廣弘明集 24.71

24.71

The monk Tanji speaks: The Emperor, the Great Dānapati, grasps heaven and earth in virtue and holds the radiant sun in his heart, illuminating the impartial Way and unfolding unfathomable transformations. He can overawe both the secular and the ordained with majesty, yet extends compassion to monks and nuns, pulling upon the profound guidelines to point out the path of departure from samsara. Desiring that those of pure advancement who refine their practice reveal their tracks in this brilliant era, while śramaṇas deficient in virtue feel ashamed to return to the plain secular world, an imperial edict was thus issued ordering their abilities to be examined, and circulated throughout the prefectures to question their daily studies. I humbly reflect that entering the Way has many paths and surely follows no single rule; judging individuals solely by external appearances falls short in five respects. What are they? First, there are monks and nuns who have lived in monasteries since their early years and dwell in frugality; their vows and key practices are resolutely kept without violating the prohibitions. They burn incense, circumambulate stūpas, and bow with devout respect; with folded hands and bowed heads, they forget both sleep and food. Yet, endowed by nature with dull faculties, they have no affinity with reading and chanting; though they study with the utmost hardship, they cannot retain a single character. If what is now proclaimed means that only those who are sharp in literary chanting are right, and upon reinspection examining monks to prevent relapse, only actual practice is right, the court's core intention tends toward seeking clear decisiveness. Yet sincerity without sharpness is the foundation of practice; sharpness without sincerity is merely the mark of intellectual knowledge. If one is employed for having a profession, perfection is not demanded of a single person; if sincere monks are deemed not to be monks, then exhaustive knowledge is wrongly demanded of them. The wisdom of the Great Awakened One is inconceivable; all teachings he expounded are received with reverence by gods and humans. How much less should ordinary mortals rashly contemplate altering them? The assembly of sages themselves stated that throughout their diverse supernatural manifestations, they could neither add to nor subtract from this Great Dharma. When a great person appears in the world, he recognizes the root and discerns dispositions, skillfully employing diverse means to transform people gradually. The roots and practices of sentient beings are each distinct, causing the sage to preach sūtras with mutual differences and no single mold; the internal and external penetrate each other without divergence. Furthermore, Confucius led three thousand disciples, of whom seventy-two attained mastery, and those who ascended the hall and entered the chamber were no more than a few; how could those outside this number ever be cast out? Today, every prefecture, commandery, and county has its students, yet how many are those whose virtue matches Yan Yuan? Could one abolish a commandery without establishing it just because its students fall short of Yan Yuan? Could one order all dense monks lacking virtue to return to lay life? Those who fall short of Yan Yuan are still superior to rustic wild men; dense monks lacking virtue are still superior to non-Buddhists. Bowing before these two comparisons, falling short in this regard is the first deficiency. Second, there are those who rely exclusively beneath trees, lifting the staff and holding the bowl, eating only at midday and sustaining themselves through right livelihood; fame is abruptly abandoned and gain is given no thought. Through contemplation of principle they dispel afflictions, and thus neglect literary chanting. If one assesses their entering the Way, their internal practice is more than sufficient; if one scrutinizes their textual comprehension, their manifest accomplishments are deficient. Why must it be that those who assemble in the capital are all virtuous monks, while those solitary and outstanding in the forests and wilds are all non-practitioners? Fruits are raw or ripe, yet one cannot eat them based solely on their appearance; people may be hidden or apparent, yet one cannot judge them by form and name. Daring to reflect on this three times, falling short in this regard is the second deficiency. Third, there are those who copy sūtras and make images, exerting their strength year after year, repairing saṅghārāmas and toiling with diligence across accumulated seasons; abandoning their persons to save living beings, they pay no heed to cold and hardship, and bestowing joy upon others, their resolve is not swayed by hunger and poverty. Yet lacking intellectual capacity, their daily chanting exceeds no more than a single word; bustling from dawn to dusk, their daily reading does not fill a few sheets. Measured by their dedication of merit, their goodness is not bestowed in vain; examined by their initial aspiration, they are true children of the Buddha. Now, if they are forced to return to secular life without fault, this wrongs and abuses genuine practitioners, abruptly condemning an upright nature. Falling short in this regard is the third deficiency. Fourth, the Buddha said that the saṅgha is a field of merit, whose principle makes it difficult to diminish or restrain. Though one may be young in years and ordinary in form, the Dharma robes are held in high esteem; how could one bestow them in the morning and seize them in the evening, inflicting harm and damage upon oneself? Love and hatred are impermanent; how can gains and losses be blamed on a single person? To impose non-constant regulations upon the twelve profound divisions of scriptures will, I fear, not accord with the sage's intent and will severely contravene the great purpose, harming compassion above and damaging orthodox transformation below; my only fear is that succeeding generations will hand down the slander of having falsely accused the saṅgha. Falling short in this regard is the fourth deficiency. Fifth, now the Great Zhou is a great state, yet monks and nuns are few, while monastery halls stand resplendent in their myriad numbers. One should simply welcome the two assemblies to fill them, sounding Sanskrit chants and striking bells to practice the Way for the state. Instead, expediently searching out their strengths and weaknesses, deviously seeking faults and offenses to dismiss and return them to the laity, leaving the ridgepoles and beams desolate and empty—if foreign lands and different states near and far hear of this, they will suspect that soldiers are being sought among the saṅgha and land is being taken beneath stūpas and temples, which is truly and deeply perplexing. Dense monks performing corvée labor are insufficient to augment the army; granting monastery lands to the common people can hardly enrich the state. Taints are not eliminated all at once; one's nature is manifested only by degrees. All sentient beings are fully endowed with afflictions; to abruptly demand full cultivation is to destroy the Buddhadharma. Not only will it harm oneself, but Māra will surely gain the advantage. Why? If one solely regards the purely good and attentively supports them, while solely regarding the purely evil and ordering them to return to the laity, this view profoundly destroys the triratna. If coarse and fine are viewed equally, Māra will find it difficult to gain the advantage. Why? For the purely good may regress and become coarse, while a multitude of coarse individuals may still generate worldly goodness. According to the principle of the sūtra texts, regardless of coarse or fine practice, so long as they do not return to secular life, they will ultimately become children of the Buddha. Considering advancement and withdrawal three times, falling short in this regard is the fifth deficiency. This poor monk, in his remaining years and with humble constitution, lodges his life west of the Pass; admiring your transformation and receiving your favor, I have been able to preserve my practice of the Way. Therefore, groaning and leaning upon my staff, I send forth this sincere devotion; my fault of intrusion and error humbly fills me with trembling fear. Respectfully spoken.