續高僧傳 30.18

30.18

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.