續高僧傳 30
English (machine translation) 30
- Language
- English
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Compiled by the śramaṇa Daoxuan of Ximing Monastery under the Great Tang
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Chapter 10: Renown and Virtue among the Miscellaneous Categories; twelve primary biographies, eight appended
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Biography 1: Śramaṇa Huiming of Guangzhai Monastery in Yangdu under the Chen
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Biography 2: Śramaṇa Daoji of Yexia under the Northern Qi
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Biography 3: Śramaṇa Facheng of Dingshui Monastery in the Capital under the Sui (Zhiyun)
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Biography 4: Śramaṇa Zhenguan of Tianzhu Monastery on Mount Lingyin in Hangzhou under the Sui
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Biography 5: Śramaṇa Fayun of Qixia Monastery in Suzhou under the Sui
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Biography 6: Śramaṇa Lishen of the Huiri Bodhimanda in the Eastern Capital under the Sui (Huining, Guangshou)
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Biography 7: Śramaṇa Shanquan of the Riyan Bodhimanda in the Western Capital under the Sui (Fagang)
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Biography 8: Śramaṇa Zhiguo of Huiri Sanctuary in the Eastern Capital under the Sui (with Xuanying and Zhijian)
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Biography 9: Śramaṇa Huichang of Riyan Sanctuary in the Capital under the Sui (with Daoying and Shenshuang)
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Biography 10: Śramaṇa Fayan of Xuanfa Monastery in the Capital under the Tang
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Biography 11: Śramaṇa Zhikai of Dingshui Monastery in the Capital under the Tang
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Biography 12: Śramaṇa Baoyan of Fahai Monastery in the Capital under the Tang
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Śramaṇa Huiming: It is unknown who he was. His appearance resembled that of a Westerner (Hu), so the world referred to him as 'Hu Ming.' Yet his sharp tongue and extraordinary eloquence surged like a spearpoint that none could withstand. He composed texts billowing like wind and clouds, commemorating contemporary affairs. When he uttered words, he startled the world, and all who heard him recited them. Later, he listened to and gathered sūtras and treatises, while also delving into the histories and books, plucking their main ideas without lingering on the phrasing. When Emperor Wen of the Chen reigned, he sponsored numerous fasting-feasts to cultivate merit, and the common people followed this custom like the wind, so that the practice grew widespread. The multitude regarded Ming's display of eloquence and quick-witted resourcefulness as beyond contemplation, and for all who served as guiding expositors (chàngdǎo), none failed to defer to him. Ming himself also recognized that his talents were more than sufficient; he could expound on whatever he heard, drawing from antiquity and the present and encompassing the overall purport, so that he could make the listeners rejoice and dread that he might stop.
In the fifth year of the Dajian era during the reign of Emperor Xuan [573 CE], an expedition was about to be launched northward to display military might along the Yellow River. The Commander-in-Chief Cheng Wenji and others had already been dispatched to lead troops to the mouth of the Huai River and face the Qi forces in battle formation. The heroic spirits on both sides vied with each other, and the Emperor was deeply anxious about it. Thereupon, in the Taiji Hall, he commanded that divination be made by tortoise shell. When tested, the line on the plastron suddenly cracked in a long rift. The sovereign and his ministers turned pale, taking it as an ill omen. They immediately invited a hundred monks to a fasting-feast. When the assembly had gathered for noon, they were in confusion, not guessing what had occasioned it. When the circumambulation of incense was finished, the Emperor presented the intention of the divination. Ming raised his voice, stated the purport, and recounted the circumstances, saying: 'The divination regarding the expedition yielded a broken tortoise shell: this may be called opening a road of a thousand li. And since Wenji is at the vanguard, does this not mean a swift victory according to schedule (chéng)?' At the time, they thought this was merely superficial ornamentation.
By the fourth month, at the Greater and Lesser Xian, a major battle was fought with the Qi, and more than two hundred thousand reinforcement troops were captured. The army advanced to Qiao and He; before Lülü and Pengyue, there were no battle lines left to block them. Therefore an imperial edict was issued, stating: 'This year our troops went forth to make a punitive expedition on the frontier dependencies. What has been secured of the Liang territory comprises some two hundred cities along the Yangzi and Huai, extending more than five thousand li from east to west. Thus the long rift on the tortoise's belly was indeed called "a thousand li."' In the long run, Ming's words proved to match it completely, like two halves of a tally. Because Ming rode upon this momentum, his enterprise flourished even more. Those who turned their minds exclusively to the lineage of his teachings, attaining understanding and ascending to purity, were vast in number. His end is unknown.
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Śramaṇa Daoji: His clan and origin are not clearly known. At the beginning of the Northern Qi, he vigorously promoted preaching and lectures. Yet he was known for the *Tattvasiddhi-śāstra* (*Chengshi lun*). When his disciples completed their studies, they formed factions and gathered assemblies. Ji was delighted by this, regarding the success of his teaching and training as having accomplished his bequeathed task.
During the Tianbao era, at the beginning of autumn, lectures were instituted. Ji led the head of his congregation out through the south of the city of Ye. A former disciple of his was also leading a congregation in. Right beside the threshold of the gate, they suddenly met face to face. Ji said: 'Where have you come from? You show no propriety at all! How can you brazenly confront your teacher? Since you will not yield, by right you ought to take the lower path.' The other said: 'The Dharma drums compete in sounding; the establishment of benefit lies herein. When it comes to the hope of fame and honor, how can there still be teacher and pupil?' Ji did not answer, but took the lower path himself and went outside the city. Turning his head, he told his followers: 'I have lectured on the *Tattvasiddhi* for thirty years, striving to awaken and guide others in the hope that it would have effect. Understanding was originally meant to guide practice; this was the bequeathed instruction. Now people understand yet do not practice; it is just the same as fundamentally not understanding at all. In vain is previous effort lost, and ultimately there will be no future benefit. The past cannot be recovered, but the future can still be attained. Please all return to the capital; I will make other plans.'
Thereupon he retired and barred his doors, extensively reading the sūtras and treatises to promote conversion among the scholar-officials and commoners. Therefore, the compilation he produced was named the *Jinzang lun* (*Treasury of Gold Treatise*), in one wrapper of seven scrolls, arranged according to categories. It fully laid out the causes and origins of monasteries, stūpas, banners, and lamps, as well as the fundamentals of scriptures, images, taking refuge, and the precepts, thereby comprehensively presenting the entirety of the teachings and opening wide the gates of merit. After the treatise was completed, he and seven companions went seven li east of the outskirts of Ye and halted. Over an area of seven li around, men and women gathered together, and he lectured on this treatise for them, going through it once every seven days. Whenever he went out, he invariably carried a shoulder-pole, unabashed by walking in lowly fashion: scriptures, stūpas, and images made up one end, while his elderly mother and a broom made up the other end. Wherever there was a stūpa within the Buddhist realm of Qi, he swept it. He would always say to people: 'Does not the sūtra say: "Sweeping the ground of the Saṅgha to the extent of Jambudvīpa is not as good as sweeping the ground of a Buddha to the extent of a single palm-print"? This is because the field of wisdom is superior. And serving one's mother directly yields merit equal to that of a bodhisattva who has ascended the stages.'
Therefore, his filial nature was pure and profound. He mended her clothes and took care of her food and drink; her urination and defecation he attended to in person without fail, not permitting anyone to assist. When someone offered help, Ji would say: 'She is my mother, not someone else's mother. The burdens of this bodily form are all my own body. Having a body necessarily brings suffering; how could I burden others with my suffering? That is why my body takes the lead in suffering. Please do not assist me.' In this way he encouraged both the ordained and the laity, and those who followed him were many. Moreover, he urged people to uphold the eight precepts, practice the vegetarian fasting-feasts of Dharma societies, and forbid slaughter. Once the appointed task was finished, he moved on to the next place, continuing to carry out his teaching throughout the region in accordance with the above practice. Within a few years, as he circled the woods and outskirts of Ye, nine out of ten households followed his teachings. A companion purposely went to visit him and asked: 'How does your recent conversion of the laity compare to the [monastic] Way?' Ji said: 'Those former lectures may be regretted; now there is no remorse. What is past is beyond blame; what more is there to say?'
Later, he encountered the Zhou dynasty's annexation, when the profound teachings were abolished together. Sighing that the mundane world always reveres this work, when the Dharma was reopened, he broadened its scope even further; hence the mention of 'wrong views' at the beginning of that treatise refers to this. For this reason, worldly tradition has it that Treatise Master He Yin composed the *Jinzang lun*, but in the end it was Daoji alone; hence it changed its name. Yet the extracts of orthodox texts that he produced are deeply worthy of reliance. His end is unknown.
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Śramaṇa Facheng was a man of Jiangnan. He was versed in the various scriptures, and his clear voice moved the multitude. Throughout the domain transformed by the Chen dynasty, the entire court revered him. Furthermore, he was skilled at unrolling and guiding explanations, always striving to manifest something extraordinary; although he lacked matchless brilliance, he possessed the knack of adapting to circumstances. When the Sui pacified the southern territories, he, together with the scriptural reciter Baiyun, returned to the land of Qin and resided at Xingshan Monastery. He was often summoned to the inner palace to discuss the correct doctrines and open the Emperor's mind to receive them. An imperial decree was issued that a scriptural seat be permanently set up in the main hall, with someone specially assigned each day to read the scriptures, the chanting continuing without interruption. Whenever there was a slight interval in attending to state affairs, the Emperor would inquire about the import of the sūtras, right up until his demise. In his later years, Facheng resided at Dingshui Monastery and passed away together with Yun, both in their eighties, during the Renshou era [601–604 CE].
At that time, there was also Zhiyun, who was likewise skilled in scriptural chanting. In contrast to the aforementioned Bai ["White"] Yun, the world called him Wuyun ["Black Cloud"]. His high reputation and voice resounded through north and south. Whenever he held a scripture in the imperial presence, his resonance shook like thunder; at times, his mournful modulations caused flying birds and running beasts to stop in their tracks. His virtues were very manifold, but he kept them concealed without disclosing them, so there are no traces of events to be listed. Moreover, he was skilled at astonishing conversation at gatherings, thoroughly familiar with the masters, the histories, and the ancient texts (*qiusuo*). In responding to the moment, he drew upon them as if they had been prepared long in advance. When Emperor Yang of the Sui was still a prince, he respected and loved him even more, summoning him into the Huiri Sanctuary, walking arm in arm as friends and companions, delighting in his eloquence. When he reached the age of fifty, he died in the capital. The Prince grieved and mourned for him, not emerging for several days, and broadly cultivated merit for his posthumous welfare. He also directed Śramaṇa Falun to compose an epitaph for him, which appears in a separate collection.
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Śramaṇa Zhenguan, courtesy name Shengda, was a native of Qiantang in Wujun. His secular surname was Fan. His grandfather, Yanzheng, served as Palace Attendant and Cavalier Attendant-in-Ordinary; his father, Dui, was a Cavalier Attendant-in-Ordinary. His mother, Lady Huan, was gentle, kind, and virtuous. She was once grieved and distressed at having no offspring, so she kept a pure fast, made a vow, and recited the Bhaiṣajyaguru, Avalokiteśvara, and Vajracchedikā Prajñāpāramitā Sūtras, praying for a wise son to carry on the prominent lineage. At that time, a painted image of the King of Kapilavastu, made by Xian Tong, was located at the Upper Dinglin Monastery and was immensely wondrous and miraculous. She went in person to pray, and had its likeness carved and depicted, revering the image as if it were the real presence. According to the Bhaiṣajyaguru Sūtra, she practiced the rite for seven days; by the third night, she felt a wandering light illuminate her body. From then on, her disposition was extraordinary, and her speech invariably attained deep comprehension. How could this not be the Heavens bending down to entrust him to a mortal, conveying him through the Fan family to propagate Śākya's teachings? When he was born, his wondrous marks were peerless: on his left palm were the marks of an immortal, and on his right palm the character 'man' (人). Saliva flowed abundantly from his mouth, enriching and moistening his internal organs. From his youth to his very end, he never suffered from thirst; hence his skin and flesh remained radiant and grand, not declining even in old age. The lines on his tongue crisscrossed like fine silk gauze; thus he harbored refined brilliance, held eloquence within, and opened the spirit to clear enlightenment. Moreover, the tone and timbre of his voice were like bells and chimes, and his agility matched wind and rain. None who saw or heard him failed to be astonished. From his youth he displayed the grand outlines of his character: at five, he was able to follow a vegetarian diet; sometimes he would mount a clothes chest or hold a fan and broom, playfully delivering lectures. At eight, he had mastered the Classic of Poetry and the Rites, and composed a response to Minister Yu's poem on crabapples. At sixteen, among the various classics of Confucianism and Daoism, from Laozi under the pillar to the River Master, there was nothing he left obscure or concealed. At that time, he also dabbled in go and the qin, and gave free rein to his mind in literary collections, progressing with each passing day and month, so that his teachers and friends were astonished and delighted. Once, while strolling idly with friends along a riverbank, a skilled physiognomist stepped forward to bow to him and said, 'This youth shall surely become a great Dharma master.' Thereafter, he dedicated himself to reciting the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa and the Prajñāpāramitā, setting his resolve on entering the Way. Watching for an opportunity, he observed his parents' expressions, but both parents refused permission. He then said, 'Kapilavastu sent a dream, and your child wishes to open the cage; to restrain him and keep him in the net is surely not clever or wise.' His parents' hearts were then opened and they rejoiced, submitting an imperial petition requesting a decree, upon which robes and bowls were bestowed. Dharma Master Sheng of Yixing, whose pure conduct caused a stir, personally tonsured him. Vinaya Master Zhen of Great Merit, whose moral reputation was renowned in Yunyang, was invited to act as his upādhyāya. Zhenguan studied and pondered the Daśādhyāya Vinaya, and after a single reading was able to expound it. He also received the Tattvasiddhi-śāstra from the Dharma master of Hualin Garden; after reviewing it ten times and repeating it ten times, he surpassed and raised above all previous standards. Deeming his understanding complete, he thought it should now be realized through practice. He began by reciting the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sūtra, limiting himself to one scroll per day. Because of this, he had a visionary dream: 'You have great capacities; how can you suddenly hold fast to a lesser way? It is deeply regrettable!' He then went to Xinghuang Monastery to listen to the Mahāyāna, raising doubts and clarifying difficult points, boldly bursting into the profound gates. Master Lang was thoroughly versed and at ease, yet [Zhenguan's questions] added further luster: 'In the eight years I have been lecturing, not a single question has reached this point! One who can cause the marvelous meaning to open the spirit is truly my teacher.' Zhenguan then sat facing north as his disciple, studying and inquiring for several years. Dharma Master Daren of Kaishan hid his shadow on Mount Zhong, wandering his mind through the vaipulya teachings. Zhenguan, intending to test his sight against this predecessor and inquire the ford from the exalted scholar, wielded his drumstick to strike the silence and gauge his profound subtlety. Daren sighed and said, 'The way of Nāgārjuna is now rising in the east!' The two masters, Bian and Yong, were prominent champions of the era; Zhenguan repeatedly engaged them in debate and refute, frequently holding the chief seat. The people of the time had a saying: 'Qiantang has Zhenguan; he accounts for half of all under Heaven.' Śramaṇa Hongyan, whose talent surpassed the Confucian elite and who probed the depths as a Buddhist champion, looked him in the face and said, 'Your authority is high and your wisdom great; you are renowned to all ears and eyes. I possess four perfections, but you are endowed with eight abilities'—referring to doctrinal guidance, calligraphy, poetry, eloquence, physical appearance, voice, and go. On account of this, prince-dukes and noble travelers widely became his acquaintances. When the Prince of Shixing went east to inspect the Well of Yu, he requested Zhenguan to accompany him. At that time, the lecture assembly at Xinghuang was selecting talents to debate the teachings. Zhenguan was hurried along his journey, yet all urged him to take the fore. Once he mounted the high seat and unfolded the principle of the Two Truths, hundreds of points crisscrossed, but with a single word all thawed like ice. The scholar Fu Yi, sitting in the assembly, sighed and said, 'Śāriputra was the foremost of the three thousand; Yan Hui was the first of the seventy. Only this superior man is fit to match them.' Such was how he was regarded by both monastics and laymen in Jinling. Having arrived in the eastern regions, he resided at Xiangyan Monastery, where he lectured on the Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra. Doctrinal gatherings from the four quarters assembled, adding further splendor. Master Xinghuang again sent three summonses, saying, 'Our Mahāyāna sūtras and treatises have, in outline, already been propagated; yet in Yan, Zhao, Qi, and Qin, they crane their necks and stand on tiptoe in hope. Although many specialize in study, those who encompass the whole are few. You should return swiftly to the eastern marches, for the Dharma gate is entrusted to you.' At that time, the campaign against the Zhou lost its discipline, and the court discussed taking a census of monks, forcing those who were unregistered to abandon the Way. Zhenguan, lamenting their delusion, sighed and said, 'Now, kṣatriyas and upāsakas all plant merits to become wealthy and strong, while the common folk and lowly servants commit transgressions and become poor and weak. To desire the branches and leaves to flourish while conversely cutting down the root—this is extreme confusion! All people cherish their lives and steal survival; I, however, will forfeit my body for the sake of the Dharma.' He then sent a letter to Vice Director Xu Ling, the text of which appears in a separate collection. Xu Ling sealed the letter and presented it in a joint memorial. The emperor was moved with solemn awe, and the census of monks was consequently shelved. Judging by this, he was not only a pillar of the Buddhadharma, but also assisted the times with his perspicacious counsel. When the King of Jiangxia went out to garrison Yue, he again invited Zhenguan to go with him. Master Lang choked with emotion for a long while and said, 'If you can stay for three years, the lecture hall will be entrusted to you. Yet you now encounter a noble prince who esteems the Dharma, and the benefit will be deep; you cannot be detained.' Thereupon, at the Cave of Yu, Zhenguan repeatedly turned the Dharma wheel. The Specially Advanced Du Leng invited him to return to Guangxian to transmit the teachings to students. Furthermore, the two Princes of Yongyang and Poyang, together with Minister of Works Sima Xiaonan, successively took the sea route to extend invitations and look up to him in Zhedong; thus the smeared incenses and torches of wisdom flourished and shone through their undertakings, as they bowed their heads, inclined their hearts, and exhausted their sincerity and devotion. Master Tiantai Zhizhe was peerless in renown and practice; their karmic affinities from past lives were deep and their concord was absolute. Being equal in age and monastic seniority, they became Dharma brothers. Together they roved the Qin Range and visited the old chambers of Lingyun. When the morning sun brought clear vistas, they engaged in lofty discourse on the wisdom-illumination; when the evening shadows concealed the radiance, they settled deeply into dhyāna quietude. When Zhizhe was summoned up to the imperial court, Zhenguan expounded the teachings at Anāthapiṇḍada's Garden, greatly dispensing the flavor of the Dharma and broadening the minds of worldly people. When the Prince of Yongyang returned to the capital, he reported his pure virtue to the throne, and the monastic rectory of the entire court jointly petitioned for an imperial edict; however, the dynasty soon came to an end, and the matter was shelved. The founder of the Sui dynasty esteemed the Dharma most deeply, thrice issuing decrees of inquiry and solace. When the Prince of Qin governed the region, he twice invited Zhenguan to the general headquarters, but Zhenguan declined on grounds of illness, remaining resolute and refusing to go. Later, the Prince of Qi welcomed him at the river port, personally offering prostrations, transmitting incense and lamps, and sending him back to the Zhongshan Monastery in his old district. In the fourteenth year of Kaihuang, an extreme drought occurred. Liu Jing'an, the regional inspector, invited him to lecture on the Sāgaramatinirdeśa Sūtra. Just as the introductory chapter was concluded, torrential rain poured down. From that time forth, whenever an invitation was made, rain would descend; the people of Wu and Yue revered him like a spirit. To the west of the county was Mount Lingyin, formerly called Xianju (Abode of the Immortals). Its peaks bloomed like lotuses and its caves harbored dragon grottos; it was truly the finest mountain in Jiangdong. As Zhenguan's benevolence and wisdom were inwardly profound, he grew intimate with the mountains and waters outwardly. Together with Dhyāna Master Dao'an, he practiced dhūta austerities in a stone chamber. The dānapati Chen Zhongbao led his companions to open the hidden terrain, lay the foundations, and erect a monastery named South Tianzhu. Thereupon Zhenguan left the city and returned to the valley, dwelling there until his end. The lecture hall of Zhongshan was entrusted to his disciple Xuanjing; Xuanjing received the teachings like water poured from one vase into another, and followers joined them without end. When Emperor Wen built the stupas, all converged without prior consultation upon this spot of superior topography, leaving the decision to Zhenguan. Zhenguan pointed to a high, precipitous rock where the stupa foundation could be laid. Although he spoke with sincere words, who could believe it? Yet in a brief moment, upon excavating, a natural cavern appeared, shaped like a square casket, just like the bottom of a vanity case. Heavenly workmanship and divine craft matched the hidden prophecy like a tally. From then on, while dwelling in the mountain, he constantly lectured on the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka, taking it as his mental essential. Upholding, reading, reciting, and personally transcribing and propagating it, all five kinds of Dharma master were present in him. Moreover, he was uniquely clear and thoroughly versed in the deep import of the sūtra's meaning; his novel and wondrous speech did not merely follow paper and ink, but his intelligent thought soared far beyond the text. Furthermore, it caused drops left from his washing not to wet the ground; in matters and principles he was different from ordinary men, which was the power of the sūtra. The spirit of Gaoting, whose surname was Chen and given name Zhong, descended through an oracle to request a lecture on the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sūtra once, leaving money and goods as offerings; he also descended through an oracle to donate five bays of his temple hall to serve as the Buddha hall for Zhongshan. Judging by this, his ability to move spirits to make offerings was truly rare. On the eighth day of the fourth month of the seventh year of Daye, Marshall Li Zishen once again invited him to leave the mountain for the city to lecture on the Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra. When he first departed from Tianzhu, he personally marked his burial site. When he reached the Chapter on Manifesting Illness, he saw in a dream three persons, splendidly dressed and attired, holding banners and bowing together, saying, 'The Śuddhāvāsa Devas have sent us to welcome you.' On the sixth day of the sixth month, he lay down with illness. He also dreamed that he and Zhizhe were in the same carriage, flanking the honored image, escorting the Buddha back to the mountain. Upon waking, he sighed and said, 'Formerly, at sixty-two, my life was supposed to end, but through the power of lecturing on the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka, it was prolonged by another cycle of twelve years. Now at seventy-four, I receive this response again; my lifespan has reached its end.' He immediately assembled his disciples and instructed them on future matters, saying, 'If you wish to be born in good realms, wish to possess spiritual powers, wish to transcend birth and death, and wish to be endowed with the Buddhadharma, you must uphold the precepts, cultivate concentration, train in wisdom, and broadly propagate the true Dharma. Do not let your lives pass in vain without attaining anything.' That day, Tiantai sent a letter, along with fragrant butter and rock sugar. Zhenguan read the letter and said, 'Karmic affinities from past lives; this is their final pledge.' He ordered two ruyi scepters: one directed east to Tiantai, and one left for the western Dharma heirs. As for his various garments: 'Distribute them before my eyes: one portion return to the Saṅgha's karmavācanā, and the second serve as offerings for the five kinds of monks.' Someone once dreamed that a flying pavilion came to welcome him; Śramaṇa Baohui also heard drums and music in the sky. In the middle of the night on the first day of the seventh month, he sat cross-legged, washed, rinsed his mouth, adjusted his robes, and said, 'Someone is inviting me to lecture on the Bodhisattva Precepts.' Sitting upright with a joyful composure, he passed away unnoticed at the old monastery of Zhongshan. From the zi hour to the wu hour, his heart and crown were both warm; his body was soft and pliable, and his complexion did not change. The three middle fingers of his right hand curved inward, and sweat flowed all over his body for two nights. On the fourth day, he was moved into a dhyāna niche. At that time the fire star was sinking, and the heat was still severe, yet he looked dignified as if alive, truly sustained by spiritual power. From this day until the twenty-fifth, people gathered like spokes at a hub from the four directions, converging together from six counties; monastics and laymen, officials and commoners gathered as one. All approached the hand of the corpse to transmit incense and take their leave; recounting his virtues, they wailed and yearned, their grief rising like dense clouds, and recollecting his virtuous discipline, their tears fell like descending rain. As for the offerings of fragrant flowers, thousands of groups came daily. Following the order of the grand vegetarian feast, they opened the niche to gaze upon him reverently; his countenance was lustrous and clean, and his eyebrow hairs were even longer, twice as prominent as during his lifetime. All marveled with astonishment. On the twenty-sixth day, he was permanently interred at Mount Lingyin. His true likeness was enclosed in a square tomb, and a portrait remained at Tianzhu. On that day, the fourfold assembly stretched over a yojana; incense umbrellas formed a canopy, and banners and streamers covered the plains. The glory and celebration of both the living and the deceased were beyond words. At first, Zhenguan's prowess in voice and debate was renowned as the most vast and rich; in the realm of Jiangbiao, none dared to take precedence over him. Ever since the true Dharma flowed east, in the merits of oral guidance, Dao'an and Huiyuan were foremost; from that time forth, of literary men, none failed to model their course on Zhenguan. By this we know that a worthy appears every five hundred years, rising in succession in due time; the flourishing and glory of the Buddhadharma truly depended on this man! In the eleventh year of Kaihuang, Jiangnan rebelled. The royal army arrived to chastise them, but the rebels resisted the government troops; feathered dispatches flew in competition, and the clamor of weapons grew ever fiercer. At that time, Commander-in-chief Yang Su arrayed his battle lines and drove southward; soon the rebels shattered like tiles, and over three hundred thousand were captured or slain. Because Zhenguan's fame was flourishing and shone across Jiangbiao, they suspected that he had drafted the rebellion's dispatches, and intended to execute him without interrogation. Having been severely bound, he had no means of clearing himself. Brilliant scholars of Jinling, such as Bao Heng and Xie Yu, had also been seized and were about to be beheaded. When brought before Yang Su, Su reprimanded him, saying, 'A man of the Way should sit in dhyāna and read sūtras; for what reason did you rashly oppose armed soldiers and draft an insurgent declaration? Does your crime deserve death or not?' Zhenguan said, 'What a man of the Way studies is truly as your lordship says. However, Zhenguan did not draft the declaration, yet I am suffering death without guilt.' Su was exceedingly furious, took the declaration, showed it to him, and said, 'Did you write this or not?' Zhenguan read it and said, 'This writing is shallow and crude, unable to move men's hearts. Zhenguan truly did not write it; if I had written it, it would have surpassed this.' He then pointed out three or four places, saying, 'How could language like this be put onto paper?' As Su understood literature, he believed his words. Zhenguan said, 'The petty bandits of Wu and Yue sprang from vulgar commoners; scholars and Confucian literati were mostly coerced. These thirty-odd men such as Bao and Xie are all guest ministers of the state and heroic talents of our age. May your lordship reconsider, so that there are no grievances or innocents wronged.' Su said, 'You, man of the Way, do not grieve over your own death, but rather grieve for others!' Zhenguan said, 'Life and death are normal; having died, one can know nothing, so people consider it a deep concern.' Su said, 'Having been bound for a long time, are you able to explain your grief or not?' He demanded paper and gave it to him, ordering him to compose a rhapsody on grief. Zhenguan took the brush and wrote fluently; in a moment the paper was exhausted. Su ordered it brought forward and gave him another sheet. As Su read along, he was amazed by its literary elegance; calling out 'Come, Master!', he rose unconsciously to receive him. He immediately ordered him to sit opposite him, and Zhenguan exhausted his composition. The rhapsody ran in outline: 'Now, the names of grief are not single; the principles of grief have many facets. Difficult to detail minutely, let me briefly raise the grand outline. Sometimes called anxiety and confusion, sometimes termed bitterness and sorrow. Harboring it can alter one's countenance; cherishing it must wrench one's entrails. Now, as for the shape of grief: to speak of it as not an object, yet it is an object; to call it formless, yet it has form. Though small, it becomes great; from narrow, it turns vast. Comparable to the soaring height of mountains, akin to the boundless expanse of the vast sea. Now rising, now falling; coming and going with the seasons. Sprouting without being planted, growing without roots. Sometimes compared to smoke and fog; suddenly identical to nets and snares. Like jade leaves unfurling by day; akin to golden waves rising at night. Thereupon it transgresses reason and grossly violates rules; unbidden, it rashly arrives; uninvited, it suddenly stays. Though cut and severed, it does not part; though driven away, it does not leave. Searching for it, one sees no trace; seeking it, one knows not its place. Yet it can rob a person of their vital spirit, end a person's joyful delights, reduce a person's flesh and complexion, and damage a person's thoughts and cares. As when Jing Ke reached the Yi River, or Su Wu stood on the river bridge; when Lingjun departed from his state, or Ruan Ji bade farewell to his hometown; or like Master Ma when not yet advanced, or Master Yan when unrecognized; the Master's singing of the pheasant on the mountain bridge, or Zhongwen caressing the courtyard tree. All felt grief constricted in their breasts, and all gave voice to praise on their mind's path. Thus Yu Qing, in his grief, authored books, and Shu Xi, relying on it, composed rhapsodies. Again, like the wandering husband following the army, and the singing girl whose chamber is empty; far off in the northern frontier, distant in the east of the river. Mountains and rivers having blocked their way, their dreams occasionally commune; into the high tower enters the moon, through the leaning curtains blows the wind. Grieving eyebrows lose their black makeup; tearful eyelids melt their rouge. None fail to sorrow on their pillows and harbor resentment within their chambers. Furthermore, there are those whose conduct violates the canons and whose hearts harbor doubts; not yet recognizing the transformation of Yao and Shun, how could they know the virtues of Yu and Tang? Fog gathers south of the bronze pillars; clouds rise north of Mount Yan. Arrows were exhausted at Jinyang, and water again ran dry at Shule...' The text is too long to record in full. Yang Su greatly sighed in admiration and released him on the spot. The accomplished scholars he spoke for were spared from death, though made into slaves. On account of the richness of his talent and learning, Zhenguan propagated and guided without fatigue, lecturing, explaining, and awakening minds; the glory he brought to the secular realm is fully detailed in the preceding account. He lectured on the Mahāyāna for forty-two years. Moreover, he produced over three thousand scrolls of the canon of scriptures, five large gilded bronze images, erected a five-story stupa, made virtuous offerings to five kinds of monks, built two monasteries, and composed over twenty scrolls of various guidance texts and over thirty scrolls of poems, rhapsodies, steles, and anthologies. In recent times, those who have plagiarized his words are many.
30.19
Śramaṇa Fayun was surnamed Chen and was a native of Suzhou. He longed for and emulated worldly companions, being particularly skilled at banquet entertainments, with a free and far-reaching bearing that was rarely matched in its elegance. He recited more than a hundred fascicles of various funerary inscriptions and ancient guiding texts, together with those authored by various worthy scholars such as Wang Sengru. When it came to guiding and elucidating, he was adept at quoting them appropriately. He was also versed in more than seven hundred melodies of scriptural cantillation. Whenever there was an overnight fast, both scriptural reading and guiding tasks were entrusted to Yun. When he reached the age of thirty, he grew weary of the clamour and commotion, for invitations and written requests overlapped day after day. Therefore, on New Year’s Day, he severed the cords [of engagement] and broke with them forever. He immediately listened to the Avataṃsaka Sūtra and was soon able to rehearse it. He lamented having wasted his efforts and vainly spent his breath. Hearing that the pure assembly of Qixia was praised throughout the region south of the Yangzi, he followed their fame and went there at once to receive instruction in the way of meditation from them. Further, hearing of the Lingyan [Monastery] on Mount Tai, he travelled there to follow in their footsteps, engaging in the austerities of the pratyutpanna-samādhi, with an exceptionally firm determination to be pure and having no desire for fame. He shouldered loads of stone and chopped firewood, taking provision as his duty. In his later years, he returned to his home region. There was a stone image that had floated along the river, as recounted in the previous biography; it was later consumed by fire, and since its proportions and measurements were not known, there was no way to reconstruct it. Thus, on the former foundation of the stone image, he vowed to worship eighty-four thousand stupas. When his meritorious deed was completed, he was spiritually visited by an old countrywoman who brought him a scroll of text; when he opened and read it, it turned out to be the karmic account of the former image. Now having its dimensions, he fashioned it accordingly, and there were great signs of spiritual efficacy. In the sea lay Yanghu Island, three hundred [li] from the coast. Yun went there to practice serene meditation, wearing only coarse cloth and mugwort clothing, for the sake of practicing compassion. When he first arrived, he encountered strange and anomalous great winds and demonic beings, but seeing them he remained as normal, the hairs of his body not even stirring. After ninety days, he was completely at peace. Knowing his life was coming to an end, he returned to Qixia, and soon passed away. His age was thirty-five; that was the fourth year of the Renshou era [604 CE].
30.20
Śramaṇa Lishen was a native of Jinling south of the Yangzi. His aspirations and resolve were heroic and decisive, never entangling himself in superficial trivialities. His imposing presence was stern, inspiring awe and trepidation in those who saw him. He was skilled in composition and adroit in dialectical dialogue. At that time, literati south of the Yangzi often sponsored Dharma gatherings, frequently assembling eminent monks for multi-night Dharma convocations, with the task of guiding and elucidating being what held their foremost interest. When Shen ascended the high seat and first cleared his throat, it boomed like thunder; clergy and laity straightened their collars, their hair standing on end as they composed themselves. When it came to narrating karmic causes and laying out corresponding retribution, it was so chill and vivid as if seen face to face, causing people to cherish both revulsion [for saṃsāra] and vigorous resolve. In his later years, he entered the Huiri Monastery, and generous gifts increased daily. During the early Daye era, his cantillation and proclamation were held in especially high esteem. Because the power of his voice and eloquence moved his heartfelt feelings, the Emperor bestowed upon him four hundred bolts of silk and forty felt mats. His nature was inherently pure and frugal, possessing no redundant savings; he promptly ordered his disciples to divide it all equally among themselves. Following the imperial entourage to the Eastern Capital, he eventually passed away there. He was then over eighty years old. At that time, the official provisions at Xingshan Monastery in the Western Capital sustained ordinary cantillators, each person having their own faction and followers. Among the pre-eminent were Huining, Kuangshou, Fada, and Baoyan; their roaring vigor was formidable, yet their faculty for adapting to circumstances remained unmanifested. Since they may be seen in ordinary society, they are not elaborated here.
30.21
Śramaṇa Shanquan was a native of Yangdu and resided at the Baotian Monastery. He studied and mastered the Tattvasiddhi-śāstra, possessing profound doctrinal capability. Suddenly he shifted his thoughts, taking pleasure in analyzing persons and things, connecting them with words as seamless as strings of pearls and jade. The assembly thought his scholarly expertise was about to be established and did not wish him to popularize it; but Quan was enlightened to the needs of the times, accomplishing no small feat. He adapted to the situation appropriately and successfully, subsequently pursuing this endeavor. When it came to encompassing the utmost eloquence within the seas, nothing surpassed the south of the Yangzi. In appraising contemporary affairs and making quick, incomprehensible discernments, none stood higher than he. In his later years, he came to be known by Emperor Yang on account of his recommendation for talent and technique. He was summoned into the capital to reside at Riyan Monastery. After Empress Xian passed away, an edict was issued to practice circumambulation. About fifty eminent and famous bhadantas, all styled 'think tanks', assembled together in the palace. For the six periods of meritorious practice, [the Emperor] ordered that he must attend in person. Quan and Lishen took turns leading the liturgical guiding. Having dispensed with written texts, they relied solely on mental composition. Across the forty-nine nights, the matter was entirely entrusted to the two monks; during nearly three hundred occasions, not a single word was ever repeated. Shen overwhelmed others with his tonal modulation, while Quan astonished the assembly with his agile spirit. Sometimes, a single three-character phrase would exhaust an entire session; five- and seven-character compositions followed the same pattern. Emperor Yang remarked to academicians such as Liu Guyan and Zhuge Ying: 'One may casually associate with the Dharma Master’s conversational style; but in guiding, stirring words, and marvelous replies to questions, he is truly astonishing.' Ying said: 'His heaven-bestowed hero-eloquence is rarely equaled in this world.' At the time, someone secretly memorized his words, transcribed them into scrolls, and asked Quan about them. Quan said: 'The purpose of establishing cantillation and guiding lies in knowing the opportune moment. Memorizing words to conduct an event will only bring a beating upon oneself. The Samyuktāgama gives a clear warning; how can this be rashly transmitted? It should be burned at once, so it does not leak into people’s talk.' Thus, Quan’s guiding texts were never preserved on paper and ink. Whenever he read stele inscriptions, he often omitted their ornate phrases. Those standing by and watching felt as if they were wandering in a dream upon the ocean; yet when he ascended the seat, he would weave them in with melodious modulations. People thought he was drawing purely upon his own sentiments, but in truth he was skillfully adapting them. In the early Daye era, he passed away at Riyan Monastery at the age of fifty-three. His disciple Fagang transmitted his master’s method of guiding: vast, unrestrained, capricious, and full of wonders. Though his words were not numerous, they expressed feelings entirely. The brothers of Vice Director Xiao were hailed as pillars of scholarship at the time; whenever they managed merits and offerings, their lofty standards were unreachable by others, yet whenever there was an almsgiving assembly, they would invariably send to invite him. However, just as his illustrious reputation began to soar, he abruptly passed away at an early age. The Buddhist gate shut its doors, and clergy and laity all lamented.
30.22
Śramaṇa Zhiguo was a native of Shan in Kuaiji. He was naturally frugal, clear, and compassionate toward beings by nature. He constantly recited the Lotus Sūtra and had a fondness for literary writing. The Classics and histories were fundamentally his original aim, and with a sweep of his eye he grasped their refined nuances. At that time, his cantillation and reading were widely admired by men of letters. Because the public considered his calligraphy style close to that of the General of the Right Army [Wang Xizhi], it was presented to the King of Jin, who summoned him to copy texts. Guo said: 'I am a renunciant; to engage again in someone else’s labor is utterly impermissible. First, it would betray the trust of the holy teachings; second, it would transgress the vows taken upon renunciation. The Prince may constrain my body, but my mind cannot be constrained.' He then claimed: 'My vision is dim and I cannot move the brush.' The King was furious and imprisoned him indefinitely at Jiangdu, ordering him to guard the canon at the Baotai Monastery. When the heir apparent was invested in the capital and toured the Yang and Yue regions, Guo presented a hymn on the Crown Prince’s Eastern Tour, the preface of which read in brief: 'Zhiguo shook his garments and left the secular world, yearning for righteousness and wandering to Liang. Grateful for past encouragement, I rejoice in today’s auspicious celebration.' An edict was subsequently issued to release him, bestowing ten thousand cash and two golden bells. He was summoned into the Huiri Monastery and passed away in the Eastern Capital at the age of sixty-odd. At that time, there was Śramaṇa Zhiqian of Huiri Monastery, a native of the region south of the Yangzi. He was particularly penetrating in the origins of characters and thoroughly versed in secular literature. In his later years, on account of his learning, he was recruited into the imperial daochang. From the Secretariat's character-rectifier down to editorial collators, whenever they encountered unintelligible expressions or meanings, they all consulted Qian for a determination. He would immediately settle their ancient and modern forms and uncover their worldly provenance, making variants and glosses as clear as if seen face to face. He would often say: 'My study of characters is quite thorough, yet those who do not recognize characters are many. There is no one to settle and resolve them, which I consider a regret.' He composed the Pronunciation of the Various Sūtras and the Cang-Ya Word Garden; its extensive commentary was comprehensive and rich, so that those who understood held it in high regard. Every household kept a copy, regarding it as a precious gem. In his later years, he turned to guiding and narrating, reforming the previous framework; abandoning floral rhetoric, he displayed profound substance. He compiled a two-fascicle volume setting forth strategic methods. Scholars kept it secret, and thus this text is almost extinct. Śramaṇa Xuanying of the capital was also commended by clergy and laity for his wealth of character studies; he comprehensively composed the Sound and Meaning of the Sūtras, which was thoroughly rigorous and systematic.
30.23
Śramaṇa Fayan, whose secular surname was Yan, was a native of Jinling south of the Yangzi. His original name was Fazang. Residing at Yuanli Monastery, he listened to Master Jiao of Zhuangyan Monastery lecture on the Tattvasiddhi-śāstra; he penetrated its meaning and knew its ultimate purport, being widely praised at the time. Whenever he heard the cantillation of sūtras and hymns of praise, it filled his chest as if he had experienced them before. When he tentatively explored and imitated them in secret, his vocal expressions were fluent and accomplished. He presented what he understood to consult the senior masters, who all said: 'You must have practiced this in the past; hence you have this present affinity. It should not be found surprising.' Thereupon, taking the Ruixing [sūtra], he followed the cantillation throughout the entire scroll. His vocal leaps, side-bursts, and melodic flourishes were astonishingly agile, so that no one failed to marvel at him, and all came back to request instruction. During the gaps between lectures, he would elucidate it for them. In the fast-assemblies of the Chen dynasty, there were always those who held the scrolls; if the chanting was not presented, the merit of the fast would not be accomplished. Therefore, people with various wishes all followed him to listen attentively. Clear sounds filled their ears, and songs of praise overflowed, spreading widely through the secular world. In his later years, he was summoned by the Prince of Jin to enter Riyan Monastery. Toward the end of the Wude era, he again resided at Xuanfa Monastery. Although his age approached a hundred years, his voice and throat never failed. Although the capital was rich, its craft of cantillation was very impoverished; among all who appreciated its savor, none stood higher than Yan. However, his nature lay in contentment, and he accumulated no property; whatever meritorious gifts came to him were completely distributed. In the tenth year of the Zhenguan era [636 CE], he passed away at this monastery, aged over ninety.
30.24
Śramaṇa Huichang was a native of Jingzhao. Due to his skill in Indic cantillation, he resided at Riyan Monastery. He was especially capable of retreating modulations and soaring, fluttering sounds, drawing out long, surging, pure streams that never ran dry. Yet his voice issued from within his throat without his lips moving; even when someone stood beside him to examine him, they could not discern it. Unless one had prior knowledge of him, only then would one understand his technique. At that time, Emperor Wen of the Sui revived the Dharma, and Emperor Yang made it doubly magnificent; the four seas converged like spokes at the hub upon the imperial house. When it came to Indic cantillation and hymnic guiding, each valued their own lineage; but when they heard a single chant from Chang, they would immediately prick up their ears, offering their hearts and losing their composure, as if they were starving or thirsty. All said: 'If there is such Indic chanting, how could anyone with a mind who hears it fail to become good?' Although the assembly emulated his style and occasionally caught glimpses of its spirit, when it came to its deployment, variation, and modulation, none could equal him. In his later years, he entered the Eastern Capital. When the rebel Xiaogan caused chaos, the overall responsibility for the fasting and cantillation was unanimously entrusted to Chang. After the rebellion was pacified, he returned to the Guanzhong region. At that time, a pretender emperor declared: 'The rebels established merits; all those whose words touched on affairs of state may be arrested.' Thereupon a search was conducted, and Chang was firmly handed over. While marching through Shachui, a fleeing rebel detained him, saying: 'If you go, you will surely be executed. You can stop here.' Chang said: 'A debt long incurred must ultimately be paid off.' He proceeded to the Eastern Capital, and it happened just as said. He was then over forty years old. At that time, Daoying and Shenshuang of Xingshan Monastery in the capital were also renowned for their Indic cantillation. Daoying's throat and larynx were grand and robust, and his words were heroic and far-reaching. When a great assembly gathered, numbering more than ten thousand, his vocal modulation was sharp and elevated, soaring far above the crowd. The great hall of Xingshan had a foundation covering ten mu; its latticed door panels were so tall and heavy that they could not be easily shaken. Yet when Ying led the assembly in circumambulation passing by the windows and doors, the deafening volume struck them so that they all vibrated. Shenshuang's performance of Indic cantillation was even more skilled in drawn-out passages, his soaring modulations flowing continuously inside and out, adapting to the occasion with ease and delighting the hearts of the assembly. During the Zhenguan era, in the administrative seat of Yuzhou at Zhaoji Monastery, there was Dhyāna Master Tanbao; he abstained from grains to refine his physical form, and his moral conduct was spotless. He was about sixty years old. He regularly lectured on Avalokiteśvara, guiding scholars and commoners, and his vocal modulation was exceptionally prominent and distinct from ordinary men. The monastery had a stupa foundation; on quiet nights he would ascend it to offer praise and worship, and the reverberations would soar across thirty li. Among all who heard it from far and wide, there was none who was not astonished and reverent.
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Linked texts (1)
- 續高僧傳 — 道宣, Classical Chinese