廣弘明集 23.41

23.41

The Dharma master's taboo name was Zhicheng. His ancestors were of a certain clan from a certain commandery. He partook of the clear sources of the Fen and Kuai rivers and was endowed with the refined substance of the rivers and mountains. He accumulated spiritual causes through supreme deeds, and perfected his wise nature in Jambudvīpa. Upright indeed was his purity, prepared early from his beginnings; by embodying warm geniality, respectfulness, and frugality, he obtained it. Yet his natural resonance was authentic and resolute; concealing his brilliance and hiding his radiance, he sank unnoticed among the common throng, none being able to fathom his depths or breadth. This was because a flower only an inch across conceals its light within a deep ravine, and a treasure a foot wide has not yet been split from its uncut jade worth cities. Those who glanced upon him failed to recognise his grand magnificence, and those listening from afar could not hear of his vast fame. Constrained in military service, he bowed his head and arose from the paths between the fields. Reaching the age of thirty, he began reading the various sūtras. Drawing back, he sighed: 'A hundred years pass in an instant, yet people value merit and fame. Fame does not abide forever, and merit is difficult to secure. Moreover, good fortune and ill, regret and remorse have already been verified in the writings of Confucius; transformations, rises and falls have been declared by successive sages. How could they know what lies beyond the towering heights and open emptiness—that which encompasses the hidden and manifest and provides boundless succour? There is a Teacher over there; I know where to take refuge!' Thereupon he made a deep bow to the five patiences, respectfully gathered his robes before the four reliances, and blunted his sharpness and resolved his tangles until they were utterly exhausted. During the Daming era of the Song dynasty, there was in the Yibu region a Dhyāna master Yin, whose austere discipline and penetrating contemplation made him renowned as an Imperial Preceptor. Hearing of his renown, the Venerable one entrusted himself to him, showing the utmost propriety at their very first meeting. When Master Yin spoke of returning to Shu, they joined hands and shared the same boat. In the first year of the Taishe era of Song, he went forth from household life at Mount Yulei. His sincerity moved devas and humans; his faith penetrated metal and stone. With an upright mind and prajñā, he strode proudly in the bodhimaṇḍa. Soon after, he revered his vocation and received instruction from his teacher, approaching the virtuous to debate his aspirations. He wandered through the nine classes of scriptures and galloped across the three vehicles. What was translated and expounded by Kumārajīva, and what was concealed in secret by the Nāga King—though he received, upheld, recited, and chanted them, he did not adopt them as his main school. He often said: 'That which collects the mind is trace; when traces are rigorous, the mind is restrained. That which propagates the Way is conduct; when conduct is rigorous, the Way abides. For bringing peace to superiors and governing the people, nothing takes precedence over propriety; for checking depravity and turning toward goodness, nothing surpasses the vinaya. That which can drive the chariot out of the burning house and soar across the ocean of suffering, look upon the three bad destinies without treading them, and pass through myriad kalpas without decline—is it not indeed the vinaya?' Thereupon he discarded the branches and leaves, and concentrated his thoughts upon the root. Reining in his horses and cleansing his mind, he made this his own task. Then, dragging his tin staff and walking alone, he travelled a thousand miles in pursuit of learning. Clasping sūtras and holding his alms-bowl, he rested not even through a hundred stages. Looking westward toward Mount Jing, and southward crossing the shores of the Li, he circulated through China, widely collecting extraordinary teachings. With a body like clay and wood, but a mind of fine jade, there was no height he did not gaze up to, no hardness he did not assault. Where he rested to sleep, his mat did not even become warm; where his thoughts were directed, he had no time to eat. After three years in the Way, he attended four lectures under his master. His studies were effortless and his achievements redoubled; his accomplishments flourished, and his understanding of the sūtras was bright. He often declared: 'The Way has not fallen to the ground; each person has their own excellence. How could Confucius' learning have had a permanent teacher?' At that time, the two Venerables Ju and Yin were seniors of exalted calibre, singing like phoenixes in Western Chu. Vinaya Master Ying of Duobao possessed comprehensive learning, reviewed the ancient, and rose up like an eagle in the Eastern Capital. When the Dharma master was in Jiangling, he relied on Ju and Yin as comprehensive supports; when he returned to the capital Luoyang, he took Master Ying as a beneficial friend. They weighed the best and worst, harvesting the finest cream of words. They cast away tares and fed on fine rice and grain, blending salt and plum to season the tripod cauldron. Their principles were refined, their imports deep; superficial later scholars could not follow in their footsteps. In the sixth year of the Taishi era, he first lectured on the Daśabhāṇavāra-vinaya at Zhenze. Expounding upon practical aspects, he brought the divine path within a cubit's reach. His exalted discourse surpassed the clouds and the Milky Way; his subtle subtleties penetrated the gapless realms. The eighty thousand dignified manners flowed pleasantly with clear principles, and the passages of the five sects dispersed like harmonious ripples. From this, junior students came to know the doctrine, and senior masters changed their views; his radiant repute and fine renown were exceptionally widespread. The Dharma master did not select places when responding to calls, and always acted with surplus strength. Though engaging in pure conversation all day, the practical affairs were accomplished within it. He established Qiyun at Juqu and built Yanzuo in Jianye. Commands did not await severe enforcement for rooms and screens to be solemn and quiet; labour did not need to be hastened for ridgepoles and eaves to line up side by side. Ever since the Mahāyāna scriptures arrived, transforming foreign works into Chinese, vast talents and great scholars stood shoulder to shoulder like aligned cart axles. Traditions of the Lotus and Vimalakīrti emerged from time to time; reciters of the Nirvāṇa and Tattvasiddhi gathered disciples everywhere. Yet regulations and standards of the Vinaya-piṭaka were rarest at that time. Shaking the fur coat and holding its collar truly fell to this worthy man. Matters of vast and profound origins, over which elders were bewildered, and steep, hidden, complex obstacles, before which former cultivators unyoked their carriages—he dissected them to the hair's breadth and pulverised what was cemented together; plumbing depths and reaching the distant, he comprehended them solely in his own heart. Hence, those south of the door and those bending their bows to the north followed the voice and responded to the echo, arriving from ten thousand miles away. His disciples increased year by year, and his principles were renewed day by day. Sitting in the high hall to welcome the four assemblies and turning the wheel of the Dharma so that his peers came to pay homage, he continued for more than twenty years; gentlemen praised this, saying that this Path was revived by him. He severed congratulations and condolences, and kept clear of worldly customs; through red gates and ornate mansions he never passed. King Wenxuan of Jingling of the Qi, regarding a realm of a thousand chariots lightly and humbling his mind before the eight liberations, once invited the Dharma master to lecture at his palace temple. Once he granted the prince's request to descend in virtue, someone suggested that the courtesies of host and guest ought to be cultivated. The Dharma master smiled and replied: 'I have no leisure for that.' When he took his rightful seat on the lecturer's platform and the initial polite greetings were exchanged, the Dharma gathering was vastly arranged, with distinguished scholars gathered like a forest. The host's repute had already spread, and the visitors appeared exceedingly ferocious. As the title was announced and the chapter introduced, difficult objections sprang up like blades. The Dharma master responded to changes like an echo, as though not even taking time to pause and listen. Those who entrenched themselves in eloquence crumbled like earth; those who relied on their strength broke their horns. None failed to waver, collapse, and lose their roots and branches. The observers and listeners acclaimed it as a magnificent gathering. The Dharma master's nature was originally firm and resolute, yet he greeted inquiries with joy; when questions filled the hall, he never showed a look of offence. Humbling himself with broad concision, all exhausted their talents; whether they were close disciples or distant followers, he instructed them alike. In his youth when living at home, he was a filial son and a true friend; kicking off his shoes for the four attractions, he forgot both love and attachment. Letters and messengers from relatives and friends were kept sealed and unopened; keeping grief and sorrow to his inner heart, he restrained himself from attending their funerals. He often said: 'The Way and the secular are different; since Udāyin personally received the voiced instructions, would one rather practice his words while neglecting his teachings?' His afflictions were cast off completely, vanishing without a trace. In his engagement with the Daśabhāṇavāra-vinaya, from Wuxing to Jianye, he lectured more than forty times. He composed eight fascicles of explanatory notes, concisely clarifying the regulations; scholars transmitted them, deeming them peerlessly sublime through all antiquity. His age was seventy-two. In the third year of the Yongyuan era of the Qi, his spirit departed at Anle Temple in Jiankang County. Monks and nuns flocked in great numbers, as if having lost their elder brothers and sisters. Truly, it was what is called faith without words and resonance without calling. As for dwelling in reverence and acting with simplicity, joy and anger never appeared on his face. Knowing others, he guided them well, distinguishing and selecting without overlooking anyone. In facing wealth he was incorruptible, and his taking and giving were righteous; he was clear and trustworthy, upright and magnanimous, remaining unchanging when facing adversity. Profound and imposing! Mount Bo, Mount Jie, the Yellow River, and Mount Hua could not measure his capacity. Truly, was he not a model of pure practice and a rule for calming the mind? His disciples, grieving that the ridgepole has collapsed and lamenting that his virtuous voice is forever silenced, set forth this faithful record with evidence, hoping to transmit his fragrance without shame.