the Buddhist assembly was populous, none dared to oppose him. Jing, hearing of this, said: 'The Magistrate has grandly brought together the four assemblies to weigh the two teachings. In secret I have something not yet understood, and beg to ask about my doubts. How so? The etiquette of host and guest naturally has its regular order; it is like cap and shoes, which must not be inverted. How can one, in a Buddhist monastery, let a Daoist initiate first act as host? May the Magistrate maintain order in doctrinal propriety, and please not allow the standard to fall.' The Magistrate said: 'There is indeed principle in this! I was almost misled by those after,' and thereupon ordered the monks to occupy the leading seats, so that they were not humiliated. There was a Daoist initiate named Yu Yongtong who had considerable contemporary acclaim and was held in high regard by the Magistrate. He next set forth a proposition, saying: 'There is a thing confusedly formed, born before Heaven and Earth. I do not know its name; I style it the Dao.' The Magistrate immediately ordered a debate, further saying: 'The Dharma Master must match words and principles strictly, and must not violate the faults of "flat head" or "raised tail".' At that time, the Magistrate wore a flat cap. Jing consequently joked: 'Since this poor monk wears no cap, how could I violate "flat head"?' The Magistrate said: 'If you do not violate flat head, you must violate "raised tail".' Jing replied: 'This poor monk takes off his shoes and ascends the couch; naturally, rising above, there is no tail. The Magistrate unties his kerchief and puts on a flat cap; one could say it is flat without a head.' The Magistrate looked abashed. Jing then asked Tong: '"There is a thing confusedly formed"—is it confused because its substance is one, or is it confused because its substance is different? If it is confused because its substance is one, then at the very moment it is confused it has already formed unity; thus unity is not born of the Dao. If it is confused because its substance is different, then before it was confused it had already formed duality; thus duality is not born of the one. Sir, as you crown the rest in the ranks of the Dao, please resolve this doubt.' Thereupon Tong was utterly bewildered, ashamed and without reply. Jing said: 'Sir, since you were able to open the pass and invite the enemy, you should right now muster your remaining courage. How can it be that, beginning like peaches and plums, it turns into brambles and thorns?' He then looked back at the Magistrate and said: 'Since the Magistrate was aiding the Dao, how will you rescue him?' The Magistrate then looked mortified. Thereafter, whenever rescues were repeatedly attempted, they were all felled according to the occasion, without exception overturning their chariots. From then on, Jing took dual pleasure in both the Mahāyāna and Hīnayāna, his appreciation growing ever deeper. Outside of his commentaries and writings, he had no leisure from tracing and unraveling doctrines. Sweeping clean a quiet room, he summarized the old traditions and compiled an exposition of the Samyuktābhidharmahṛdaya in thirty fascicles, which embraced the various scriptures and encompassed ancient and modern times; the eminent masters from all directions all drew upon its profound subtleties. Later, considering that the translation of the Abhidharmakośa had rich phrasing and import, yet though an established text existed its study had not been exhausted, he attained insight on his own without a teacher, discerning terms and principles, and composed a commentary in over thirty fascicles for it. Thus he caused the marvelous doctrines of the Sautrāntika school to be linked anew in this enlightened age, and the orthodox lineage of Kaśmīra to transmit its fragrance into subsequent generations. The scholar Yu Chusun of Yingchuan requested a commentary on the Vajracchedikā-prajñāpāramitā Sūtra, whereupon Jing explained the text and raised its principles, flourishing into a magnificent work that exhausted the doctrinal source of the ultimate and conventional truths, and fully expounded the esoteric essentials of the Mahāyāna. Spread near and far, it was copied, recited, and upheld; across literary circles it was transmitted by heart and mouth, its renown and merit celebrated together, constantly heard shoulder to shoulder. Chu Liang, Erudite of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, whose elegant talent was clear and outstanding and whose fame had long been heard, admired this fragrant model and wrote a preface for it, which read: 'Now, the Great Clod shapes bodies equally, while wisdom is enslaved by external things. Feelings change because of habit; nature shifts along with thoughts. Yet penetrating discernment and comprehensive vision shine brightly in the early-awakened: blazing the torch of wisdom to emerge from thick darkness, pulling people from the river of craving to ascend to the other shore. Compared with revolving through myriad kalpas, covered and stained by the six dusts, wandering off to follow the boundless, and stumbling while rushing along shortcuts, they cannot be spoken of in the same day. Yu Chusun of Yingchuan early promoted sincere faith, believing that what the Prajñā illuminates ultimately returns to the correct Path, revealing the characteristics of the Mahāyāna, marking the ultimate principle of non-abiding, emerging beyond thoughts and deliberations, and transcending words and images. For this reason, since tying up his hair in youth he has accepted and upheld it for many years; although the wondrous voice expounds it and his recitation is complete and unfailing, in its deep and clear spiritual source there were still things not understood. Sighing that the strayed path was not far, he gazed upon the smooth road and sighed deeply. It happened that there was Dharma Master Huijing, who comprehensively understood the profound principles, his eloquence like a grease-pot on an axle, his reasoning exhausting the interlocked rings. Master Yu entered his chamber to study the subtleties and submitted with reverence to his skillful guidance; taking advantage of this vow, he then requested a commentary. The Dharma Master, holding up a mirror, forgot fatigue, like a crossroad flagon naturally filled. Above, relying on the path of spiritual resonance; to the side, exhausting the functions of mental ingenuity—he unfolded the subtle words and proclaimed the ultimate principles. Former doubts melted away like thawing ice; today's marvelous principles shone bright as parting clouds. Becoming the ridgepole of the Semblance Dharma, transforming the ears and eyes of all living beings, the peak of his words rose loftily, rivaling Mount Gṛdhrakūṭa in height; the spring of his speech gushed powerfully, racing far toward the Dragon Palace. Furthermore, the Buddhist teaching arose in the west, and the source of the Way flowed east. Across generations traversing the worthy and wise whose talents were both superior and abundant, those who exhaustively grasped the sagely import were rarely seen. Now, this śramaṇa has proclaimed it anew, renowned in his contemporary age; I imagine that in this profound tradition, he stands vigorously as the foremost. In the year of Yanmao, he first took up ink; when the moon reached Zhonglü, he laid down his brush. Clergy and laity looked up to him, their carriages forming shade. Striking the bell according to its size, brandishing the sword to reveal its brilliance. Contemporaneous fellows of study specialized under his school to receive instruction, wading together through the waves and transmitting it one to another. Soon he looked down upon Huiyuan of Mount Lu and surveyed Dao'an from above, walking alone along the high avenue to uphold the true Dharma. Truly an authentic text from Liaodong.'