廣弘明集 25.40

25.40

Your servant has heard that though the three calamities transform into fire, the six perfections remain ever firmer; though two words form the warp of the classics, a hundred accomplishments lie distant. Thus the white ūrṇā reveals its mark, proclaiming the One Vehicle throughout myriads of kalpas; the purple vapour casts its drifting shadow, blending myriad diversities into a single consensus. Then there is the ford of Confucianism, which sets its carriages upon distinct tracks: it brings to flower what is endowed by Heaven, Earth, yin, and yang, and solemnises the decorum between ruler and minister, father and son. Hence we know that for following names and demanding realities, regulating tracks and straightening forms, the teaching begins first in the village of Queli; for purifying the mind, exerting oneself in practice, cultivating the future, and regretting the past, the transforming influence spreads gradually along the Lotus River. Buddhism serves as an inner defense, gracefully maintaining order within the imperial palaces; Confucianism serves as an outer regulation, unable to encompass the spiritual platform of the heart. There is apart from them the Mysterious School and its pristine model, which stirs and billows through the winds of phenomena: soaring peng and flying quail, brief-lived toon and enduring morning fungus; in non-action and non-doing, what gain or what loss is there? Thus both teachings, Daoism and Buddhism, possess the Three Jewels: Buddhism takes the Buddha, Dharma, and Saṅgha as its tenets; Daoism takes the Way, the scriptures, and the masters as its doctrine. How could they merely be that wherein life-nurturing finds rely and through which nature-cultivation is fully endowed? In truth, they also serve as foundations for governance, assisting reputation and enriching civilising influence. Yet monks are not all enlightened, and masters of Dao have many deviations: relying on having renounced the world, they are buoyant and carefree; taking pride and arrogance for lofty boasting, dwelling in the lowliness of commoners, they hold their forms upright before the sovereign of myriad chariots; forgetting the kindness of parental nurture, they do not bend before the three supreme authorities. This is certainly what rulers and fathers should reform, and what ministers and sons know to be wrong. Thus the imperial rescript was issued to correct these abuses. Although those who tread in filial piety and abide in loyalty loudly advocate altering the course, still in examining antiquity and cherishing the Way one must consult and weigh the feelings of the multitude. For a valley that cherishes an echo does not extinguish sounds, and a mountain that receives dust does not reject fine grains. One must fully gather the songs of the common folk to offer up the opinions of the woodcutters. Why is this? More than a thousand years have elapsed since the Archivist floated westward; for some six hundred years the flow of the Dharma has gradually spread eastward. Though reigns have changed and markets and courts transformed, this practice has suffered neither decrease nor addition. Only Yu Bing demanded the prostration of śramaṇas, and Huan Xuan deliberated over the etiquette for monks. Fortunately He Chong submitted a memorial, and Huiyuan presented a letter; in the end the measure was not enacted, and the Way ultimately did not fall. Thus in the Great Changes the three sages ordered the realm, yet the hexagram Gu speaks of not serving kings and princes; the Great Rites fill heaven and earth, yet the 'Conduct of the Scholar' speaks of not acting as minister to the Son of Heaven. There was also Yan Ling sitting cross-legged to meet Guangwu, and Zhou Yafu bowing with clasped hands before Han Wendi. How could wearing armour be called brushing the dragon's scales? An old friend is not bound by the nets of court ribbons. If ancient friendship does not take precedence over the Way of the teacher, why should the companions of the Dharma rank behind the honours of war? Above, there are the True Sovereigns of the Nine Heavens and the bodhisattvas of the ten stages; below, there are the Four Whiteheads of the Southern Mountain and the Eight Dukes of Huainan: some followed the wind to pay respects, while others rode the vapor to wander and abide; stringing them together with a single thread, none could be brought to bend. In a hamlet of ten households, where loyalty and trustworthiness dwell, how could such men be lacking? When the five punishments are instituted, those bound in the three wooden cangues do not bow; how then could those endowed with the five virtues and wearing the three monastic robes bow? If guilt is not made to show respect, virtue is certainly sufficient to be tolerated and nurtured. That being so, among all conscious beings and creatures endowed with life, none fails to present their bodies to display loyalty, yet those [renunciants] do not act as ministers to kings; none fails to exhaust their strength to honour filial piety, yet those [renunciants] do not pay homage to their parents. Though the three articles of the code be softened and the three-foot statutes lightened, to possess even one of these [faults] is the greatest of the three thousand offenses. Yet that they are not subjected to severe execution or placed under immense censure—is it not because the systems of Daoism and Buddhism differ from those of Yao and Confucius, and bodily injury and shaving are entirely contrary to the ritual teachings? The lotus is not the colour of an official sash; the pattra leaf differs from the principle of carving jade sceptres. Ordinary people take binding the belt as an established norm, but the Daoist wears a cap without a belt; ordinary people take binding the hair as an ornament, but the Buddhist shaves it and leaves no appearance. Leaving one's state is not considered disloyalty; departing from one's family is not considered unfilial. Leaving the dust and defilement cuts off affection toward ruler and parent; surrendering appetites and desires abandons sentiment toward wife and child. In principle, categories of beings are distinct and cannot be bounded by ordinary paths. In birth nothing is weightier than father and mother, yet a son does not return thanks; in bestowal nothing is thicker than Heaven and Earth, yet things do not repay it. The kindness of ruler and parent transcends all names and forms; how could bowing the head and prostrating repay one ten-thousandth of it? When it comes to leaving home with respect to ruler and father, how could one say there is no recompense whatsoever? With every thought one necessarily takes the mortal king as the foremost object of vows; through the Four Truths, one brings immense benefit to father and mother. Just when one is banishing kalpas of dust and leaving birth and death forever, how could it be compared merely to bending the knee as the utmost loyalty, or providing bodily nourishment as pure filial piety? If they must be enclosed in mundane bounds and situated within Confucian stalls, bending their demeanor and lowering their etiquette, then since no unfilial act exceeds severing lineage, why not prescribe marriage for them? Since no disloyalty is greater than not being a subject, why not command them to style themselves ministers and concubines? To make the kāṣāya a court dress, and styling oneself 'poor monk' while scurrying to prostrate—etiquette and model are both lost, names and designations both confounded. I deeply fear that the benefit of a single kneeling will not add to the majesty of the myriad chariots, while the exertion of a single prostration will visibly demonstrate the fall of the three robes. Would that which is impermissible really be so? When the king has no father, he serves the Three Elders; when he has no elder brother, he serves the Five Experienced Ones. Even in the nobility of the lord of men, there are those he respects. The respect shown to the Dharma robes is not respect shown to the person. If their standing is bent, their Way is lowered; if their standing can be lowered, the Way is said to be deficient. How can that compare to preserving respect within oneself and preserving the Way among things? When respect is preserved, oneself is at ease; when the Way exists, things are honoured. To honour the Way is how one respects things; to respect things is also how one honours oneself. Moreover, bodily form is like a body, and the Way is like its shadow; the body is like a sound, and the Way is like its echo. When the form moves, the shadow follows; when the sound sounds forth, the echo responds. When the Way is elevated, the form is favoured; when the body declines, the Way rests. How could one allow the Way abiding in the body to bend before a body outside the Way? How could one allow a person beyond the mundane realm to preserve respect centered on the body? Furthermore, if those who preserve oneness and dwell in the Way do not leave the worldly dust, and if they may be bowed to, this means that the worldly Way may be treated as worldly, and the worldly again participates in the Way; then what should be one becomes two, and the Way cannot operate singularly. How can one demarcate the ordinary domains of the Way and the secular to preserve the utmost sincerity of single-minded devotion? According to the Mahāsāṃghika-vinaya, respecting the kāṣāya is like respecting a stūpa of the Buddha. The kāṣāya is called the robe of the field of merit; the robe is named 'wasting away', meaning it can waste away afflictions; the armour is named 'forbearance', meaning it can subdue the army of Māra. It is also compared to the lotus unstained by muddy defilement, and is the banner-emblem of all Buddhas. Thus the meaning of the kāṣāya is supreme! If one damages this Buddha-stūpa and destroys that banner-emblem, one will slight forbearance and further disparage the field of merit; bringing grave danger and doubt, one will end in utter confusion over what to accept and reject. If they remove the robe to bow, going beyond ordinary customs does not match the etiquette of the Zhangfu cap; if they arrange their robes and scurry forth, the black robes are contrary to the protocol of audience at court. Therefore, in meditating on the secluded realm of Śrāvastī and walking to screen off the place of lofty gates, principle cuts off court attendance and matters depart from glorious audiences. Is this not to say: because we honour their Way, we invite their coming; having invited them, to then debase them—what purpose does that serve? Mount Lu is where the Way and virtue reside, and was not included among those subject to screening; the sweet pear tree was where disputes were settled, evoking the sentiment of 'do not clip it'. If mountain and tree have no mind, yet through virtue preserve things, when Dharma and the Way are abundant, how could one revere the Way while abandoning the person? The saying goes: 'Man can magnify the Way; thus the Way also requires man to be practiced.' Though the royal envoy be of humble rank, his seat is above the feudal lords. How could the etiquette of those who practice the Way be debased? If it is said that both teachings are deceitful, then one may abolish them together; the method of abolishing them is what is meant by weeding them out. In that case, what is taken away is much; why stop at merely making them bend and submit? If it is said that both teachings provide rich assistance, then one should revere them; the method of revering them is what is meant by honouring them. How could one honour their Way yet make them perform prostrations? If gold and kingfisher feathers are used for a true image, it is not on account of gold and kingfisher that one increases solemnity; if a straw dog is used to honour a figure, it is not on account of the straw dog that one treats it more lightly. Solemnity and respect are ultimately entrusted to the Way; weight and lightness are not tied to physical things. That things cannot displace the Way is just as the Way constantly follows along with things. The śramaṇa wears the robes across his person, relying on the Dharma robes to be noble; everyone respects his Dharma robes, so how is it tied to the man? The principle of not bowing stands high in the sūtras and vinaya; the Dharma was entrusted to kings, and its affairs depend on upholding and protecting it. The Dharma is constant: what is constantly practiced should not be altered. What can be reformed in one corner may disrupt a thousand gates. Keeping it open brings the resource of protecting the Dharma; shutting it raises the anxiety of the Dharma falling into decline. Rather than letting it fall, how much better to protect it! Why must one bend the demeanor of the saṅgha and demand kneeling in the Dharma robes, causing those of the myriad states who take refuge to harbour resentments therein? The saying goes: 'Benefit them through that which benefits them'; then the art of benefiting them may also bring benefit through their refined achievements. Coming down to the sunlight shining above and the imperial fortune finding its lineage, the sea connects to the Heavenly River and branches join the precious architecture. Relying on the unsurpassable Way, it expands an inexhaustible enterprise. When other clans and different lineages still honoured and revered the past, how could the divine foundation and spiritual descent belittle today? This is the first reason why it is utterly impermissible. The Yuezhi and Eastern Lands await this precious succession; the quiet waters of dark waves and the Dharma clouds moisten with luster, elevating the celebration of liberation and expounding the blessings of the constant abiding. If kings of old and past emperors still observed this, now that the lord is sage and the ministers virtuous, why make this change? In your foolish servant's thousand deliberations, not one in ten thousand succeeds; if perchance this innovation brings no benefit to the future, and causes the slightest burden across kalpas numerous as the sands of the Ganges, then even if all across the land heads were shattered and all living beings had their bones ground to dust, how could it dispel the charge of concealing the truth or absolve the crime of disloyalty? This is the second reason why it is utterly impermissible. That is why your servant is so anxious in this matter and so earnest in sincerity, scratching my head, touching my heart, spilling my liver, and pouring out my gall. I humbly pray that the sage court will once again revive the supreme teaching, keep the Jetavana orchard in perpetual spring, and turn the wheel of the Dharma forever; with one mind joyfully registering these persons, while a hundred fortunes brightly shine afar in the imperial annals. Then even if I die, it will be as if I lived, whether morning or evening! I privately reflect that the imperial decree was subtle and polite, its meaning difficult to take as biased either way. When the Heavenly Will is uniform, it can be made to be followed; when the imperial thought seeks counsel far and wide, who would not exhaust their deliberations? With my mediocrity and ignorance, how am I fit to lodge words? If one considers the two teachings non-existent, yet they are revered under this sage dynasty; if the sage reveres them, then they are not non-existent. If one considers the two teachings existent, yet they are pruned in this enlightened era; if the era prunes them, I fear they are not existent. This is why I linger at the crossroads, two alternatives battling within me. The Way ought to preserve its traces, yet the principle is not yet satisfying to the heart. How could a tube peer at the sky, or a frog measure the sea? Principle transcends the realm of ordinary aspiration; affairs go beyond ordinary intellect and knowledge. One might naturally hold the lead pencil, lay down the writing brush, knock on silence, and extinguish sound; yet wishing to chirp like a bird to set forth words, or secretly blow the yu pipe in the ensemble, this would be like making the deaf hear to equate with the vulgar, or having the blind see to match the aged. Though I have emptied my heart and soul, it ultimately does not reach what can be heard and seen. It is simply that the eight winds blow far, and the ten thousand pipes all offer their sounds; the two luminaries rise in brightness, and a thousand forms do not conceal their shadows. Looking up with admiration at this scene, I hope to turn the dial; like a sunflower turning toward the sun, I offer my drops of morning dew. Yet with a face blushing like melon-wine in summer, treading on thin ice in spring, my trepidation is extreme, and my fright and awe gather together. Respectfully submitted.