弘明集 2

English (machine translation) 2

Language: English

2.1

Compiled by the Śramaṇa Sengyou of Jianchu Monastery in Yangdu of the Liang dynasty

2.2

Treatise on Elucidating the Buddha (Mingfo lun)

The utmost wonder of the Dao is certainly what customs and transformations ought to honor. Yet the world mostly considers the Buddha absurd, all holding that 'since my own person is not provided for, how do I have leisure to worry about what comes after?' Matters of ten thousand li away and things beyond a hundred years are all dismissed by them as untrue. How much more so the vastness of Sumeru, the grandeur of the Buddha realms, the spirit's imperishability, that humans can become Buddhas, that the mind creates all existing things, that all phenomena are empty, and that past causes are so distant that retribution comes only after hundreds of millions of kalpas! These are all extraordinarily transcendent, profoundly coherent, credible, and real. How could ears attuned to the popular tunes of Huanghua admit the melodies of Yunmen? Worldly people again esteem the writings and canons of the Duke of Zhou and Confucius. From Yao down to the Han, [the Buddha] was never mentioned in the Nine Provinces and the Hua-Xia realm. How could a foreign land move Emperor Ming of Han? What virtue did he possess that the spiritual radiance was revealed to him alone? All sentiments such as these are merely clinging to previous habits and failing to broaden the mind with profound insight. Thus, the ultimate principle is not distant, yet through doubt they submerge themselves. How sorrowful! The gentlemen of the Central Kingdom understand ritual and righteousness, but are ignorant of knowing the minds of men—how could they know the mind of the Buddha? In the present world, when the planning of proximate affairs is flawed, it brings about rise and fall, reversals of fortune; how much more so with the spirit, which is the self! If one attains it, one ascends purely without end; if one loses it, one falls forever without limit. Can one not approach the deep abyss and tread on thin ice with care? Even in a single game of chess, the calculations of shapes are shallow, yet did the mind of Yi Qiu ever hold back? And yet people wish to employ the perspective of a frog in a well to recklessly suppress the Great Way, going so far as to plunge their spirits alone beneath heaven's pitfall—is this not excessive? Now, using dim and obscured knowledge to illuminate profound and dark causes, since they cannot examine what they have lost, how can they alone understand what they have gained? One ought only to clarify the refined and illuminate the dark, pursue the good Dao, and naturally cultivate oneself using the Buddhist scriptures as a compass. Those Buddhist scriptures encompass the virtues of the Five Canons and deeply add to them distant and great reality; they contain the emptiness of Laozi and Zhuangzi and double the ultimate thoroughness of universal emptiness. Their lofty words and true principles solemnly move the spirit; their illumination is like the sun, their purity like the wind. If not a sage, who could speak them? I respectfully examine what is seen by the world and join it with the principles of the Buddha to elucidate them.

2.5

The treatise says: Now, touching from heel to crown, if one takes this [body] to soar into the void with a mind that travels and never stops, then the four quarters, above, and below are all boundless. Life does not arise in isolation; it must transmit what supports it. If one traces back what has been transmitted, it is without beginning. Successive generations give birth to one another without end, so it is likewise without culmination. As this body both makes daily use of boundless reality, personally coming from the beginningless, and furthermore will be transmitted into the unending and depart, then within the expanse of the measureless and borderless, and the duration of the beginningless and endless, humans certainly traverse it together to unfold themselves. Therefore, dwelling in the Red County, people have never doubted the eight extremities.

Now, three thousand suns and moons are arrayed, twelve thousand continents are spread out, Ganges sands mark out realms of countries, and flying specks of dust record accumulated kalpas: all that the dark transformations embrace are together minuscule and far from ending—why then feel secure in our [realm] alone while doubting those others? A fine autumn hair placed in the vast ocean still has an ultimate limit to its disparity. But linking the cardinal human relations to the Grand Void as a minuscule boat—how can words express it? Therefore, what the world considers great, the Dao considers small; what humans consider far, Heaven considers near. What is referred to as 'before Xuan Yuan, how distant and remote!', if one embodies the heavenly Dao to gaze from on high, it is merely yesterday's matter. The *Book of Documents* praises 'knowing the distant', yet does not exceed Yao and Shun; the *Spring and Autumn Annals* connects its phrases, exhausting itself in royal undertakings; the noble reverence of rites and music, and the warmth and purity of the *Odes* and the *Changes*—now, amidst the infinite, three thousand suns and moons shine radiantly to illuminate and embellish, and twelve thousand continents are aligned in correct view. From this, one knows that what the Duke of Zhou and Confucius described was merely within the realm of the snail's horns, responding to the coarse feelings that seek order and temporary peace, lacking beyond the scope of a single life. What escapes beyond life they left intact without discussion. If this were not so, why would they be so earnest regarding the initial corporeal form, yet so neglectful regarding the ultimate spirit? Climbing Mount Meng makes Lu seem small; climbing Mount Tai makes the world seem small—this is their boundary.

Furthermore, the ancient records have been lost; what common scholars compile centers solely on traces of governance. Words that transcend the world were either scattered and lost in historical records, or extinguished in the burning [of books] and burying [of scholars]. The Dao of Laozi and Zhuang Zhou, and the arts of Chisongzi, Wang Qiao, and the ranks of perfected immortals, can truly cleanse the mind and nourish the body, yet none were adopted into the Six Classics. But scholars cling only to the deficient texts intended to remedy coarseness, taking the *Documents* and the *Rites* as boundaries; they cut themselves off from hearing of the distant transformations of exhausting the spirit through accumulated kalpas, dazzled by what is before their eyes and perpetually negligent—is this not lamentable? Alas, it is like walking beneath thick clouds and not believing in the sun and moon.

Now, as for saying 'one yin and one yang' and asserting 'that which is unfathomable in yin and yang is called spirit', this means that the ultimate non-action is the Dao, where yin and yang are doubly blended, and hence it is called 'one yin and one yang'. Descending from the Dao, one enters the spirit, which constantly exists beyond yin and yang and is not what the Two Modes can exhaust; hence it is said 'yin and yang are unfathomable'. Zhuang Junping's statement that 'the one generates the two' refers to the spirit. If both these statements are explained as not meaning the spirit, then through what can one illuminate the spirit? Yet, though the culmination of the spirits of all living beings is equal, following conditions they drift and shift, forming coarse or subtle consciousness, and yet they are fundamentally not destroyed along with it.

Now, although Shun was born to the blind Gu Sou, Shun's spirit was certainly not generated by Gu Sou; and the spirit of Shangjun was again not reared by Shun. Prior to birth and rearing, coarseness and subtlety already inherently existed. Since the foundation is established prior to birth, one knows it is not destroyed after death. Furthermore, if it is not destroyed, it is not uniform: the foolish and the sage are different; one knows that between the foolish and the sage, life and death do not alter the distinction of non-extinction. Thus it is said: 'The spirit receives a corporeal form, circulating through the five destinies, through the formation and destruction of worlds beyond count.' With the constitution of double pupils born to a blind fool, and the body of the perverse Shangjun receiving substance from the central yellow, the fool and the sage are separated by a gulf—by what calculation could they be combined? Is it not that the soul of Chonghua [Shun] was initially coarse in the past, forming causes before past kalpas, and conditions converged after myriad transformations? Now his spirit stands singularly supreme, yet having past burdens of contact with coarseness, it was exhausted through refining. The non-extinction of the spirit, the principle of the convergence of conditions, and becoming a sage through accumulated cultivation: these three are mirrored here.

If the spirit were born when the form is born and died when the form dies, then when the form is maimed the spirit should be ruined, and when the form is sick the spirit should be exhausted. Yet there are instances where the body decays, or at the final breath on the brink of death, the spirit and intention remain calm and whole; and when grasping the hand through the window at the extremity of illness, the master of moral virtue remains unchanged. These are practically proofs of non-extinction. If the spirit must be born from the form, originally not being a conjunction of conditions, let us now take examples from distant things and then seek them close at hand in our bodies. If one says the Five Peaks and Four Waterways lack spirits, that cannot be definitively asserted. If one grants their spirits, the peaks are merely an accumulation of much earth, and the waterways merely an accumulation of water. How could the spirit that attains the One be born from the coarseness of water and earth? Yet feelingly lodged in crags and currents, it solemnly forms a single body; supposing the mountains collapsed and the rivers dried up, it would certainly not perish together with the water and earth. The spirit is not made by the form; conjoining with it, it is not destroyed. The same is true of human beings. 'Spirit' is spoken of as that which is subtle to the myriad things. If it relied on form to be created and was destroyed along with form, then with form as the root, how could it be spoken of as subtle?

Now, the spirit reaches in the four directions and flows everywhere without limit, reaching up to heaven above and coiled over earth below. From the sages' exhausting of subtle springs and the worthies' probing of the minute, down to the likes of Zai Yu, Duanmu Ci, Zhuangzi, Ji Kang, Jizha of Wu, and Zhang Zifang: wherever the function of their essence went, without solemnity and without motion, they sat and penetrated the universe. Yet the foul decay and physical desires on which their forms relied were completely identical to the most foolish! How could they again receive it from birth and perish with it? One should consider this further. The Duke of Zhou offered the suburban sacrifice to Houji and the ancestral sacrifice to King Wen; some in the world say this was purely out of filial piety. But if one asks these speakers how they clearly know it was purely [symbolic], they will certainly have no way to know. If they have no way to know, then the spirits of King Wen and Houji cannot be called extinguished. Fasting for three days, one will certainly see the person for whom one fasted; how could one judge, from ordinary people not seeing them, that the Duke of Zhou certainly did not see them? On the day of burial between Ying and Bo, the bones and flesh return to the earth, but the soul and qi go everywhere—this does not mean extinction.

Now, supreme order reaches heaven, and great disorder overflows heaven; their crux is the doing of the mind-spirit. Yao had no principle he did not illuminate, and no desire he did not exhaust; his spirit was pure essence. Jie had no evil he did not indulge; his spirit was perverse. It was not that Jie did not know Yao's goodness and did not know his own evil, nor that evil was already obliterated; the desires of his body perverted his spirit. But the consciousness knowing Yao and knowing evil to be ruined was constantly contained within his spirit. If he were not placed on the throne of a ruler and did not die for a thousand years, so that committing evil brought harsh torment and slight goodness brought a little relief, would he not gradually diminish his evil and progressively cultivate his goodness? Then the consciousness knowing Yao that was formerly contained in his spirit would certainly find a little use. Adding another thousand years without end, his desires could also be completely cleared, and he would ultimately purify his spirit like Yao.

When the constellations and moon shift, the pitch-pipes resonate; when the dark of the moon and full moon alternate, the clams and oysters respond. At the equinoxes, solstices, and openings and closings [of seasons], swallows, hawks, dragons, and snakes suddenly appear and vanish: all are preceded by dark transformations, and only then manifest among creatures. All living beings together appear molded by dark transformation; why would only a few matters be so, while the myriad transformations were not entirely so? Now, the reasons why someone who kills a person dies, someone who injures a person is punished, or someone is bound in chains, as well as those who are currently innocent yet share the same fate as those who are currently guilty, all stem from dark conditions encountered beforehand, with human principles manifesting afterward. The unseen and the visible are one: a fault is encountered in the unseen and its ugliness manifests in the visible—this is already not strange; committing atrocities in the visible and receiving torment in the unseen—how could that be strange? Now, with the undying spirit containing the consciousness that knows Yao, moving through the unseen and visible across ten thousand generations, with suffering to admonish evil and joy to entice goodness, supplemented by the Ancestor of the Sun and Moon [the Buddha] shedding bright radiance—on what grounds would one not empty oneself, drill, look up, and transform at once toward the ultimate Dao? I suspect that the Jies and Zhous of past kalpas can all slowly become the Tangs and Wus of the future; how much more so for those of our contemporary temper who are young and float their minds toward the pure stream! Viewed from this, that humans can become Buddhas is also clear.

Now, the arising of birth entirely stems from the stirrings of passion. In our world, men and women join essences and the myriad things are transformed and born: all essence is joined by passion. When passion is joined in oneself, hundreds of thousands of spirits receive bodies; this greatly resembles knowing that passion is the root of birth. As for the Five Thearchs and Three Kings, although they transcended passion and exhausted the spirit, they accorded with every principle; if past conditions converged, they also necessarily descended into essence-transformations, according with birth alongside [others] to spread the myriad clans. How much more so for those who today bind the spirit with passion: when one body dies, how could passion not again receive another body, through measureless births and deaths? If consciousness can clarify the undying root and receive the study of daily decrease—decreasing and further decreasing—it will certainly reach non-action and desirelessness. When desires and passions cease and the spirit alone shines, there is no correspondence with birth. With no birth there is no body; with no body yet possessing the spirit, this is what is called the Dharma Body.

Now, the Yellow Emperor, Shun of Yu, the Duke of Zhou, and Master Kong are those whom the world reveres and believes in. Observing how they slackened the reins and ascended to heaven, dragons submerged, birds soared, winds reversed and standing grain rose, or they abstained from grain and strummed the zither while singing, these all likewise stemmed from exhausting the spirit as essence; hence what their spiritual efficacy responded to was untrammeled and unfathomable. Now, although physical principles are external, when they arise and cease according to stimuli, there are also necessarily things that arrive not through human power. The River producing the Chart, the Luo producing the Writing, the *mingjia* plant blooming without being cut, the dark jade tablet forming without being carved, the mulberry and paper mulberry in the courtyard suddenly becoming an armful in size and abruptly vanishing, fire flowing over the royal chamber and turning into a raven, the light and heavy, small and large of the cauldrons: all suddenly transform and arise in response to the spirit. These are truly luminous categories of the inconceivable. With the ultimate numinous efficacy of the Dharma Body, responding to the subtle multitudes and manifesting transformations, illuminating spiritual efficacy to brighten beings, what marvel would it not display, what transformation could be limited? How could it merely soar up into the Nine Heavens, walk like a dragon in the Nine Springs, inhale the wind, and abstain from grain? All the greatness of radiant appearance and auspicious omens—dividing the body, leaping forth, moving and turning world systems, or huge oceans entering a hair-pore—compared to the untrammeled and unfathomable spiritual transformations of the Yellow Emperor, Shun of Yu, the Duke of Zhou, and Confucius, when the dimness and clarity, appearance and disappearance of those many omens have already exited form and entered spirit, identical in trance-like obscurity and dark transformation, why believe only in the latter while suppressing the former? The Darkly Awakened Dharma King is clear, bright, preeminent, and lofty; he is trustworthy and verified, not distant from our faces by a foot, yet the benighted do not know it—how lamentable!

Now, the various omens and the responses of good and bad fortune in the *Great Plan* all come from the mind. Up to the white rainbow piercing the sun, Venus entering the Pleiades, cold valleys sprouting millet, crumbling walls, and falling frost: such things all issue from human feelings, and from afar take shape in heavenly events, naturally acting as form and shadow to each other. If the form originally lacked a shadow, and sound originally lacked an echo, then feelings would likewise originally lack retribution. How could it merely be things like piercing the sun and falling frost? None fail to bend and respond according to feelings, and no thing has an escaping form; but they are either tied to the body or spread into events, alternating and delaying in tangled confusion, visible and dark, vast and boundless—who can see their boundaries? The myriad transformations filling the world and the diverse forms meeting the eyes are all the accumulation of spiritual resonance across ten thousand generations. Therefore, the Buddhist sutras say: 'All dharmas produce form from intent.' They also say: 'The mind is the root of dharmas; the mind makes heaven, and the mind makes hell.' The meaning stems from this. For this reason, a pure mind and clean feelings will certainly be born subtly into a splendid realm; turbid feelings and defiled conduct will eternally pervert one into the realm of the three evil paths. How could these proclamations, so distant, subtly bright, and possessing true principles, merely soothe the soul, cleanse thoughts, fly sincerity, and instill fear in the will?

Even so, the passions of countless beings all depend on conditions to form consciousness, and consciousness responding forms corporeal shapes; their nature is truly non-existent. Ever since there has been ford-crossing awakening, a solitary voice has opened up, eradicating the afflictions of the mind; nothing has reached this extremity. Please let me explain and clarify it again. When the holy spirit illuminates mysteriously without the consciousness of deliberation and contrivance, it is because the mind is severed from objects and there is only the spirit. Therefore, the fundamentally empty and luminous essence is eternally abiding from beginning to end and cannot wither. Now, when mind and objects interact, they are not unified with the spirit; even with Yan Hui's subtlety, he still had to be diligently drilling and looking up, fond of benevolence and delighting in mountains, hoping repeatedly to be empty. These are all functions of the mind, which is consciousness: whenever function is used, subtlety joins consciousness, and consciousness is subtly continued, like blazing fire where flames follow one upon another to form a blaze. Now, by understanding emptiness and resting the mind, when mental function ceases and passion-consciousness rests, the spirit-illumination is complete. Since the construction of passion-consciousness is subtle continuity of the new and old, it is entirely a boundary of disunity; how could it be permanently existent? If Cook Ding were to view it, he would certainly not see the whole ox. What the Buddhist sutras call the phenomena of change and dispersion, the nature of dharmas and consciousness—emptiness, dreams, phantoms, shadows and echoes, bubbles, foam, and the moon in the water—how could it not be so? Yan Hui knew it was like this; therefore he dwelt in being as if in non-being, touched reality as if it were void, and did not mind when offenses occurred without taking revenge. Now observing Yan Hui's 'repeated emptiness', one knows that his 'being' was truly 'non-being'. How much more so for those descending from this, who lose the true ever more distantly! Though they again advance toward the Great Dao, sharing the name of 'madmen' with those rushing frantically eastward, all go against principle, falsely respond, flee from nature, and forget conduct, being even further from true being. How much more so for substance, flavors, sounds, and forms—are they not the shadow-transformations of passion and falsehood?

Furthermore, the boat in the ravine secretly passes away, transforming faster than rushing lightning. The future has not arrived; the past is already destroyed; what is present does not abide: within the span of a breath or a blink, not a single hair can be seized upon. What would one wish to cling to as 'being'? How severe is false being's obstruction of the spirit! Suppose there is a clear mirror here, and diverse dirt gathers on it: when slight, its reflection is dim; when accumulated, its reflection is faint; when increasingly thick, it reflects darkly. The substance is fundamentally bright; hence even with dirt added, it still reflects. Though going from dim to dark, it fundamentally relies on the undying mirror to distinguish things. Objects will certainly be lost increasingly with the dirt, and errors will result. The spiritual principle of human beings is similar to this. False being burdens the spirit to form subtle or coarse consciousness; consciousness clings to the spirit, so even in death it is not destroyed. Imbued gradually with emptiness, one will certainly practice gradually until exhausting [delusion] and exhausting the fundamental spirit: this is what is called Nirvāṇa. For this reason, the ultimate words are abundant as clouds, following along to establish emptiness. Crags and forests are tranquil, and wind and water are empty; approaching them with a full heart, one still feels expansive—how much more so for the sage's solemn emptiness, using voidness to confer upon humans, so that without passion the mind delights in exhaustion! Therefore, of those of old who mounted the void to enter the Dao, finding one Buddha in every grain of sand would not yet be too many.

2.6

Someone asked: "Spirit is originally supremely empty. Why does it govern and receive the myriad existences, serving as their conditions? Furthermore, since original emptiness is uniform, why is it divided into the foolish and the sage? Moreover, since you say that the mind makes the myriad existences, before the myriad existences existed, by what was the mind burdened so as to be stimulated and give rise to the myriad existences?"

2.7

I reply: "Now spirit is subtle while corporeal form is coarse, and they serve each other in function. Taking the subtle as a condition for the coarse, one knows how emptiness serves as a condition for existence. Now, although a foolish person is base, he is essentially able to reside in the present and know the past, to be here and remember there—these are all functions of the spirit. Thus, through refinement, one can fully know that its original emptiness is uniform. That the mind makes the myriad existences has been fully treated in the previous treatise; relying on perception and observing reality, these three are already verified as true. However, the reason why it is so originates from beginninglessness. Can the beginning of beginninglessness have a beginning? It is indeed the mystery of mysteries. Zhuang Zhou stated that Ran Qiu asked, 'Can it be known what was before Heaven and Earth existed?' Zhongni said, 'The ancient is like the present.' This means that although it was before beginninglessness, tracing back to the first boundary is initially boundless and indistinct, just like the Ran Qiu of today. Now, the first arising of the spirit and the earliest ancestor of all living beings are entirely vast and obscure, beyond the reach of retrospective thought. How could this be something with which the open or blocked [faculties] of scholars are concerned? Indeed, the sage is fundamentally serene and motionless, responding only after being stimulated. What thought cannot reach lies outside the cosmos. Having no means to be stimulated, it is preserved but not discussed. If the sage does not discuss it, how could the people understand it? Now, together we tread the earth and bear the sky on our heads; beyond what we tread and bear, how could there be a boundary? That Yu assisted in establishing the five dependencies and laid out the land not exceeding the Nine Provinces was simply because they were what could be reached by the paths of the world. As for what lies beyond the Great Waste, on the borders of the Sun Valley and the Meng Sea, these no longer pertain to human principles, so the divine sage did not illuminate them. How much less, going ever further beyond this into the primeval chaos and vast darkness, could one discuss their borders? Now, tracing what we tread and bear, we ultimately reach what is not to be discussed, so they are of one essence. Tracing the present functions of the spirit to seek their ancient origin, ultimately reaching what the sage preserves and does not discuss, is likewise connected by a single principle. How could this alone be disputed? It is all because obscure conditions are limitless as they follow the cosmos, while the feelings of beings are stimulated within limits. Indeed, the minds of the multitude depend on the sage to achieve consciousness, just like the eyes of the multitude meet the sun to achieve sight. Li Zhu discerned an autumn down at a hundred cubits by relying on his wondrous eyes and borrowing the sun to see it. Now, if the down is placed a thousand paces away, the strength of his eyes is exhausted and has no means to see it; yet his ability to discern the minute and avoid danger is not at all deficient. Why, on account of what is obscured at a thousand fathoms, should he turn back to doubt the down at a hundred cubits? Today, failing to fathom the origin of conditions, feeling and consciousness are exhausted and have no means to encounter the sage; yet the knowledge required to reach the ford to the Dao is not at all deficient. Why, on account of obscurity concerning the beginning of conditions, should one turn back to doubt the transformation that has already been illuminated?"

2.8

Someone asked: "People today say that because they do not understand the beginning of conditions, they cannot believe in the Buddha. Is this not a stimulus? Why did the sage not illuminate it for them?"

2.9

I reply: "What is called stimulus means possessing the capacity to ascend while the principle has not yet been fully realized, so that one must rely on the sage to attain breakthrough—this is genuine stimulation of principle. Therefore, for those who take joy in the body and cling to existence, he illuminates them with the principle of suffering and emptiness; for those whose universal love is not broad, he demonstrates it with the compassion of sacrificing the body. Because essences do not all arrive together, the divisions of the three vehicles are established; because karmic deeds are cultivated differently, the six perfections are illuminated. The responses providing a ford are not lacking in a single detail; this may be called responding after being stimulated. Therefore, when the Dao was heard on Vulture Peak, devas and humans were all delighted, and those who attained the ultimate were magnificent. How could they harbor distant doubts about the beginning of conditions and doubt the ultimate principle? The illuminated teachings are sufficient for cultivating practice as spoken; what is not fully provided? Yet if someone still refuses to believe, and always harbors excessive doubts about what marks cannot reach, how is that different from a person on the verge of death who refuses medicine when it is offered, or who suffers a flying arrow penetrating his vitals yet endures the pain without pulling it out, demanding to know the origin of the making of the arrow and medicine until his life ends? How is it any different? It is all because they have accumulated deviations since the past and therefore have not encountered primal auspiciousness, bringing it about that today they harbor false doubts in the presence of faith. How could this be considered a stimulus of genuine principle? The delusion of unreasonable and false doubts certainly provides no means to stimulate the sage and attain illumination. Indeed, 'It is not I who seek the ignorant youth; the ignorant youth seeks me.' One should certainly empty oneself, accord with the mysterious transformation in one's own person, and proceed with sincerity and faith; only then will awakening come in response. Roused by a single awakening, one can ultimately reach the obscure ultimate. If one clings to these false doubts and does not return to purity, those who gather their robes [in hesitation] will long sink into the calamity of obstinate delusion; how could there be a dawn for them? A single divergence in facing toward or turning away leads to a heavenly gulf between ascending and falling. Can one not be prudent?"

2.10

Someone asked: "The instruction of Confucius says, 'Do not seek life so as to harm humaneness,' and also, 'Sacrifice the body to achieve humaneness.' This is the utmost of humaneness, and it is also what the Buddhist scriptures call the practice of a bodhisattva. Laozi made clear the ultimate of non-action, which is the acme of Nirvāṇa. Yet neither ever spoke of spiritual powers or becoming a Buddha. Was it that Confucius and Laozi did not exhaustively know it, or did they, wishing to sway beings with their clear Dao, conceal the reality of attaining the Dao? How could doubts about its lack of reality not arise?"

2.11

I reply: "The emergence of teachings and transformations each points to what they correspond to. When the world was seeking order amidst disorder, what the Zhu and Si rivers promoted corresponded to the way of governance. When the pure customs became increasingly decayed, the two chapters [of the Daodejing] were written in order to quiet movement. If Yan Hui, Ran Geng, Zai Yu, Duanmu Ci, Yin Xi, and Zhuang Zhou had outwardly praised the traces of Confucianism and the Daoist mystery in order to guide what worldly feelings could reach, while inwardly receiving the study of the unarisen to seek it through the principle of the spirit, who in the world would have recognized it? As for the likes of Ran Ji, Ziyou, Zixia, Zisi, Meng Ke, Linzong, Kangcheng, Master Gai, Yan Ping, Ban Si, Yang Xiong, and Wang Chong, some reached their limits within ritual teachings, while others fulfilled themselves in unbridled retirement, feeling no joy in the Buddha Dharma. These were all where their sparse conditions reached an end; they never transgressed their bounds. Therefore, when Confucius and Laozi uttered teachings to guide them, it was reached by the stimulation and inclination of such men; hence they did not overstep to strike and excessively respond. Confucianism promotes humaneness; the Dao lies in restraining movement. Both have already grasped the limits of teaching, and none exceeded their ultimate. Although benevolence and non-action flow together with the Buddha's teachings, the Dharma body and Nirvāṇa were not things that could be fully spoken of to them, and thus they did not illuminate them. Moreover, whenever one speaks of 'doing nothing yet leaving nothing undone,' how does that differ in purport from the Dharma body being without form yet universally entering everything? Therefore, although Confucius, Laozi, and the Tathāgata took different paths in their three teachings, in practicing good they walked side by side."

2.12

Someone asked: "From the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors down to Confucius and Laozi, there must have been people who cleansed their minds with the Buddha Dharma; yet why have the traces of their interaction never been heard of even for a moment?"

2.13

I reply: "The purport of my previous treatise has already made this clear: the compilations of worldly scholars focus exclusively on traces of governance; words that surpass the world were either scattered and lost from historical records, or destroyed and extinguished in the burning of books and burying of scholars. Now I shall once again lay out my thoughts. The books of the Three Sovereigns are called the Three Fen, which speak of the Great Dao. In that time, filial piety and kindness were naturally complete; how could they have instructed with humaneness and righteousness? Pure simplicity was not yet abandoned; what would there have been for those like Laozi and Zhuangzi to sway? If they did not illuminate the spirit as originating in the unarisen and making empty all natures to shine upon the ultimate, what else would be regarded as the Great Dao? These texts are lost; who in the world would recognize them? When Sima Qian described the Five Emperors, he said of all of them that they were 'born divine and efficacious,' or 'able to speak while infants,' or 'named themselves,' and were 'profound, penetrating, and their wisdom was like spirits.' They already resemble Mahāyāna bodhisattvas who manifest transformations and are born. Residing on the hill of Xuanyuan, ascending Mount Kongtong, climbing Mount Ji and Mount Tai, traveling to the Youling and Panmu trees—their free and unrestrained traces were transcendent. How do we know they did not follow the way of the Tathāgata? Given the long eras of the Five Emperors—Yao governed for a hundred years, and Shun for seventy—the mysterious influence of figures like Guangcheng, Dawei, Hongya, Chao Fu, Xu You, the father of Zizhou, the transformed men, and the four masters of Mount Gushe accumulated and overflowed at that time. Yet among the Five Dian, only two chapters on Tang and Yu remain, being extremely sparse and incomplete. Zichang's records also state that the sayings of the Hundred Schools concerning the Yellow Emperor 'are not elegant and proper in language, so the gentry find them hard to speak of.' He recorded only deeds of subjugation and traces of governance, yet not one in ten thousand was recorded. How could it be that because the flourishing of the ultimate Dao is not seen in incomplete chapters, it must all be false? Now, divine and enlightened rulers traveled in a vast world, leading the seven sages at Jici and visiting the divine man at Gushe; what need is there to speak further of the life of a single transformation? How do we know that what was refined in their subtle words did not plumb the spirit beyond billions of kalpas? The words of Guangcheng say, 'The essence of the ultimate Dao is deep and dark'—this is the Śūraṅgama Samādhi. 'Those who attain my Dao become sovereigns above and kings below'—this means ascending or descending in accordance with transformation to become flying emperors, wheel-turning sage kings, and the like. 'Those who lose my Dao see light above and become soil below'—this also refers to being born and dying within the realms of devas and humans. That [the Yellow Emperor], stimulated by Dawei's wind, addressed him as Heavenly Master and withdrew—this is also one of the ten titles [of a Buddha]. I suspect that the transformation of the unarisen was profoundly deep in those times, and its karma flowed among the mysteriously supreme; but deeds were lost in antiquity and the principle was obscured along with the texts. Therefore, what the Hundred Schools gathered was as if understood yet obscure; furthermore, the gentry scholars did not regard it as elegant and proper, thus causing those who sacrifice themselves for worldly matters without deepening themselves in the Dao to rely on historical records to suppress the ultimate principle, following immediate inclinations while neglecting distant transformations, and entangling their spirits across eternal kalpas—is this not lamentable? Boyi described the Classic of Mountains and Seas, saying that in the country of Tiandu, 'they lean on people and love people.' Guo Pu's commentary says that antiquity called Tiandu 'Tianzhu,' where Buddhism arose; the meaning of 'leaning on and loving' is also the Tathāgata's instruction of great compassion. It was indeed already heard in the era of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors; that the state records did not transmit it is not sufficient cause for doubt. In general, from the Three Dynasties down to the era of Confucius and Laozi, how could anything outside the historical records be measured? When Confucius asked about ritual, Laozi explained it to him; when the Gatekeeper Yin requested it, he again clarified the Dao for him. Supposing those two chapters had lost their words and were preserved solely in the Book of Rites, how could later generations not regard the Old Man under the Pillar simply as an old Confucian who knew ritual—how could they know he embodied the mysterious wind? Today, books of a hundred generations have drifted away amidst preservation and loss, and principles cannot be fully present; how can one judge by what is seen and cut off the interaction of Confucius and Laozi? Dongfang Shuo's answer to Emperor Wu of Han regarding the kalpa fire, and Liu Xiang's Liexian zhuan recording seventy-four persons found in Buddhist scriptures—the scholars' glimpse through a bamboo tube in these matters did not begin with Emperor Ming of Han. However, those who gallop their spirits beyond the world are numerous and prominent, while those who bind their sincerity in the subtle and obscure are few and hidden; thus the reality of latent stimulation is not proclaimed among worldly matters. Master Dao'an's teacher Fotudeng was humane and sage. In the era of Shi Le and Shi Hu, he said to Hu, 'Within the city of Linzi there is the site of an ancient King Aśoka monastery, where there are still images and dew-receiving basins beneath deep forests and giant trees, twenty fathoms into the earth.' Hu sent messengers to dig and search according to the map, and all was found as he had said. Recently, Yao Lüe's uncle, serving as Prince of Jin, saw a bright light at Hedong's Puban where elders spoke of an ancient King Aśoka monastery; digging in search, he found a relic bone of the Buddha inside a stone case and silver box, shining with extraordinary brilliance. Following Lüe, he welcomed it to the capital, and it is now seen in the new monastery by the monks on the Ba Embankment. Viewed from this, that there were Buddhist events in the regions of Qi and Jin has been true for a long time. The reason they were not recounted in the Three Commentaries is just as in the histories of Gan Bao and Sun Sheng: without mentioning the word 'Buddha,' the wondrous transformation was nonetheless manifested, flourishing in Jiangzuo under the Jin dynasty."

2.14

Someone asked: “If all Buddhas are presently existing and clearly penetrate everything, and the power of their divine majesty is autonomous over all phenomena, why do they not shine their radiant presence in the present age so that refined and coarse alike might share in faith and awakening, and pour down their divine efficacy upon those in extreme distress so as to rescue those unjustly destroyed? Instead, they cause men of noble character to see nothing of the Buddha and thus join in disbelief, together falling into the suffering of icchantikas. In a single day, among the hosts of Qin and Zhao, Bai Qi and Xiang Ji buried alive six hundred thousand men. Among ordinary people of past and present and all those who suffered being buried alive, it is true that not all possessed great goodness from past conditions, yet neither did they all lack any favorable condition and entirely amass great evil. Yet one saw nothing of the Buddha's compassion. When in a single day all were buried together in pain, [the Buddha] passively allowed them to end up identical, sitting by and watching their extreme agony without responding. How can this be considered benevolence? If one cannot save [them] unless their conditions tilt heaven and their virtue exceeds the world, how can it be called an autonomous and inconceivable divine power? Luyang turned back the sun; Geng Gong made a spring gush forth; in Song, tigers crossed the river and locusts avoided the borders of Jiujiang. Even these, through heart and mind cutting through obstacles, were able to make non-ordinary ways mysteriously connect. How much more so with the divine power of a Buddha! Melting the fury of Qi and curing the heart of Ji so as to save a million lives would surely be easier than inserting Sumeru into a mustard seed, and far more benevolent than destroying one's own body for a single tiger or pigeon. Yet now, when one contemplates him, he is not seen; when one calls upon him, he does not hear; when one entreats him, there is no salvation; he is as desolate and silent as the great void, without any distinction. And yet among people, there are those who become śramaṇas and burn their bodies; there are those who sever human relationships and excise the six passions; there are those who endure painful toil and exhaust their wealth to serve temples and images. They abruptly forfeit their prime years, yet one sees nothing of what they gain. Alas, how pitiable! If one says that the response lies in the future, then as for those six hundred thousand lives just mentioned, their good and evil were not the same, yet their wrongful destruction was identical. Now, though good and evil differ, how could what they receive after this body uniquely differ from what is seen in the present world? Since these distinct categories received not the slightest distinction, what hope is there in a vast and boundless future? What is more, is it not to be feared that there truly is no future at all? A sūtra says that when [the Buddha] pressed the earth with his toe, the three thousand Buddha-lands were all revealed, and the blind, deaf, mute, those in prison, and those suffering from poison and pain all attained peace. Now, whether far or near, surviving or deceased, possessing precepts or lacking precepts, the Buddha is equal in his compassion toward them. These conscious beings here ought to have their pain seen and ought to be granted peace equally with those. Yet while sūtras abound in such fine words, in reality there has never been even a fleeting response. How can we know in private that this was not fabricated by an extraordinary and outstanding figure in a foreign land who devised this doctrine of emptiness to threaten the tyrannical and befriend the good, whose words contain profound and far-reaching subtleties and whose conduct possessed a pure and serene beauty, so that credulous people surrendered themselves completely, and it was thereupon transmitted into unfathomable realms until its momentum could not be stopped or diminished?”

2.15

I reply: You do not see the way, and therefore call what is level perilous; if you truly look upon its path, you will see nothing difficult about it. Constantly being without [form] is the Dao. The Buddha alone, through the spirit, takes the Dao as his model; therefore his virtue and the Dao are one, while his spirit and the Dao are two. Being two, there is illumination with which to effect transformation; being one, he constantly accords [with things] without deliberate fabrication. The myriad transformations certainly follow causes and conditions, each of themselves within the Great Dao. Now, the reason the Buddha is said to be unimpeded in all phenomena and unfathomable is not to say that he can bypass conditions and karma, overstep past destiny, and rescue by arbitrary intervention. It is rather that sentient beings are immeasurable, and where his spiritual efficacy guides them, it always follows their natural contours to bring them to full expression; his illumination cannot be measured by thought. Take the great flood as an analogy, or the Four Evils, Gu Sou the blind fool, and Xiang the arrogant: their natures were set in their transformation, and Yao and Shun could not change them. Yet following their contours, lowering the waters and exiling the wicked, Shun 'cordially conformed to all matters'—is his virtue not grand? The Buddha is none other than this: the way of the sage is not exhausted in the worldly affairs of kings who rescue their states, but unfolds transformation in the world of exterior rebirth. As for according with things without deliberate action, where results achieve themselves naturally, he directly mirrors Yao’s distinct response. The tuning pipes and pitched bells resonate with their kind through the subtle meeting of mind; how much more do spiritual sages share their kind through the principle of spirit! All those who meet in the dark with the Buddha's realm are people whose ardent resolve and purified spirit, accumulating through kalpas, have grown ever clearer; hence they are able to resonate, attain, and see with penetrating clarity, causing Śākyamuni to shine his radiance across the ten directions in mutual illumination, Prabhūtaratna to leap up and appear, and the King of Lamps to enter the chamber. How could this be the Buddha manifesting in isolation? It is that they are able to see him. As for the gentlemen of today, they were not born into an era fitting to meet an Arhat, but dwell within the bounds of Yu’s realm; their sincerity deviated in the past, so their encounter has miscarried in the present. Though they may be as pure as Boyi and Shuqi or as steadfast as Liu Xiahui, if what their will is set on is fundamentally different, by what means could they resonate and see the Buddha? How much more is this the case for those who came after them: though ritual and righteousness imbue their persons and high fame perfumes the world, their sentiments are deeply tied to humanity while their aspirations do not cleave to the Dao. Though gentlemen among humans, they are in truth petty men in the eyes of Heaven; how could the form of the supreme spirit resonate in response to them? How could this be a matter of the Buddha hiding himself away? It is simply that I do not see him. If the Buddha, according with conditions, were to take rebirth, and a person's sincerity in the six perfections, arising from past karma, were to perceive him with unique clarity, there must indeed often be such people. Yet though monastic and lay rub shoulders, by what means could they know one another? Thus, coarseness or subtlety lies within oneself, and seeing or not seeing is an outcome of distinct responses. How can one, because of one’s own failure to be illuminated by his radiant presence, doubt whether the Buddha is present? That Heaven and Earth have spirits and that the spirit is not extinguished are clear truths. Now, as for the hosts of Qin and Zhao, their spirits came into being together with the universe, surviving the formation and decay of Heaven and Earth without being extinguished. How could the two generals Bai Qi and Xiang Yu abruptly extinguish six hundred thousand spirits? Since the spirit cannot be extinguished, what was destroyed was merely their bodies. Does this not completely accord with the Buddha’s words: that because they continually extinguished the bodies of living beings, their own bodies suffered destruction, and their karmic tally converged with Bai Qi and Xiang Yu? How do we know this to be clear? The movement and change of the Qian Dao each rectifies innate nature and life-destiny; down to the lives of chickens, pigs, dogs, and sheep, all are made one by the six offspring of Qian and Kun. People chew on life to fill their bodies, with violence equal to spiders spinning webs. Eagles and tigers cannot live without seizing and biting, but humans can survive eating greens; to do otherwise is to hollow oneself out excessively. The Way of Heaven is supremely impartial, and what it holds dear is life. Would it ever permit the cruel destruction of life while suppressing its dark retribution? Although these six hundred thousand men must have varied across ranks of good and evil, regarding their callous chewing of living beings, they were likely no different. Their good and evil were distinct, so what they enjoyed in life could indeed be truly distinct; yet their harming of life was identical, so the day on which they suffered harm could likewise be identical. Nowadays, the words of the Daoists are dismissed by the world as far-fetched, so there is no need to speak of them. But take Lord Yu, Bing Ji, and Yu Yi, whose virtuous responses bore fruit for their descendants; and Yan Yannian, Tian Fen, and Emperor Xuan of Jin, for whom retribution for slaughter was verified back and forth: all of these are written in the histories of the Han and Wei, and are believed by the world. We see that sparing people brings blessings to descendants; how much more must the spirit, as the master of killing and sparing, bring ruin or blessing to its future rebirth? Sparing or killing another's body must bring retribution to one's own body; how much more would facilitating or obstructing another's spirit not bring glory or blight to one's own spirit? Those whom Yannian killed were all ordinary, common people; while Dou Ying and Wang Ling were grand commanders and ministers. Wise and foolish differed, noble and base were distinct, yet the bringing of retribution was the same. Where retribution falls, it makes no distinction between the powerful and the lowly; generals, chancellors, and the King of Jin are treated no differently. Is this not because the Way of Heaven is supremely even, treating the talented and untalented alike as its children, and the underlying principle preserves innate nature and life-destiny, paying no regard to noble or base? Thus, though small turtles and fish are lowly, their natures and lives are each rectified within the Qian Dao. Observe the soaring of great birds and the chirping of small birds, the cow that Gelu listened to, and the deer that moved Xiba: affection runs deep within each of their kinds. If a pregnant woman and an infant were here, and someone were to rip them open, carve them, roast them, and broil them, this would be called the disaster of grievance and pain, evoking a response from High Heaven. Now, hunting in spring, killing the pregnant, and roasting the unborn and the fledglings are likewise made one by the Way of Heaven; how could these alone fail to meet with retribution? But living together today in an age of drinking blood, hunting and fishing cannot be stopped all at once. For this reason, the holy kings established the kitchens of transformation: they accommodated the people's killing so as to diminish its harm. Seeing them in the kitchen and hearing their cries, they could not bear to eat them; they took the otters' catching of fish as their seasonal measure, abhorred the out-of-season harming of pregnant creatures, and untied the nets instead of snaring them all, making clear that life that holds breath is weighty. Meng Ke was struck with admiration at the consecration of the bell, knowing that the kingly virtue renounces killing. The former kings managed the coarse and rescued the urgent; thus, though deep in their benevolence, they could not suddenly impose harsh prohibitions. The Tathāgata fathomed the spirit and illuminated the ultimate, and therefore valued equally the lives of the five realms of existence, placing the abstention from killing at the head of all precepts. Bimbisāra met with retribution on account of a white hare, and the Śākya clan suffered destruction on account of yellow fish; these were to demonstrate the momentum of karmic retribution, all of which is subtle, profound, and circuitous, yet never unmindful. If in a past life they had heard the Dao and reverently practiced the Dharma and its precepts, they surely would not have fallen at Changping to be buried alive by the son of Mafu. Even when already fallen, if their faith in the Dharma had been penetrating, they surely would have escaped this present calamity. If past offenses were already heavy and retribution could not be avoided, yet precept-virtue arrived later, they surely would not face being buried alive in future rebirths. What is meant by 'showering spiritual efficacy upon the desperate to rescue innocent lives' is a path such as this—the utmost of compassion. Now, though one may have worldly virtues, if one lacks the mind set on the Dao and harms living creatures, retribution presses upon one in return; this is natural justice. The Buddha rides upon principle and abides in what is fitting, saving beings through the Dharma; if one does not follow the Dharma, the principle offers no arbitrary rescue. How could this mean the Buddha lacks reality? Take Bian Que as an analogy: he rescued the sick with medicine, but if they did not believe and did not take it, and the sickness was not cured, could it be that Que was not wondrous? The reason the Duke of Luyang, Geng Gong, our ancient ancestor, and the Prefect of Jiujiang could turn back the sun, cause springs to gush forth, and make insects and tigers flee their virtue was that they stirred the spirit with genuine sincerity. Resonating with the spiritual Dao is itself resonating with the Buddha. If those people had been at Qin or Zhao, they surely would not have fallen into disaster. Those who fell into it had no sincerity to begin with; by what means could they have evoked a response from the Buddha to soften the hearts of Bai Qi and Xiang Yu? Because an assembly that penetrates the spirit gathers in the hall of ultimate transformation, Sumeru can be seen within a mustard seed. Moreover, though they are now tigers and doves, in the past they may have been humans and once had a karmic connection; hence they met the Buddha’s auspicious advent, and he cast his body to save the one and sliced his thigh to substitute for the other. If there is no resonance to stir, and one must pay for killing with one's life, how could the task of softening hearts be performed at whim? Death at the blast of the myriad winds is entirely of oneself; why doubt the Buddha? When resolve is steadfast, then if one envisions him, one will see him; if one appeals to him, he will hear. Deducing from the mutual dreams of King Wen and Confucius, or the search for Fu Yue according to his likeness, reality was reached though ancient and modern were separated and the rocks of Fuyan were distant, yet dark communion faced no obstruction; thus one can believe that by purifying thought and contemplating in resonance, one sees the Buddha of Immeasurable Life, crossing a hundred million boundaries and arriving beyond all contrivance. Why say there is no difference from the great void? The Dao consists in tempering the spirit, not in preserving the physical form. Therefore, śramaṇas consecrate their forms and burn their bodies, steeling their spirits to cut off past attachments. The spirit cannot be destroyed, yet it can speed on its course; how could this be in vain? Laboring amid human relations and struggling along the rugged paths of the six passions, what do they gain for myself while seeking to burden the spirit? If one truly cuts them away, then daily decrease what needs purifying, and one will indeed advance toward the Dao. Slogging away for splendid sights, squandering wealth to dwell in seclusion—hardly have they attained it when suddenly their bodies perish; what their name and reality gain amounts to no more than the stride of a thief. Building an abode to settle the spirit, the sacred image is profound, serene, and solemn; the form follows its subtlety, and the spirit wanders far with it. In subtlety, it responds with purity; in far-reaching, its blessings are wondrous. Between the stride of a thief and the Dao, which is superior? Cutting off one's present years in an instant is that by which one transcends and ascends; covert practice accords with the divine, and blessings of virtue are made manifest in a future body—how could one see what is attained in the present? The movements of human affairs must penetrate the spiritual Dao; things do not happen without cause, but must occur for a reason. If dark retribution were not as argued above, on what principle would six hundred thousand lives have been buried alive? Since they were buried alive in retribution, there must be retribution for not being buried alive. Now, among the men of the Warring States period, some were as lofty as Master Anqi, as reclusive as the Four Whiteheads, some had dragon visages and ruled as emperors, or divided the land and governed as princes; their illustrious fame and abundant achievements were beyond counting. They all stood within the range of Yi’s bow; why alone was this so? Could it not be that each was responding to past retribution? Since we see blessings completed from past conduct, it is clear that present conduct will not betray a future body. Since the distinct ranks in the present world are determined by past destiny, how could what one encounters after death admit of any irregularity? What the scriptures refer to naturally concerns the time when the Buddha manifested in transformation; because they originally had an auspicious gathering, their encounter was like that. Today there is not even a momentary response, yet the fault lies entirely in the lack of conditions; to turn around and slander the supreme Dharma as an empty contrivance—alas, the divine mirror shines brightly; the calamity of slighting the sage is truly fearsome! Dare I ask: this empty contrivance, was it made by a sage, a worthy, or a petty man? The sage has no constant mind, but adapts to the nature of things and transforms them to fulfillment. If the body dies and the spirit is extinguished, one should simply exhaust one's life in accordance with Confucian instructions; what else would there be to do? Why deceive them with non-extinction and trick them with becoming Buddhas, causing them to burn their hair and skin and cut off marriage, blocking a number of descendants beyond measure? Moreover, fine talents and sages are not born in fixed places; some might be covertly cut off. What benefit is there in an empty contrivance whose poison causes such great suffering? Thus we know it was not the doing of sages or worthies. Were they men like Fan Chi? Then they would also restrain themselves within the bounds of the Duke of Zhou and Confucius, fear heterodox paths, and dare they fabricate at will? If they were of lower standing, they would be of the unworthy sort; how could they establish a school outside the Nine Streams, add splendor beyond Laozi and Zhuangzi, and shine forth brightly a thousand years later? Figures such as Nāgārjuna, Āryadeva, Aśvaghoṣa, Kātyāyana, Dharmatrāta, Parvatāśraya, and Dharmatrāta, spanning five hundred years, respectfully transmitted the teachings of the Dao; texts like the Da zhidu lun, the Mūlamadhyamakakārikā, the Śataśāstra, and the Abhidharma were all produced by talents of spiritual penetration. In recent times, Sun Chuo praised the eight worthies, including Jīvaka and Gandhara; Zhi Daolin painted portraits and composed eulogies for Dharmarakṣa, Yu Falan, Daosui, and Que Gong: all of these illuminated China with their spirits. In the Central Court, Zhu Faxing was compared by contemporaries to Prefect Yue; east of the Yangtze, the eminent lords esteemed Śrīmitra for his preeminent clarity; Guo Wenju was detached, deep, and sincere, yet venerated only the Buddha. From Nāgārjuna onward, could they all have ruined themselves in their pursuit and been deceived by the unworthy? Thus, is the matter of the Yellow-Faced Master not abundantly clear? Today, his shadow, bones, teeth, hair, surviving vessels, and footprints still shine in his native land; these also serve as proof of the Dao. The peoples of foreign realms often possess discerning and clever talents, yet their desires are generally deep; all of them, because their ancestors stood in person before the Buddha and transmitted the teachings through successive generations, arriving at the truth over the ages, and because his shadow-traces and surviving affairs visibly transform and shine brightly, their kings devote their states to upholding the precepts, and the fourfold assembly undergoes hardship unto death without regret. If the principle were deceitful and obscure, and the facts were not truly extraordinary, would they ever sacrifice themselves, overcome desire, and revere the formless? If the shadow and relics lacked reality, and the voice went and came without substance, why would those who came in ancient and modern times afflict their bodies and abandon desire, esteeming this to the utmost, and upon departing, rather than becoming dispirited and slack, become generally more devoted? This can be roughly perceived. The Treatise says: From ancient times, the reason the way of governance has been made clear and even is to preserve life. Yet suffering arises from life, which the benighted do not understand. Therefore, the Buddhas enlighten them with suffering and guide them with non-arising. Non-arising cannot be realized all at once, so they guide them through the good and evil of life: with good retribution they rise ever higher, and then the luminous end can be attained step by step. Hence, their way is vast as the boundless sea; there is nothing small it does not ferry, nothing great it does not penetrate. Although it is far removed from those who strive to govern and preserve life, it nevertheless molds and soaks the Five Classics, encouraging and aiding the ritual teachings. The reason people of today are dismissive of the calamities and blessings of the Way of Heaven is similar to Sima Qian feeling moved and sighing over Boyi. How could the sage Confucius speak in vain? He said that 'the accumulation of goodness brings surplus blessings, and the accumulation of evil brings surplus calamity'; yet Yan Hui and Ran Geng suffered early death and disease, and their descendants were never heard of, while Shangchen lived out his allotted span, and Zhuang Zhou considered hegemons worthy. All cases such as these cannot be made sense of by ordinary principles. Yet can it be that principle truly has nothing that makes sense of them? Then the teachings of receiving blessings in a future body and suffering calamity in the three destinies cannot but be believed. Although the physical form has survival and demise, the spirit must respond; what difference is there from retribution in the present life? It is only that causes and conditions have priority and succession, and therefore the arrival of retribution is slow or fast, just like the early or late occurrence of misfortune and blessing within a single lifetime. Thus, the teachings of the Confucian school rely on Śākya's to be fully understood; can this not be called the unchanging Dao of the dark ultimate? The human condition is fleeting and tumultuous, its survival and demise like a phantom; enclosed within a century, from infancy to old age, none escape their end. Though one may live to have yellow hair and a mottled back, one still feels that what one passed through was but a brief moment; how much more so for those of shorter spans? Moreover, time does not stop, and its cycles are without end. The past accumulated kalpas are countless and boundless, all arriving at the present in the space of a single glance, a single pass. Now, accumulating glances to reach a hundred years—how could that be difficult to reach? Yet few are able to live out even half of it. Those who fawn over this body of morning dew generally possess no reality of pure transcendence. Why take pleasure in the rot of leaking moments, doing violence to the ever-abiding spirit, rather than distancing oneself toward the far-reaching wind? Even for the houses of fame and law that aid the world, how could they alone lack a share in the Great Dao? Yet, turning in the human realm and clamoring along worldly paths, they only perceive the human way as flourishing, while thoughts of the spirit are completely absent. If one were to turn oneself into the wilderness, ascend the mountains, and gaze from afar upon wondrous sights—the vastness of the pure sky, the marvel of the sun and moon shining with penetrating clarity—could there be no majestic and solemn presence of the ranks of sages within it, so that there are only scattered human throngs and hurried worldly tasks? One would surely cherish the distant to awaken thoughts of the spiritual Dao, and resonate with stillness to manifest the response of the bright spirits. In ancient times, Confucius cultivated the Five Classics in Lu to transform the world; yet when he gazed afar from the summit of Mount Tai, the world and Lu both seemed small. Was this not because his spirit united with the eight reaches and therefore transcended a single generation? Thus, the composition of the Five Classics was merely an accommodation in a brief moment to what was small. How could the world use them to measure the Buddha's Dharma and disbelieve it? I ask: does the disbelief of today assume that beyond the common people there are no spiritual beings at all? Or does it assume they exist, but that there is simply no Buddha? If there were no spiritual beings at all, and only human beings, then who commanded the dark bird to descend and give birth to Shang, and who left the giant footprint that was stepped on to give birth to Houji? The Han, Wei, Jin, and Song all had auspicious mandates; thus we know that beyond sight and hearing, the spiritual Dao shines brightly. Where there is a spiritual principle, there must be a wondrous ultimate; that which attains the One and becomes divine, what is it if not the Buddha? As for the spirit, it responds darkly according to direction; its response does not abide beforehand. Effecting transformation according to reality, what fear is there that it will not exhaust it? Does it need to deceive creatures before offering instruction? Thus, the truth of its Dharma and the trustworthiness of its teaching cannot admit of doubt. The Treatise says: Sentient beings all take the spirit as their master; therefore, toward the spirit of the dark ultimate, all have the principle to resonate. Yao was distant indeed, yet the hundred beasts danced to his virtue; is this not resonance? Thus the Buddha is the ancestor of the myriad resonances. The sun, moon, seas, and mountains still receive the rites of morning and evening, the ceremonies of the Wang sacrifice; how much more so the Buddha's abundant way: those of high capacity exhaust the spirit beyond birth, those of medium capacity receive a body in a wondrous birth, and those of low capacity escape the three paths! What current worldly teachings promote achieves governance within a single lifetime; those who reach the dark ultimate are few, while those who follow the world are many. When have they not conformed to worldly sentiment and claimed that death is the extinction of the spirit? For this reason, they do not strive to direct their will toward pure transcendence, but mostly cultivate passions within an inch of time; hence the way of the gentleman is rare among them. If examined through the Buddha's Dharma, this body is not myself: it is merely a rest at an inn. The spirit is my true body. Broad and everlasting without end, for those of superior virtue, their virtue expands within themselves without limit; for those of middling goodness, they will gradually ascend in purity until the end; while those below who do evil have a distant road of self-renewal, where they can mend faults and ascend. Therefore, from ancient times among both the refined and the coarse, those who purified themselves, harbored far-reaching thoughts, walked with reverence in the present to prepare for future ages, and surpassed supreme virtue are beyond counting. This is the efficacy of the Buddha's Dharma. All these are matters blocked by the world and opened by the Buddha; regarding their kind, is there not a vast, luminous, wondrous, and open thoroughfare? How could one neglect and not revere it? When wind passes through heat, it clears in turn, and the forest is sure to become pure; when water is agitated, it becomes turbid, but when settled, the stones are sure to become clear. The gain or loss in the spirit's function likewise depends on what it relies upon. Today, disbelief in the Buddha's Dharma is not a necessity of one's allotment; it is rather that one's attitude is disposed that way. If you try to turn your mind away from worldly things and let it shine upon what is clear and subtle, the Buddha's principle will become clear and all matters will be believed. Can one not settle one's mind in a wondrous way? Relying on this, if one moves forward with faith, one will ultimately conquer and reign in the spiritual Dao; the ancestral achievements of a hundred generations can all be saved across the dark and bright realms forever—the greatness of filial piety! Sentient beings will be bathed in benevolence—the utmost of compassion! Congealing the spirit in solitary wonder—the ultimate of the Dao! Penetrating with luminous, unobstructed clarity—the perfection of illumination! Setting out from the mind of an ordinary person and taking the right track on the first road, even if one must pass through many kalpas, one will ultimately assemble from afar at the dark ultimate. Such is its marvel! Being equally human, to turn one's back on the track and lose the road, stumbling and wandering far away to sink forever into the Nine Earths—is this not lamentable? If it were not so, why would the world suddenly give birth to glorious sages and yet rear the foolish and base, with the Buddhas above and squirming, crawling creatures below? All this is the momentum of the spirit’s loss and gain. Now, with this blood-body of seven feet, within the span of a few decades of death and old age, half of it is already consumed by the nights; mourning, sickness, and myriad troubles afflict half of the prime of life; glory, joy, and the fulfillment of ambition—how much do they amount to? Vigorous youth does not linger, an ambitious mind fears humiliation; joy is truly linked with sorrow, and there is never complete peace. Yet all compete to enter the perilous paths of worldly custom, and avoid treading the broad highway of the Buddha's Dharma—how can this be considered wise? Those in the world who, failing to comprehend the origin of conditions, are confounded by the Buddha's principle are truly numerous. The arising of conditions is vast and boundless, no longer reachable by retrospective thought; where gain and loss are concerned, there is no principle by which to resonate—these lie beyond the six directions, so the Buddha set them aside and did not discuss them, as has already been fully explained in the preceding treatise.

First 15 of 18 passages. Read on

Linked texts (1)

弘明集 — 僧祐, Classical Chinese