弘明集 2.5

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.