弘明集 2.15

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.