華嚴經傳記 2.9

2.9

Shi Sengfan, surnamed Li, was a native of Pingxiang. In his youth he studied widely among the various books, and by age twenty-three he was thoroughly versed in the classifications and summaries of literature. As for the seven luminaries, the nine chapters [of mathematics], astronomy, and divination, none could rival him. Over a thousand people studied under him. Yet in his youthful prime and fine appearance, he had no mind for marriage at all. Longing to commit himself to the Dharma gate, he burned his fingers to make an offering. At age twenty-nine, hearing a lecture on the Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra, he tried listening once and thereupon realised the ultimate profundity of the Buddhist scriptures. He then went to Ye to take tonsure under a monk, thus becoming a monk. At first he studied the Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra, aspiring to master its teachings completely. Later he went to Luoyang to study under Master Xian, listening to the Lotus Sūtra and the Avataṃsaka Sūtra. He also went to the śramaṇa Huiguang to adopt further insights. After some time, he travelled to transform others, bringing benefit and peace throughout Qi and Wei. Each time he raised a Dharma seat, his audience numbered over a thousand. Du Bi, the regional inspector of Jiaozhou, invited Sengfan to give a winter lecture at the Xianyi Temple in Ye. When he reached the Sixth Ground of the Avataṃsaka Sūtra, a wild goose suddenly flew down, circumambulated the stupa from the east, and entered the hall. Facing the high seat directly, it prostrated and listened to the Dharma; when the lecture dispersed, it slowly went out, circumambulated the stupa to the west, and only then took flight and departed. Again, during a summer lecture at this temple, a sparrow came and prostrated to listen at the southwest of the seat, remaining until the end of the ninety days. Furthermore, when he once stayed in Jizhou, a duck likewise flew in to listen and departed only when the lecture was over. Such auspicious omens and responses were numerous. Had his virtue not matched the unseen realm, how could this have been so? Formerly, while he was lecturing on the Avataṃsaka Sūtra, a monk happened to slander it. That night a spirit specially gave him a flogging; he died and revived, on account of which all who saw or heard of it became deeply reverent. Once, staying overnight at another temple, it happened to be the poṣadha day. A monk ascended the seat intending to establish a doctrinal thesis, saying: 'Establishing debates on the characteristics of phenomena accords deeply with the sage words; why bother reciting the precepts, which the saṅgha always hears anyway?' Suddenly, a spirit over ten feet tall, of extraordinarily imposing appearance, was seen to come before the seat. He asked the monk who established the thesis: 'What day is today?' He replied: 'It is the poṣadha day.' The spirit struck him with his hand and dragged him beneath the seat, leaving him utterly exhausted and near death. He next asked the elder monk of the assembly, striking and dragging him likewise. From this Sengfan urged himself on, and until his end, whether for saṅgha matters or personal affairs, he never once declared intent by proxy. Even when gravely ill, he was carried on a litter to join the saṅgha. On the day he was about to pass away, he invited Daozhang into his room, stepped down from his bed, and knelt in repentance, only confessing past transgressions. Exactly at noon, he gave his final admonitions and died at the East Dajue Temple in Ye. His age was eighty; it was the second day of the third month in the sixth year of the Tianbao era. Originally, when Sengfan turned away from Confucianism to enter Buddhism, his veneration and faith grew daily. Restfully meditating on the gate of emptiness, he permanently cast aside his former habits. His words never touched upon personal gain, and his countenance showed neither joy nor anger. He always kept his mind on the Avataṃsaka Sūtra as his karmic cause for future recompense, and nightly bowed to the Thousand Buddhas as constant provision for his single lifetime. In his final years, when his age was already advanced and his physical strength uneven, he still bowed his head upon his pillow in accord with the six intervals of the day. Since the emergence of outstanding and eminent masters, rare were those who could run abreast with him. He composed a five-fascicle Commentary on the Avataṃsaka Sūtra; on the Daśabhūmika, the Bodhisattvabhūmi, the Vimalakīrti, and the Śrīmālādevī, he also had commentaries and notes for each.