廣弘明集 14.9

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.