廣弘明集 14

English (machine translation) 14

Language: English

14.1

Compiled by the Śramaṇa Shi Daoxuan of Ximing Temple in the Great Tang

14.4

By Li Shizheng, Ritual Officer of the Chancellery

Now, the Tamer with the Ten Powers steers the vessel of the Dharma through the ocean of suffering; the three vehicles draw beings out, smoothing the path through the burning house. The breadth of his encouraging goodness and advancing virtue is what the Seven Classics cannot reach; the depth of his forbidding evil and guarding against harm is what the Nine Lineages cannot match. Yet in plumbing the spiritual and knowing transformations, his words are vast and startling; in dispelling delusion and severing defilements, his track is lofty and hard to tread. Chinese and barbarian, scholar and commoner, courtier and recluse, literati and classicist—each adheres to what they find comfortable and few savor this Path. Unless one investigates with refinement to examine the true and the false, and reflects deeply to observe suffering and emptiness, one will have no way to establish a root of faith as firm as rock, or remove the veil of doubt as insubstantial as death. From of old, Vimalakīrti and Wonderful Virtue (Mañjuśrī) knew the supremacy of the Path and served it diligently; in recent times, Vasubandhu and Nāgārjuna awakened to the truth of the principle and delighted in it with devotion. The earnest studies of Kumārajīva and Dao'an probed the profound tenets with ever-increasing reverence; the refuge and faith of Sengrui and Huiyuan grew ever firmer even until their hair turned white. Surpassing Shi'an (Huangfu Mi)'s passion for books, exceeding Xuan'ni (Confucius)'s delight in the Changes, a thousand pieces of gold were not enough to turn their gaze, and the eight tones could not alter what they heard. The broader their hearing, the deeper their joy; the deeper their thought, the firmer their faith; all wished to cease, but could not. Thus, it is certain that [the teaching] is not false.

14.6

Our Emperor has gloriously received Heaven's mandate and vastly aided the realm. His canopy matches the blue heavens, and his support equals the thick earth. He has swept away baleful vapors, purified the eight bounds, rescued people from the mud and coals, and brought peace to millions of subjects. The five teachings are respectfully disseminated; the nine achievements are brought into order. He gathers the splendid guidelines of all antiquity, and remedies the lingering defects of the hundred kings. Encompassing all goodness, he venerates the triratna as a ford and a bridge; mowing down all evils, he clears away the weeds among the four assemblies. Following the entrusted final behests, he broadens the essential methods of succession. His merits and virtues are lofty; the vast heavens cannot be compared [to them]. Yet among the gentry and scholars, their ancestral traditions pursue multiple paths; each follows what he has learned, and diverse arguments bristle like lance-points. Some say that under the Three Kings there was no Buddha yet their reigns were long, while the two Shi rulers had monks yet their government was tyrannical; that the decline of good rule stems from revering the Buddha, and the benefit of the state lies in abolishing monks. Merely airing one-sided views, they have not put forward comprehensive principles. A broad examination of rise and fall is sufficient to prove their falsehood. Why so? The one who destroyed the Qin was Huhai, when there was no Buddha, yet the empire crumbled; the one who promoted Buddhism was Emperor Ming of the Han, when the era had monks, yet the state was well-governed. The Northern Zhou eliminated Buddhist monasteries, yet the reign of Tianyuan was not prolonged; the Sui promoted the teaching of Śākya, yet the decrees of Kaihuang were not tyrannical. Prosperity and decline depend on the dissemination of government; order and chaos rest with the officials. To cast the blame onto the Buddha and monks is truly not a valid argument. Furthermore, the Buddha solely promotes good and does not foster evil; for ministers and subjects, the precepts guard against wrongdoing. How could this harm the governing of family and state? If every person keeps the good and every family observes the precepts, how could punishments ever be applied, and on what grounds could disaster and chaos arise? Though a steed be swift, without riding it one cannot reach afar; though medicines be abundant, without ingesting them how can they cure illness? Xiang Yu's loss of his army was not due to Fan Zeng's lack of strategy; the Shi family's tyranny, was that the fault of Fotudeng's lack of benevolence? It is only that they violated him and became violent and chaotic; there has never been one who followed him and became ferocious or cruel. Viewed in this light, it is abundantly clear. Furthermore, there are those who call the Perfectly Enlightened One a demonic spirit, and liken pure generosity to illicit sacrifices, heaping slander and calumny without end. The Sagely Court encourages goodness, erecting saṅghārāmas to exalt blessings; yet deluded people raise slander, conversely taking merit and virtue as faults. This deeply disparages the sovereign, not merely defaming the Buddha. I foolishly stroke my chest and sigh deeply; this is why I am stirred with indignation and take up my brush. Having humbly relied on imperial grace and shared in the rain of Dharma, I have polished away my doubts over accumulated years. Faith arose with hearing, and doubts dissolved through understanding. In the past, I once heedlessly criticized and did not believe; today, I believe wholeheartedly without slander. Deducing from myself and evaluating others widely, whenever the common crowd lightly disparages and does not revere, it is entirely because their investigation has not been exhaustive. If they were made to probe the subtle and seek the hidden, matching their efforts to Fotudeng and Kumārajīva, they would surely all have deep faith and devout respect, matching their aspirations to the famous monks. My learning does not penetrate the deep, and my knowledge does not attain the wondrous; but having heard a little, I have slightly removed doubts. I have respectfully exerted my modest ability to compose a treatise in three essays: 'Dispelling Doubts' is the first, clarifying the accessibility and obstruction of heterodoxy and orthodoxy; 'Understanding Destiny' is the second, distinguishing the reliance and latency of calamity and blessing; 'Emptiness and Existence' is the third, shattering the rigid views of annihilation and permanence. I have checked them against the words of many, and verified them with all kinds of good deeds. Above, they make manifest the pure blessings of the Sagely Court; below, they crush the empty slanders of illicit sacrifices. I merely harbor this intent, but truly lack the talent; my wording is vulgar and base, and my citations superficial. Though exhausting my humble diligence, how can it proclaim the Sagely Virtue? I hope that those who share the same illness and have not yet recovered, upon hearing shallow analogies, will deeply awaken. Just as a plant from the hedge might cure a disease of the heart, or a meal of coarse greens might save someone from starving in the gutters—if the golden elixir were before one's eyes, and jade delicacies filled the table, looking back on such meager things would indeed be contemptible."

14.7

Dispelling Doubts, Chapter 1

14.8

1. Doubt that the Buddha arose among the western barbarians
2. Doubt that the Duke of Zhou and Confucius did not speak of him
3. Doubt that defames the Buddha and praises the Dao
4. Doubt that likens the Buddha to demonic apparitions
5. Doubt that in the past there were rebellious monks
6. Doubt that likens monks to burrowing owls
7. Doubt that mocks and defames shaving the beard and hair
8. Doubt that mud idols serve mud
9. Doubt that having the Buddha brings tyrannical rule
10. Doubt that without the Buddha the people are harmonious

14.9

There was an eloquent scholar who said to a loyal and upright gentleman: "I have heard that Śākya was born in India and that the sūtras came from the Western Barbarians. His name and title were not transmitted by the Duke of Zhou and Confucius; his merit and virtue were not praised in the ancient Canons and Counsels. He is truly someone revered by distant barbarians, not a master or scholar of the Central Lands. It was only when Kāśyapa Mātaṅga entered the Han, and when Kang Senghui traveled to Wu, that relics were manifested in the southern realms, and monasteries were erected in the eastern capital. From that time onward, the Buddha came to be venerated. The monks outnumber the gatherings at the Zhu and Si rivers; the vihāras are more magnificent than the residences of princes and marquises. They are constructed on high and dry ground, and endowed with rich, fertile estates. Tall banners are raised to eclipse the sun; their compounds rival first-rate mansions fronting the thoroughfares. Kings, dukes, and high ministers support them with gold and silk; wealthy agricultural and mercantile clans donate fields and estates. Where does the benefit and fortune lie in this? Why is there such lavish reverence? It would be far better to melt down the statues and halt casting and carving; thus money would not be wasted. Destroy the scriptures and forbid their copying; then brush and paper would not be dear. Disband the monks and return them to the tax registers; then the surplus taxes on grain would increase. Demolish the stūpas to supply what is deficient; then the benevolent kindness of relief and aid would be expanded. I wish to proceed to the imperial palace to offer my humble loyalty and present this plan in a memorial. I privately think it would benefit the state and profit the people. What do you, sir, think of it?"

The loyal and upright gentleman replied: "What an error this talk is! This is not the way of loyalty and filial piety. When a loyal minister serves the state, he wishes for it to receive boundless fortune; when a filial son brings peace to his parents, he strives to prevent disaster before its signs emerge. Hearing of the causes and conditions of abundant fortune, one seeks them as though unable to catch up; beholding the sprouts and roots of swift calamity, one avoids them as though testing boiling water. The state values prayers to Heaven and Earth, praying for good fortune; households avoid the taboos of yin and yang, fearing disaster. When fortune is in doubt, one pursues it; when disaster is in doubt, one avoids it. This is human nature; this is the way of loyalty. You, however, would abandon what people call fortune and pursue what people call disaster. How could this be a loyal minister's plan to serve the state, or a filial son's way to bring peace to his parents? Looking at the self-care of an ordinary man, he still does not turn against physicians or defy divinations; how much less should a loyal minister, who loves his lord, encourage disaster and obstruct fortune? How does this differ from gathering medicinal herbs to present to the lord while choosing what Shennong and Qibo forbade, or seeking medical arts to serve one's parents while contradicting the deep insights of Bian Que and He? Urging the adoption of what is taboo and the use of poisons is truly contrary to the ultimate intention of prudent care. If applied to oneself, one would still be terrified; how then could one dare impose it upon the one who is one's Heaven?

If one were to abolish the grain offerings of the ancestral temple to feed fish and meat to one's descendants, or tear up the sacrificial robes and caps to supply clothing for servants and concubines, merely seeking the kindness of benevolence toward inferiors without honoring the fortune of securing superiors, or resenting the expense of nourishing parents and wishing to discontinue their support to enrich one's own house—could such a person be called loyal? Could he be called filial?

Furthermore, Ji of Zhou widely promulgated the teaching of sowing and planting, and was subsequently paired with the god of agriculture to be eternally revered; Goulong established achievements in waters and lands, and was likewise made the god of the soil to be perpetually honored. The minor benefits of dikes and ramparts were still included in the sacrifices of the Eight La; the slight spirits of forests and marshes still received the offering of a single cup of wine. How much more so the unimpeded wisdom of the three masteries, to which the hundred spirits cannot compare; the unexcelled reverence of the ten powers, to which a thousand sages cannot be equaled! The ten thousand delusions are exhausted; the ten thousand virtues are complete. Brahmā looks up to him; Śakra takes him as master. His path aids the four forms of birth; his transformation reaches throughout the three realms. He pulls beings out of the wheel of birth and death; he reveals the eternal bliss of nirvāṇa. His bodily light is blazing, eclipsing the radiant rays of the bright sun; his physical marks are dignified and solemn, possessing the extraordinary features of a sage. Subtle, profound, and universally penetrating, the Duke of Zhou and Confucius are not sufficient to be compared with him; widely giving and universally delivering, Yao and Shun still found this difficult. Loving all equally without abandoning any creature—can this not be called benevolence? Endowed with wisdom and possessing wondrous awakening—can this not be called sageliness? Would one who embodies the virtues of benevolence and sageliness make deceptive and false claims? If one reflects quietly on this, there is none who would not believe.

As for the merit of founding a monastery being deeper than the vast ocean, and the fortune of ordaining monks being weightier than the high peaks—these are the clear words of the Dharma King, firmly believed by the bodhisattvas. If establishing them increases blessings and benefits the state, is that not immense? If revering them generates goodness and profits the people, is that not broad? If there is a small loss but a great gain, is that not something the state ought to venerate? If there is a small gain but a great loss, is that not something the people ought to avoid? The Dharma-eye is clear, beholding the immeasurable karmic rewards of fortune; the golden mouth is trustworthy, speaking of the imperishable causes of fault. Ordinary scholars and commoners have not seen this with their own eyes; even if they cannot believe it must be so, how do they know it is not so? The obscure and dark cannot be determined by personal opinion; the deep and far can only be verified by the sages. Would one not hope that the fortune of veneration assists lord and father, or fear that the burden of denigration reaches family and state? A minister who lacks this prudence toward his lord is not a loyal minister; a son who lacks this concern toward his parents is not a filial son.

You merely wish to indulge the narrow mind of jealousy, failing to expand the deep thought of loyalty and prudence. To obstruct the great conditions for praying for fortune and to destroy the good karma of securing superiors is the path to incurring blame; how could it be the meaning of complete loyalty? Formerly, I devoted my mind to the Confucian grove and set my thoughts upon the garden of letters; my views were quite similar to yours, truly because I heard the Dharma late. Relying on the compass to dispel delusions, fortunately I had not strayed far from the path. Whenever I examined my errors and reproached myself, I would sit before my meal and forget to eat. If you examine broadly and deliberate deeply, you too will regret your confusion and know to return.

I have heard of the Grand Astrologer, Lord Fu, whose confusion was even greater than mine was in former days. When I inwardly examined my past confusion, five out of ten were the same as his. Allow me to refute the confused words of Lord Fu, in order to resolve your perverse attachments.

14.10

"Fu said that the Buddha-Dharma originally emerged from the Western Barbarians and should not be venerated in the Central Lands. Formerly I shared this confusion, but now I have awakened to its error. You Yu came from the Western Rong and assisted Duke Mu of Qin in establishing his hegemony; Jin Midi was born among the Northern Di and attended Emperor Wu of Han to eliminate dangers. Since this has been so with ministers, it should also be so with teachers. Why must one accept only those of the same customs and reject those from foreign lands? A teacher is revered for the greatness of his Way, regardless of here or there; a teaching is superior for the height of its goodness, without reckoning whether it is distant or near.

Now, valuing benevolence as beauty, discarding desire as exalted, warning against the residual calamities of accumulated evil, and encouraging goodness to obtain fortune—these are shared by the hundred schools, and the Seven Classics cannot alter them. But they are narrow and shallow, not yet profound and consummate; petty and not comprehensive. In their forgiving of oneself and dealing with things, how can they compare with the Buddha's vastness? In their seeing the branches and understanding the root, how can they compare with the Buddha's farsightedness? In their encouraging good and punishing evil, how can they compare with the Buddha's breadth? In their clarifying emptiness and analyzing existence, how can they compare with the Buddha's depth? Viewed from this perspective, his Way is wondrous; how could the virtue of a sage surpass it? How could one despise his Way because he was born in a foreign land, or discard his treasure because he emerged from a distant region?

Steeds that surpass the herd are not only produced in the central counties; rarities that span generations need not be goods of the Chinese lands. The Han sought the famous horses of the Western Regions; the Wei gathered the bright pearls of the Southern Sea. Horns and tusks of rhinoceroses and elephants were presented as tribute; feathers of the kingfisher were collected. When things originate in distant lands, they are still cherished here as treasures; when the Way emerges from remote regions, why alone should it be discarded? If medicines come from the Rong and Yi, or incantations originate among the Hu and Yue, provided they can dispel evil and cure illness, would one refuse to use them because they come from afar? Extinguishing the three poisons to realize the unconditioned—how great is its dispelling of evil! Eliminating the eight sufferings to attain eternal bliss—how profound is its curing of illness! How can one be bound by barbarian and Chinese, reckoning closeness and distance? Moreover, beneath the hundred kotis of suns and moons, within the trichiliocosm, the center is in that land, and not in this realm.

14.11

"Fu considered that what was not spoken of in the Odes and Documents rendered the sūtras unworthy of veneration. Formerly I shared this confusion, but now I have again awakened to its error.

14.12

"The mysteries of astronomical calculations and phenomena, the wonders of geography, mountains, and rivers, the diagnoses of meridians and acupoints, and the techniques of needles, herbs, talismans, and incantations were not recorded in the Odes and Documents, nor were they clearly spoken of by the Duke of Zhou and Confucius. Yet when tested against good and bad fortune, there is proof; when observed in practical use, they are largely effective. Furthermore, the things unspoken of by the Duke of Zhou and Confucius are endlessly teeming; the methods unrecorded in the Odes and Documents are boundlessly limitless. Truly, writings do not exhaust words, and words do not exhaust meaning. How can one be bound by the narrow teachings of the Six Classics and turn one's back on the universal purport of the Three Vehicles?

Great accomplishments were not established in high antiquity; the sages opened up undertakings in later ages. Thus buildings replaced dwellings in trees and nests, and writing replaced the system of knotted cords. Feasts of drinking blood and eating raw flesh were used earlier, but were not valued; the benefits of cooked food and grains, though created later, were not defective. The precedence in their adoption or abandonment does not determine whether a principle or teaching is universal or obstructed. How could it be that because the Odes and Documents spread early they should be especially exalted, while the sūtras, having arrived late, should be discarded? There are people who in youth ate coarse greens and in maturity dined on fine grains and meat, or who in youth wore plain clothes and in old age received the robes of a marquis. Could one say that because coarse greens were obtained first, their flavor surpasses that of fine grains and meat; or that because the marquis's robes were received later, they are not as noble as plain clothes?

All things undergo change, but the triratna is eternally abiding. Quiescent and unmoving, it responds to all when stimulated. The transformation body demonstrates traces of concealment and manifestation, while the Dharma-body transcends the numbers of rising and falling. He was not newly born in the royal palace, nor did he pass away forever under the twin trees. How can one discuss birth and extinction based on his responses to beings, or calculate length and brevity based on his coming and going?

14.13

"Lord Fu praised Laozi and denigrated Śākya; he extolled Daoist texts and censured Buddhist teachings. Formerly I shared this confusion, but now I have again awakened to its error. The teachings of Śākya and Laozi are one in substance, not two. They equally eliminate the burden of desire, and both manifest the principle of the unconditioned. Laozi's explanation was not yet fully comprehensive, whereas the Buddhist scriptures reached the ultimate in their words. If the Dao is indeed right, the Buddha is certainly likewise right and not wrong; if the Buddha is indeed wrong, the Dao can likewise be wrong and not right. In principle there is no contradiction between them, yet people harbor divergent inclinations. This is like the monkeys' joy and anger [over three or four chestnuts], and also like Duke Ye's love and fear [of dragons].

As for the purport of the Daodejing by the Archivist, and the inner and outer chapters of the Garden of Lacquer, they are elegant, profound, and difficult to surpass, pure and lofty, worthy of esteem. I have privately read them without finding fault. How could I, out of faith in Buddhist texts, arbitrarily slander them? But let us further discuss this: the conditions of endless birth and death, and the principle of imperishable karmic retribution, were first clarified by the Buddhists and never mentioned by Huang-Lao. I do not know why the Daoist texts of today resemble Buddhist scriptures, discussing the three periods of time to encourage and admonish, and stepping beyond the tracks of the nine schools of thought. If they spoke from seeing it with their own eyes, their illumination would be equal to the Buddha's; if they heard it and imitated it, they took the Buddha as master and complied with his words. If their illumination is equal, then equals should not be rejected; if they took him as master, then the master must not be denigrated. To praise Daoism and condemn the Buddha—how extreme an error that is!

14.14

"Fu said: 'The Buddha is the vapor of strange specters, and monasteries are shrines of licentious depravity.' These are unreflective words. Specters merely cause calamity; how could they propagate the transformation of the ten virtuous deeds? Demons must rely on evil; how could they establish the path of the eightfold correctness? Specters still fear dogs, and demons also fear cats; how could they subdue the haughty mind of Śakra or crush the immense power of deva-māras? Moreover, take companions such as Fotudeng and Kumārajīva, or peers such as Dao'an and Huiyuan: men of high virtue and great renown, neither mad nor intoxicated. How could they abandon love, renounce worldly glory, and seek the evil path of specters and demons, or toil their bodies and endure bitter austerities to serve the demonic spirits of sprites? Furthermore, from the Eastern Han down to our own [dynasty]—"

14.15

down to our Great Tang, generation after generation prohibited demonic speeches and place after place eliminated licentious sacrifices. How could they allow squandering their wealth and labor and releasing their gentry and commoners to erect halls and pagodas for mountain demons and join the followers of apparitions? Furthermore, ministers and chancellors, caps and canopies of state, exemplars of human relations—the likes of Wang Dao and Yu Liang, the peers of Dai Kui and Xu Xun—cast their sentiments in the borderlands between gods and men, and set their traces beyond the mist and clouds. All received the teachings and took refuge; all focused their minds to honor and believe. How could they allow themselves to stoop to revering specters and serving demons? This was truly because they perceived the wondrous and recognized the true that it was so. Moreover, the ancestor of Fu [Yi], Fu Yi, whose courtesy name was Wuzhong, possessed high talent and immense erudition, and was hailed by his generation as a man of universal understanding. He interpreted the auspicious dream of Emperor Xianzong and gave proof for the dark response of the golden man; in the eastward transmission of Śākya's Way, Wuzhong indeed rendered great service. I privately estimate that Magistrate Fu's talent and discernment cannot yet equal Wuzhong. Why then does he defame the Buddha and slander the Dharma, directly contradicting his own ancestor? Kan Ze, Director of the Secretariat in Wu, said to Sun Quan, the Lord of Wu: 'When the two houses of Confucius and Laozi are compared to the Buddhadharma, the difference in superiority and inferiority is vast indeed. Why is this said? Confucius and Laozi established teachings modeling themselves on Heaven to institute regulations, not daring to transgress Heaven; the Buddhas preach the Dharma, and Heaven reverently implements it, not daring to transgress the Buddha. Speaking from this, they are truly beyond comparison.' In my foolish view, Kan Ze's discourse understood one corner of their superiority and inferiority. Can the gentlemen of all the hundred schools fail to reflect on his words? Indeed, the great masters and eminent monks looked deeply into principle; the enlightened rulers and worthy ministers planned loyally for the state. Why did successive dynasties treasure it as a supreme instruction? It is because they knew that in fathoming principle and fulfilling nature, no Way surpasses it. Fu Yi's contemplation is not deeper than that of famous monks, and his reflection is not more refined than that of former sages. Solely following his own conceit and turning his back on the Dharma, he lightly cut himself off from blessings and gave rise to guilt. How could he plan for the state without loyalty, and consider his own person without far-sightedness? The Great Awakened One fathomed the divine and knew transformations; he profoundly exhorted consideration of perils and prior defense. One should contemplate that a hundred years of life are easily exhausted, and lament that the five blessings are difficult to preserve. Life flows away like a river and passes like lightning; karmic retribution endures as long as heaven and earth. The three paths are exceedingly calamitous and obscure; the four floods are boundless and vast. Relying on the ship of Dharma makes for a beneficial crossing; leaning on the wings of faith enables high flight. One ought to turn calamity into blessing; why should one abandon mindfulness and fall into madness?

14.16

Fu says: 'During the Zhao and the Liang, there were monks who rebelled; how much more so now, when the world has a multitude of two hundred thousand monks and nuns?' These, too, are unconsidered words. If one were to abolish today's assembly of the Dharma because there were rebellious monks in the past, how could one discard today's many scholars because there were traitorous ministers of old, banish one's own obedient son because a neighbor has a rebellious child, or refuse to nourish today's common folk because there were riotous subjects in antiquity? Indeed, under all of heaven, the assembly of renunciants is not gathered like clouds in a single town, but scattered like stars across the nine realms. They are controlled by prefectures and counties, and bounded by passes and rivers; they possess no authority of conscription, but have the prohibitions of statutes and ordinances. Even if there be three or five dangerous villains, or one or two icchantikas, since they have no means to assemble like crows, why worry about an gathering of ants? Furthermore, when śramaṇas enter the Way, how could they harbor plots of fugitives? When women leave the household, would they seek military use clad in armor? Why then lumped together the numbers of monks and nuns, echoing the slander that equates them with owls and jing-beasts, constructing falsehood to confuse the true, and veiling the good while acclaiming the evil? The gentleman has three awes; how could he act like this? Indeed, when the blue-collared students commit offenses, it is of no concern to Father Ni's failings; when black-robed monks do wrong, how could it be the fault of the World-Honored Śākya? A monk offending against the court's ordinances, or a nun violating secular punishments, is like reciting the penal code while burglarizing through holes, or reading the rites while behaving arrogantly. It is only because individuals receive a stubborn and perverse nature and do not alter toward the good; it is not that the scriptures open up a source of rebellion and order them to be tainted by evil. People are not all worthy, but the Dharma is truly utterly good; how can one extend anger at evil onto the good, or abandon the Dharma on account of fault in people? Talking of Bo Yi and Liu Xiahui with one's mouth while acting like Jie and Zhi with one's body, or hearing the Odes and Rites with one's ears while harboring deviance and perversity in one's heart—since the Xia and Yin dynasties, which era has lacked such? How could one blame Bo Yi and Liu Xiahui out of anger at Zhi, or abolish the Odes and Rites out of hatred for evil? Thus, while people commit crimes deserving of execution, the Dharma possesses no fault that warrants abolition. One should simply prohibit wrongdoing to propagate the Dharma, and not disparage the Way on account of people. I privately have deep faith in the wondrous Dharma, but do not blindly take sides with śramaṇas. As for weeding out tares and darnel to plant fine sprouts, and purging treachery to purify the great teaching—this is what I profoundly desire; this is what I profoundly desire.

14.17

Fu says: 'The four kinds—men of the Way, earthen owls, donkeys, and mules—are all evil breeds of greed and rebellion.' These, too, are unconsidered words. Because they renounce the world to cultivate the Way, they are called 'men of the Way.' In studying the Way, they depart from greed; why call them greedy and rebellious? If he means 'greedy for the Bodhi path and rebelling against the stream of birth and death,' then Master Fu, in putting forth these words, has failed to understand this principle. Look at the Vinaya practices of śramaṇas: they practice what others cannot practice; they cease from what others cannot cease from. This is fully set forth in the Buddhist scriptures and can be investigated. Even to wriggling creatures they do no harm; how much less would they commit the deeds of owls and jing-beasts? Even the rites of marriage they renounce and do not perform; how much less would they engage in the behavior of birds and beasts? Why then take superior persons free from desire and equate them with inferior beasts that share their mates; take worthy talents who possess the Way and compare them to ignorant donkeys and mules; defame the virtuous assembly of great compassion and liken them to evil birds of ill omen; call men of the Way a rebellious breed and compare pure conduct to the hearts of beasts? How extreme is this injury to the good! How sudden is this turning of white into black!

14.18

In the past, I myself used to cite the Classic of Filial Piety's prohibition against harming [the body] to mock the śramaṇas' shaving of beard and hair, alleging that they opposed the Way of the ancient kings and lost the righteousness of loyalty and filial piety. Today I have awakened to the fact that this is not so. When serving one's lord and parents, if one fulfills devotion, even sacrificing one's body is called benevolence; but if one diminishes loyalty and filial piety to steal survival, merely keeping the skin whole is unrighteous. Discourses praise risking one's life in the face of danger; ritual rules guard against seeking an improper escape in times of hardship. How can one sweepingly reprimand bodily harm, and mindlessly fret over skin and hair? Slicing thigh flesh or offering one's liver: the injury is extreme indeed; clipping the beard and shaving the hair: the harm is very slight. In establishing loyalty without regard for life, none among commentators finds fault; in seeking the Way without cherishing hair, why alone consider it an offense? Tang pitied the multitude and even offered his body to be burned to pray for rain; Mozi promoted universal love and wished to wear himself down from heel to crown. How much more so when one deeply seeks blessings and benefits for sovereign and father above—how could the harm to beard and hair be worth minding? Moreover, the teachings of the sages follow different paths to reach the same destination; the way of the gentleman may turn against the constant code yet accord with righteousness. Taibo was such a man: he renounced the care of parents at home, used gathering medicinal herbs as an excuse not to return, cast off the dress and ornaments of the central lands, and adopted the cutting of hair as adornment. Turning against the constant code and violating the rites could not be more extreme than this. Yet Zhongni praised him, saying: 'Taibo may indeed be said to possess supreme virtue.' What was the reason? Although his outer traces turned away from lord and parents, his heart was loyal to family and state; although his appearance was impaired among the Baiyue, his virtue was fulfilled in the thrice yielding of the throne. Therefore, Taibo cast aside the system of robes and caps without harming supreme virtue; then how does the śramaṇa's renouncing the attire of the gentry injure the wondrous Way? Although they change their dress and alter their appearance, contravening the ordinary conventions of ministers and sons, they place faith in the Way and direct their minds, praying for abundant blessings for sovereign and parents. They pain their bodies and minds, cultivating the multitude of virtues of renunciants, bequeathing to their lords and fathers the deep felicitations of successive kalpas. Is their loyalty and filial piety not abundant? To say that good śramaṇas are disloyal is something I cannot believe.

14.19

Fu also says: 'The Hu people of the Western Regions were born from mud; therefore, they serve mud and tiles.' These, too, are unconsidered words. When erecting numinous icons and depicting revered forms, the materials used are diverse; they are not only mud and tiles. Carved or cast, they use iron, wood, gold, and bronze; painted or embroidered, they are also upon pigments and fine silk. Would he also claim that the gentlemen and ladies of the Western Regions were all born from these things? Furthermore, the ancestral temples of the Central Lands take wood for their spirit tablets; would one then say that the gentlemen who established the rites were all nourished and born from wood? Parents cannot be forgotten, so ancestral temples are built for them; the Buddha cannot be forgotten, so his images and forms are erected, to manifest boundless devotion and express reverence as if he were present. In honoring the sage and venerating his virtue, what fault is there? Those who regard good as an offense will naturally also regard evil as merit.

14.20

Fu also says: 'When sovereigns had no Buddha, the state was well-governed and their reign long; when they had the Buddha, governance was cruel and their dynastic fortune short.' These, too, are unconsidered words. This would imply that the teachings instituted by the Capable Benevolent One all promulgate the ways of licentiousness and tyranny, and the words established by the Bodhisattva exclusively promote the deeds of Jie and Zhou. To discuss it in truth, it is completely not so. When the Yin lost the great treasure, the calamity arose from the words of Daji; when the Zhou lost the feudal lords, the disaster was caused by Baosi's smile. The downfall of the Three Dynasties was brought about by these things; how could the teachings of the Three Vehicles esteem them? The Buddha's Way consists of benevolence, compassion, joy, and protection, equalizing self and others, viewing enemies and kin alike, bestowing peace and joy, and delivering from danger and suffering. What enabled the ancients to win their people, the Buddha had already promoted; that by which people fled their superiors, the scriptures have strictly cautioned against. The virtues of Fuxi, Xuan[yuan], Shun, and Yu are encompassed within the six pāramitās; the faults of Yi, Zhuo, Gui, and Xin are comprehensively restrained by the ten unwholesome deeds. Had Jie formerly promoted the teaching of having few desires, and Zhou followed the way of great compassion, Yi Yin and Lü Shang would have had no need to employ their strategies, and Tang and Wu—how could they have carried out their punitive expeditions? It would have allowed Mingtiao to escape the calamity of losing the state, and Muye to quell the chaos of turning spears; the Xia ruler would have listened to the song of the Luo's confluence, and the Prince of Chu would have avoided the disaster of Ganxi. Thus, the benefit of the Śākya conversion is not small: it extends blessings and fortune endlessly, and halts peril and ruin before they manifest. When Fu claims that possessing it is a loss and lacking it is a benefit, what kind of words are these? What kind of words are these? What grudge does he bear against the Buddha that he slanders him to this degree? How has the Buddha wronged him that he hates him like an enemy?

14.21

Fu also says: 'Before there was the Buddhadharma, people were all pure and harmonious, and the world had no usurpation or rebellion.' These, too, are unconsidered words. Did not the Jiuli disorder virtue in an era when there was no Buddha? Was not the disobedience of the Sanmiao after the existence of the Dharma? In the decline of the Xia and Yin, where was there purity and harmony? In the Spring and Autumn period, was there really no usurpation and rebellion? Robbers, thieves, traitors, and rebels—the Minister of Crime was commanded by Gaoyao; the Xianyun blazed fiercely—the punitive expedition toiled Jifu. Yet Fu claims that the Buddha aroused usurpation and rebellion, and that the Dharma ruined purity and harmony; he solely fabricates empty words, entirely violating the authentic records. The Buddha prohibited even the theft of a single thread; how could he foster the chaos of usurpation and rebellion? The Buddha prevented even the falsehood of a single word; how could he ruin the way of purity and harmony? In truth, the Buddha's teaching exhorted ministers to be loyal, exhorted sons to be filial, exhorted the state to be governed, and exhorted the family to be harmonious. Promoting the good, it demonstrates the joys of the heavenly halls; punishing wrongdoing, it reveals the sufferings of hell. It does not rely solely on a single word of praise; how could it be limited to five punishments to serve as warnings? To claim that it harms harmony and fosters disorder—is this not the height of slander? Yet how could this harm the Buddha-sun? It only causes oneself to sink into the sea of suffering. Lightly committing it without avoiding it—how truly lamentable! Thereupon, the scholar's mind was subdued and his face showed shame; stepping back from his mat, he apologized, saying: 'Because of habitual customs, I lived an ordinary life, turned away from the Way, and indulged myself. Neglecting what I had not investigated, I enjoyed what was formerly handed down; turning my back on the true Dharma, I held divergent views, and receiving perverse words, I shared in their errors. Now, having heard the profound and distant nature of the Buddha's wisdom, I realize the loyalty and truth of the Śākya teachings. With an open mind, my spirit is awakened and principle is unfolded; it is sufficient to wash away delusion and eliminate afflictions. Though I followed deviance in former years, I ask to return to the correct path today. I will reverently recite your instructions to serve as my guiding words.'

14.22

Discourse on Inner Virtue, Chapter Two: Comprehending Destiny.

14.23

Someone said: "Sages set forth blessings to encourage goodness and show misfortunes to warn against evil. Petty people say that goodness brings no benefit and so do not practice it; they say that evil brings no harm and so do not abandon it. Yet words about disaster and blessing are flowery but lacking substance, whereas the discourse that there is no benefit and no harm is trustworthy and verified by proof. Why do I say this? Boyi starved; Rong Qiqi was poor; Yan Hui died young; Ran Geng fell ill. On the other hand, some are lavishly and grandly wealthy, their words rarely touching upon righteousness; some have white hair and live to a ripe old age, though their names are unworthy of praise when they depart this life. Those who are benevolent are not long-lived, and those who are wealthy are not yet benevolent—since the invention of writing, such cases cannot be fully recorded. Therefore we know that Confucius's words about disaster and celebration merely deceive people, and Yu's metaphor of shadows and echoes can hardly be believed!"

One who diligently pursued good deeds without flagging lamented that such words would perpetuate delusion; thus he wrote an essay to explain, saying:

Disaster and blessing certainly have their roots; they cannot be incurred at random without a cause. Good and evil must reap their recompense; it is surely not that retribution fails and ends in vain. Yet the roots are deep and the retribution lies far off, beyond the reach of ear and eye; investigating the beginnings and plumbing the ends lies beyond the capacity of Ruists and Mohists. Therefore the fortunes one encounters, when judged by Heaven, are difficult to scrutinize in detail; the years of premature death or longevity, when examined in human terms, are easily perplexing. When humans distribute rewards and punishments, they can still discern clearly without overstepping; would Heaven, in sending down disaster and blessing, instead act chaotically and without order? Therefore we know that a principle resides within this, which cannot be denied. If not for the Greatly Awakened One who possesses universal knowledge, who could exhaust the principles and dispel the doubts?

The words of Bu Shang and Jia Yi, the essays of Ban Biao and Ji Kang—they only knew how to lump it together and call it 'destiny,' but none could discern the reasons why destiny is so. How does this differ from seeing millet in a granary without knowing it was obtained through sowing and reaping, or beholding silk in a hamper without recognizing it was produced by loom and shuttle? Sima Qian lamented the failing of retribution, accumulating doubts that he could not resolve; Fan Pang was perplexed by the fittingness of good and evil, harboring resentment with no way to dispel it. They all saw the stream without tracing the source; they saw the one without knowing the other. Only by examining the sūtras and treatises of the Śākya clan can one investigate their beginnings and ends!

The retributions of doing good and doing evil trace their myriad branches across a thousand leaves; a destiny of richness or poverty illuminates its root source across ten thousand ages. It discerns the comings and goings of the six destinies and demonstrates the disasters and blessings of the three periods of time. Thus we know that though the physical form perishes, karma does not decay; though a person dies, the spirit is born again. Sometimes a worthy or sage suffers past disasters, so that even with the six superknowledges he lacks palatable food; sometimes a beast enjoys remaining blessings, so that a four-footed creature carries a wish-fulfilling jewel. Since actions performed are not of a single thread, the retributions evoked are truly of a thousand varieties. Karmas differ according to the mind; retributions vary just as faces do.

Tracing their minds: some are first deluded and later return to the path; some have a beginning but no end; some are consistently evil without remorse; some are purely good and ever lofty; some achieve merit but incur blame; some have meager blessings but abundant wisdom; some share the same transgression with different intentions; some achieve different merits with the same aspiration.

Therefore, in their retributions: some weep first and laugh later; some worry about loss once they have gained; some are lowly in youth and meet calamity in the end; some flourish at first and meet good fortune in the finish; some are pure in conduct yet die young; some are base in behavior yet overflow with wealth; some commit the same crime yet receive different punishments; some share equal virtue yet receive different ranks. Karma has many facets and is intricately intertwined; fruition is fully repaid in every fine thread. It is just like a painter laying down colors of vermilion and azure, or a mirror's reflection answering to beauty and ugliness. Destined to summon the six seals, Su Qin succeeded through roaming discourse; karma drawing ten thousand pieces of gold, Fan Li fulfilled his calculating art. Taking the azure and purple ribbons as easily as bending down to pick them up—this is aided by past causes; mastering rites and music yet remaining firmly in distress—this lacks the support of past blessings. Those reciting the *Analects* followed in close succession, yet Zhang Yu alone enjoyed high honor; those expounding the *Odes* stood shoulder to shoulder, yet Kuang Heng singularly held exalted rank. Or merit and labor were worthy of record, yet emolument did not reach Jie Zitui; or faults and enmities deserved execution, yet noble rank was first bestowed upon Yong Chi. Wei Xian's classical learning far surpassed leaving behind gold; Zhao Yi's literary writings were inferior to a full pouch of coins. How could this be due to differences in visible deeds? It truly originates from differences in past destiny.

Sometimes one of small talent holds great office, yet as chancellor achieves no illustrious merit; sometimes the Way is manifest while one's person is lowly, so that Confucius and Mozi suffered the humiliation of wandering restlessly. There are also those whose virtue and position are both exalted, like the Eight Worthies standing in the court of Yao and Shun; their talent and destiny both flourished, like Fu Yue and Lü Shang receiving the trust of seasoned broth. When the two causes are both cultivated, then they combine in this way; when a single karma is cultivated in isolation, then one's fortune is one-sided like that. Guan Zhong was released from prison to become prime minister; Li Si served as prime minister and met with punishment. Fan Ju was first humiliated and later honored; Deng Tong was wealthy at first and starved in the end. It was not that they were slow of speech at first and eloquent in the end; how could they be foolish in the past and wise now? It is because when the fruit ripens, peace arrives; when blessings are exhausted, distress ensues.

If one says that it was Grand Minister Pi who brought down Wu Zixu and this was not due to past disasters, or that it was Wang Ling who saved Zhang Cang and this had nothing to do with past blessings—this is seeing conditions while being ignorant of causes, incurring the error of the view of annihilationism. If one says that karma has bound one to a noble post and so one does not remember the kindness of rising together, or that destiny met with a benevolent wind and so one feels no shame before the kindness of relief—this is knowing causes while failing to recognize conditions, committing the crime of ingratitude. If one fully understands both principles and dispels both entanglements, how could there be any hindrance in advancing in virtue and cultivating one's vocation?

Planting fine grain in spring depends upon summer rains to flourish; cultivating good causes in the past relies on present conditions to be activated. Receiving rich moisture yet remaining unplowed is barren land; meeting an enlightened era yet remaining poor and lowly is a scholar without causes. The principle of cause and condition is complete in the sūtras and treatises; wherever one encounters it, it grows—all are of this kind. If one sees only one and does not harmonize the two, the sprouting of fault and entanglement harms one's virtue.

Examining what is clarified in the Buddhist scriptures: white and black karma have the determined and the undetermined; the retribution of misfortune and blessing has the alterable and the unalterable. Practicing virtue or committing faults can only avert alterable karma; whether worthy or foolish, one cannot alter determined destiny. When great goodness accumulates, disasters vanish; when many evils are full, blessings are destroyed. The inevitability of this principle is trustworthy and without doubt. It is like medicine overcoming illness and removing it, or pouring rain extinguishing a blaze; a giant dam checking a trickling stream, or a sharp axe felling a morning mushroom. But when a disease resides in the vitals, good medicine cannot save it; when fire blazes across plains and marshes, a drop of water truly cannot quench it. The trees of the Deng forest cannot be exhausted with a single blade; the current of the Changjiang—how could a single clod dam it? Great virtue can conceal slight flaws; slight merit is insufficient to compensate for great faults. Inscribing metal and stone is difficult work; crushing what is withered and rotten is easy labor.

Where karma is slight, its retribution is not firm; where action is firm, its fruition is determined. Because it is not firm, it can be altered; because it is determined, it is difficult to move. As for the distress that can be altered, therefore the three chants halted the waves of the great sea; as for the distress that is difficult to move, then even the four fruitions meet the harm of violent men. Liu Kun, a minor worthy, caused the wind to reverse and extinguish a fire; Tang Yao, a great sage, met with floods that mounted the hills. Judging by this, there is no need to be perplexed. Duke Wen of Jin increased his virtue, destroying the great snake by the roadside; Duke Jing of Song uttered virtuous words, driving back the baleful star at the edge of heaven—this is undetermined karma. Duke Wen of Zhu disregarded himself to benefit his people, having virtue yet meeting no response; King Zhao of Chu averted disaster and yielded blessings, uttering good words yet meeting personal misfortune—this is determined destiny. Sometimes sharing the same evil brings different retributions; sometimes having equal goodness brings different fruits. All are brought about by past causes; why should one find it strange within a single lifetime?

Confucius said: 'The petty man does not understand the mandate of Heaven and does not fear it.' He also said: 'Without knowing destiny, one has no means to become a gentleman.' What the Buddha calls karma is what the Ruists call destiny. Their words differ but the principle converges; they can be discussed together. Destiny is tied to karma; karma arises from the person. A person receives destiny to experience distress or success; destiny follows karma in richness or meager ness. A destiny of richness or meager ness is entirely due to oneself; is it not erroneous to resent Heaven and blame superiors? The *Book of Odes* says: 'The calamities of the common people do not descend from Heaven.' The *Zuo Commentary* says: 'Misfortune and blessing have no gate; they are summoned only by the person.' This means that Heaven cannot be blamed, and responsibility lies with the person. Meng Ke sought office in Lu, not bearing resentment at Zang Cang's obstruction; Zhongyou served the Ji clan, holding no anger toward Gongbo Liao's slander. This means that human beings cannot be blamed, and it is ascribed to Heaven. Their words may seem contradictory, but their ultimate aim is not different. In summary: both converge in advancing virtue, subduing oneself and admonishing others to encourage diligent aspiration, finding joy in Heaven and knowing destiny to eliminate sorrowful blame. For this reason, internally one is diligent in overcoming destiny, and externally one broadens the virtue of non-contention. Above, there is no fault of resenting Heaven; below, there is no entanglement of blaming others. The practice of the Golden Mean lies right here. Those of old who were skilled in practicing the Way—did they not apply themselves to this?

In the past, when I first heard the Buddhist scriptures, my faith was not deep; confined within the scope of my ears and eyes, I doubted what lay beyond sight and hearing. I thought the discourse of prior causes and later fruitions was like Zhuang Zhou's allegories, and discussions of heaven above and earth below were like Sima Xiangru's fictions. Seeing the wicked slip through the net, I acted wrongly without restraint; hearing of the loyal and upright meeting misfortune, I slighted goodness without encouragement. How grave was this delusion! When one understands karma, it is not so. The gentleman who understands karma is selfless and entrusts himself to destiny, looking up to the pure virtue of sages and worthies, and earnestly practicing noble conduct like gold and jade. He feels no distress living in a narrow alley; he forgets rivalry for fame and profit. Thus he brings to an end the remaining karma of the past and opens up enduring celebrations of the future. Disregarding the mockery and slander of the vulgar crowd, how could he seek the praises of his home village?

When planted, one does not see it grow, yet in time it becomes large; on a whetstone, one does not see it wear down, yet in the end its thickness is consumed. The retribution for the good and evil of one's present form is close in time and not yet ripe; the fruits of good and bad fortune from past lives must await the exhaustion of their span before they fade. For example, sowing and reaping yield sweetness, but one does not plant in the morning and harvest in the evening; caltrops produce thorns, but they sprout in spring and fruit in autumn. Those who do not plow yet are sated depend on the leftover grain of past years; those who are not worthy yet are wealthy and long-lived enjoy the old blessings of a previous life. The Way of Heaven has no favorites; human karma has abundance and deficit. Deducing the mandate of Heaven from this, doubts and perplexities can be dispelled.

As for the records of the Yu, Xia, Shang, and Zhou, and the words of Huang-Lao, Confucius, and Mozi, their Way is applied only to a single lifetime; their words never touch upon the three periods of time. Thus there are six points that can perplex, and they have no words to resolve them.

They show the benefits of doing good, referring to noble rank, reward, and reputation; they set forth the harms of doing evil, clarifying shame, disgrace, and punishment. Yet for scholars who flee rewards and conceal their names, what do they consider beneficial? Men who shamelessly seek to evade punishment do not suffer its harm. How can this suffice for warning and encouragement? This is the first perplexity.

They say that Heaven grants goodness and sends down a hundred blessings, and that spirits punish licentiousness and inflict the six extremities. Yet Boniu possessed virtuous conduct and fell ill—did Heaven dislike his doing good? Robber Zhi was violent and cruel yet did not die young—did the spirits favor his doing evil? Why do misfortune and blessing fall so indiscriminately? This is the second perplexity.

If one says that transgressions perish together with the physical form, and merit decays along with the body, what celebration of goodness can be spoken of, and what disaster of evil should be cautioned against? If the retribution of good and evil truly exists and is not absent, then for him who ate mountain ferns and starved to death, where were blessings added to him? For him who minced human liver and died in old age, when did he suffer misfortune? Why is there no retribution for good and evil? This is the third perplexity.

If one says that misfortune and blessing stem from one's ancestors, and disaster and celebration extend to descendants, examining this in earlier records shows it is not necessarily so. The lineage of Bo Zong and Yang She was extinguished in the Jin court; the descendants of Qingfu and Shuya flourished in the state of Lu. How could this be due to their ancestors? This is the fourth perplexity.

If one says that in observing good and scrutinizing evil, High Heaven is sometimes mistaken, and thus the blessings sent down and disasters dispersed are not equal on the earth below—yet would the bright mandate of Heaven truly be blind in rewards and punishments? Can one say that the Way of Heaven is inferior to the regulations of a mortal king? This is the fifth perplexity.

If one says that misfortune and blessing are not summoned by human beings, and good and evil have no retribution hereafter, then why did the hundred kings reward goodness and punish licentiousness, and why did the Six Classics praise virtue and censure faults? That would be vain encouragement toward what brings no benefit, and false warnings toward what brings no harm! Why then honor Confucius's propagation of teachings, and why blame Ying Zheng's burning of books? This is the sixth perplexity.

Therefore, the incitement and drawing forth of good and evil, and the leaning and resting of misfortune and blessing, if restricted solely to a single lifetime and not connected across the three periods of time, their principle is narrow and not broad! How could they resolve human delusions? In preventing evil, they are not thorough; in guiding toward goodness, they have many deficiencies. Their grasp of the principle is still shallow; their benefit to the people is still meager. Compared to the profound words of the Ten Powers and the wonderful Dharma of the Three Vehicles, which save the four forms of birth from the burning house and steer the six vessels across the sea of suffering, the difference between high and low is as an anthill to Mount Kunlun; the dissimilarity of shallow and deep is as a puddle to the Changjiang and Han Rivers. How could they be mentioned in the same breath?

Of old, the bright comprehension of Vimalakīrti and the acute eloquence of Śāriputra are detailed in the sūtras and treatises and can be compared: they suffice to surpass Xiang Tuo and excel Confucius; to outstrip Laozi and transcend Xu You; to subdue Mozi and shatter Zhuang Zhou; to engulf the hundred schools and encompass the nine streams of thought. Nothing recorded in the books can equal them. Yet they received various heterodox teachings without destroying their right faith; though versed in worldly scriptures, they ever delighted in the Buddha's Dharma. Serving Śākyamuni as their master, they devotedly embraced his skillful guidance. How could they fail to recognize the supremacy of the Way and hold it in veneration?"

First 23 of 28 passages. Read on

Linked texts (1)

廣弘明集 — Classical Chinese