弘明集 6.6

6.6

A gentleman bound by the teachings of the Eastern Capital addressed an unrestrained, recluse countryman of the western border, saying: "I have formerly heard that the Buddha's Dharma is profound and vast, not something to be debated within the moral teachings; its Daoist-like ethos is mysterious and remote, not something to be likened to material forms; its purity and concise transcendence are not matters that ordinary knowledge can touch; and its subtle severance from all existences cannot be fathomed by common sentiments. Therefore, it is always honored by temporal rulers and admired by the noble and eminent. Thereupon, the common masses gather like thunder and rush toward it, all sighing in admiration and praising its goodness, saying: 'If one is steeped in its spirit, its refined principles penetrate the subtle; if one investigates the flavor of its truth, it subtly accords with the divine function. One washes away the dust and defilement in one's heart and mind, and casts off the shackles from one's outer form. One transcends mundane burdens beyond the cage, leaves worldly affairs far behind, and walks aloft. In living out genuine simplicity, Boyi and Shuqi cannot surpass their integrity; in relinquishing glory and favor, Chaofu and Xu You cannot outdo their resolve; in savoring the mysterious import, Yan Hui and Ran Boniu cannot share their style; in shedding confusion and filth, Wangzi Qiao and Red Pine cannot rival their purity.' If it were truly as spoken, then its principles would indeed be flawless. But observing the various śramaṇas nowadays, all are generally lacking in such talent. Flocking together in vulgar confusion, no preeminent excellence is seen among them. They are confounded like the turbulent waves of the Jing and Wei rivers; they are indistinguishable like fragrant and foul herbs stored in the same hamper. If the source were pure, the flowing waters should be clear; if the roots were deep, the branches and ears of grain would surely flourish. Examining their words and deeds, they are inconsistent from beginning to end; investigating their roots and branches, there is hardly anything to compare favorably. That I express wonder and doubt is truly due to this. Just as the Yellow Emperor's forgetting of his wisdom and Baoliang's loss of strength were both refined and cast into sages within the forge, if the Way does not operate in vain, talent must match the vessel. Yet, when śramaṇas have left household life and departed from secular customs to elevate their ideals, turned against the kinship of heaven-given relations, abandoned the gravity of glory and splendor, marred the adornments of their physical appearance, and observed the prohibitions of pure discipline, their inquiring minds dwell solely on principle, and their commitment belongs solely to the Dharma. They rest wherever they set foot, and eat only vegetarian food. They should make their virtuous conduct outstanding so that it becomes the veneration of the era, and make their demeanor harmonious and solemn so that it serves as a model for all things. Yet when touching upon actual affairs, they are negligible and have not a single merit worth taking up. Why are their aspirations so high and remote, yet their occupations and practices so vulgar and near? When it comes to seeking profit and toiling, they never pause for a moment's rest. Some cultivate fields and gardens, ranking alongside farmers; some engage in trade and exchange, competing for profit with the multitude; some rely arrogantly on the medical arts, rashly treating hot and cold ailments; some use mechanical cleverness and deviant skills to eke out a living; some divine solitary emptiness and falsely discuss good and ill fortunes; some use deceitful ways and assume false authority to shoot for temporal favor; some accumulate hoardings and reserves to nourish themselves in excess; some clap their hands in empty talk and sit by to feed off the common people. In all these cases, their virtue does not match their robes, and their actions mostly violate the Dharma. Even if they occasionally possess a single good, how could it suffice to mark the excellence of transcendence? They could simply be abolished to unify customs! All these are of no benefit to temporal governance and bring harm to the way of ordering the realm. They are what law enforcers deeply detess and what rulers of state find to be a grave peril. Furthermore, in the world there are five pests, and the śramaṇas constitute one of them! How is this known? They devise great expedient means to incite the foolish multitude. On one hand, they entice; on the other hand, they intimidate, saying: 'Doing evil will surely incur calamities for cumulative kalpas; cultivating good will immediately bring infinite blessings. Speaking of transgressions, there is the surveillance of the unseen realm; speaking of fortune, there is the protection of the divine spirits.' They urge and lead them, exhorting people to do what they cannot do; they compel and press them, forcing them to achieve what people cannot achieve. Above, it diminishes the care for parents; below, it harms the shares of wives and children. Gatherings exhaust the sweetness of fine delicacies; monasteries reach the extremity of grand and magnificent splendor. They strip the precious treasures of living people, exalting useless and empty expenses; they exhaust the yearly reserves of private families, and run short the real supplies of the military and the state. They proclaim empty fame into the future, and depict shapeless wonders before they manifest. Listening to their words, they flow abundantly and fill the ears; watching their appearance, they are lofty and fill the eyes. Yet examining current affairs to seek proof, none have seen their genuine verification. This is what is called tying a shadow or catching the wind, with no beginning or end to be known. This truly makes my feelings ill at ease, and poses a great doubt to those who have discernment. If you have fine explanations, I beg to receive your instructions. Should I perhaps attain a momentary awakening, I would forever discard these blockages." The host answered. The host was forlorn for a while and sighed deeply: "Alas, how strange! What you have set forth, how shallow it is! Indeed, one cannot speak of the Great Dao with the vulgar because they are stuck in external forms; one cannot debate the ultimate principle with the biased because they are confined to conventional designations. Now I shall briefly raise one corner for you, and you may reflect and return to its fundamental principle on your own. Now, when the Sage establishes teachings, he responds to the vessel; in presenting the Dharma, he receives the capacity. Because there are limits, he transforms them gradually, recording a good intention even at the tip of a fine hair, and forgetting vulgar stinginess in the hills and ravines. The goodness of a single deed becomes a resource for one's life forever; the blessing of a single thought ultimately serves as a spiritual function. When having just dumped a single basket of earth, one cannot demand the accomplishment of building a mountain; when newly heading toward a transcendent realm, one cannot exhaustively demand the fullness of wrapping up the sack. Indeed, that the sea is called great is because it does not maintain pristine purity; that the Dao is called hiding its traces is because it lacks a blazing display. Now, the love of affectionate parents is what clings to conscious minds, yet śramaṇas discard it like casting off a worn shoe. Name, status, wealth, and sensual pleasure are what worldly sentiment prizes, yet śramaṇas regard them as chaff. They can be said to endure what ordinary people cannot renounce. This is the elegant disposition of their exalted aspirations, the sublime enterprise of propagating the Dao. Yet you say it is negligible; how is this not a lack of wondrous appreciation? Moreover, their aspirations and professions are not the same, and the paths they pursue diverge; when forks in the road branch off, they do not understand one another. That you have not seen their preeminent excellence is only natural. The ancients always sighed that talent was difficult to find; this is truly so! The Zhou was renowned for its many officers, yet there were only ten capable ministers. In the height of Tang and Yu, there were only the eight Yuan and eight Kai. Confucius's disciples numbered three thousand, all eminent figures within the realm; yet when selecting those to fill the four subjects, the number did not reach ten. Among them, Boniu suffered an incurable illness; Yan Hui suffered the six extremes; Zixia was stingy; Zigong engaged in trade; Zai Yu was hard to carve; Zilu was rash and obstinate; and Ran Qiu amassed wealth, failing to act fittingly in his post. Although Ran Yong was like a red calf born of a plow-ox, the entire world praised his virtue, making him the paragon of human relations, and admiring his lofty standard as the exemplar for scholars and officials; for a hundred generations, people have sung of his remaining ethos, and for a thousand years they have revered his glorious conduct. Yet when it comes to the śramaṇas, people bitterly strip away their integrity and harshly treat them as rubble and broken tiles. How could this be the gentleman's way of broad understanding and elegant, upright discourse? This is like a man entering the workshop of Gongshu Ban, not praising the subtlety of the south-pointing chariot, but only mocking the clumsy worker for injuring his hand. It can truly be called submitting to the lowest currents and cherishing what is base and inferior. In the past, a chancellor asked a guest: 'Common sayings claim that the owl eats its mother. Can there really be such a thing?' The guest replied: 'I have only heard that the filial crow feeds its mother in return.' The chancellor was disheartened and felt ashamed of his slip of the tongue. In harbor of your thoughts today, are you not like that chancellor's question? A gentleman stops evil and praises good; what do you call doing the opposite? Furthermore, you say, 'They rest wherever they set foot.' Yet forests and fields are desolate, constantly having the menace of bandits; entering and leaving city gates, their movements are entangled in the criticism of socializing; dwelling where they should not brings the burdens of worldly dust; lingering in fields and hamlets offends the gossip of the human world. In these several options, there is neither advance nor retreat, like finding oneself in a dead-end ravine. Although the universe is vast, they know not where to place themselves.