集古今佛道論衡 2.4

2.4

Emperor Wu of the Zhou initially had faith in Buddhism. Later, because a prophecy said that 'those in black garments shall rule as kings,' he came to esteem Daoist techniques, personally received talismans and registers, wore a dark cap and yellow coarse robes in the palace, harbored suspicion toward the Buddhist tradition, and resolved to exterminate it. Yet fearing that those who believed in the Buddha were numerous, he did not dare to act unilaterally. There was a Daoist priest named Zhang Bin who deceitfully misled the sovereign to secretly advance his scheme, quietly gathering the Li clan to oust and abandon the Śākya clan. He also allied intimately with the former monk Wei Yuansong, joining together as mouth and teeth to cut down [Buddhism]. The Emperor accepted his words; wishing to personally inspect faults and measure the shortcomings of Buddhism, he summoned monks into the palace to practice the Way for seven nights. The monks, having secretly learned of this beforehand, all doubled their sincerity and devotion. The Emperor likewise stayed awake through the seven nights along with the monks, chanting hymns of praise for them and performing various ritual acts. As no transgression was found, the matter ceased without consequence. On the fifteenth day of the third month in the fourth year of the Tianhe reign (a jichou year), an imperial decree summoned over two thousand virtuous monks, renowned Confucians, Daoist priests, and civil and military officials to ascend the main palace hall. The Emperor took the imperial seat and appraised the merits, faults, abolition, or establishment of the three teachings. The assembly debated noisily; opinions clashed in disharmony, and they dispersed without resolution. On the twentieth day of that month, they assembled as before to debate right and wrong, but the scope broadened even further without meeting the Emperor's intentions, and they dispersed in disappointment. In the early part of the fourth month, they gathered once more as before, ordered to speak exhaustively and present their principles. An imperial decree was also issued to the Metropolitan Commandant Zhen Luan to scrutinize the two teachings of Buddhism and Daoism and determine their relative depths. Zhen Luan thereupon submitted the Xiaodao lun (Treatise Laughing at the Dao) in three fascicles, ridiculing the title 'Three Caverns' and the claim of thirty-six divisions of scripture. Its text was exceptionally well-evidenced and clear, extensively examining the issues. On the tenth day of the fifth month, the Emperor convened the civil and military officials on a grand scale to examine the treatise submitted by Zhen Luan. Deeming it harmful and damaging to Daoist priests, he had it burned immediately in the palace courtyard. There was a Dharma Master Dao'an whose wisdom and understanding penetrated thoroughly and who was comprehensively versed in both internal and external [teachings]. At the time he was called the pillar of the Śākya lineage and singled out as preeminent among the saṅgha. The Emperor trusted and esteemed him, regularly attending upon him and conversing with him. When the collective opinion agreed that the three teachings should be established alongside one another, only Dao'an argued vigorously: 'There are only two teachings!' Since spoken words are hard to trace while written compositions are easy to clarify, he composed the Erjiao lun (Treatise on the Two Teachings) in twelve chapters. In the first chapter, 'Returning to the Source and Revealing the Root', it states in brief: 'The myriad transformations are rooted in the unproduced; the three powers (Heaven, Earth, and Man) emerge from the beginningless. Thus, the unproduced and the beginningless are the nature of things. Transformation and birth are the convergence of humanity. Though convergence constitutes a single body, form and spirit are two distinct realities. Though dissolution separates physical form, the mental attributes are never forgotten. Therefore, the teaching that rescues the form is called external, while the teaching that delivers the spirit is called internal. For this reason, the Treatise on the Great Perfection of Wisdom speaks of the two paths of internal and external; the Humane Kings Sūtra distinguishes the two discourses of internal and external; the Vaipulya sūtras clarify the two monastic codes of internal and external; and the Śata-śāstra speaks of the two paths of internal and external. If speaking broadly of the internal and external, it encompasses both the Chinese and the barbarians. If speaking strictly of this land, one may say Confucianism and Buddhism. The Buddhist teaching is internal; the Confucian teaching is external. Daoism has no separate teaching; its fundamental lineage belongs to the Confucian stream. This is fully attested in ancient scriptures and is no fabrication. If one carefully examines the records and traces their origins, there are only two teachings; how could there be three? For in the primordial simplicity of high antiquity, the proclamations of the Three Sanhuang and Five Di texts were not yet widespread. When pristine customs gradually declined, the writings of the Sanfen and Baosuo began to appear. Therefore, embracing the seven canonical texts and encompassing the nine lineages, they were all statecraft for military and governance, and techniques for cultivating the person. If divided into branches, there should be nine teachings; if unified together now, they equally belong to the Confucian lineage. In terms of office, each was a post of the royal court; in terms of texts, they were all books of the imperial house. Why seek, within a single transformation, to let the nine streams vie like converging rivers, or in an age of the Great Dao, allow minor attainments to compete in argument? Does this not above injure the singular way of the sovereign, and below open the faults of either rigid narrowness or vulgar licentiousness? This is truly what may be called a great harm to the grand design, bewildering both court and countryside! As for the Buddhist teaching, it is the standard of exhausting principles and fulfilling nature, the true path of transcending the mundane and entering ultimate reality. Regarding its texts, it is divided into twelve parts; speaking of its tenets, it comprises the four siddhāntas. Its principle is subtle within the realm, indeed beyond the reach of names and designations; its transformative influence reigns beyond all forms, again beyond what cognitive discernment can trace. As for shedding burdens and abandoning the fish-trap, refining the spirit to full illumination, it immediately transcends birth and death and ultimately realizes nirvāṇa. It proclaims and expounds the five vehicles, accommodating the depths and shallows of varied capacities; it completely illuminates the six destinies, distinguishing the ascents and descents of good and evil. Reaching far into the supramundane, its principles are all-encompassing; extending near to royal governance, its matters are exhaustively addressed. It can be broad, it can be essential; it is neither crude nor overly ornate. If not for the supreme contemplation under Heaven, who could participate in this teaching? Even with the thousand schools of Confucians and Daoists, or the hundred lineages of agriculturists and Mohists, their selections and strivings have never attained its measure. When the sentiment of valuing life is profound, the admonition concerning the afflictions of the body arises; failing to realize impermanence, the lament over the flowing stream is uttered. These are all supreme discourses within the realm, not the great proclamations transcending the world. Why is this? Pushing material form to its subatomic extreme was never explained by Laozi; investigating the mind to its arisings and ceasings was never spoken of by Confucius. One may say that gazing at them, they seem exhaustive, but scrutinizing them, they have not reached the ultimate. A sūtra says: "Distinguishing form and mind has immeasurable characteristics; it is not known by the śrāvakas and pratyekabuddhas." How much less could the discursive thoughts of ordinary mortals ever be equated with the Buddha-sage? A sūtra says: "Do not compare the light of the sun to that of a firefly." This metaphor is consummate! If one makes things equal merely by forcing what is unequal into equality, that cannot be called equality. I have heard that one who is good at equalizing all under Heaven equalizes all under Heaven through their inequalities. Why must one level the mountain peaks and fill the deep chasms before they are flat, or lengthen the duck’s legs and sever the crane’s before they are equal? Such is the crude opinion of narrow-minded men; how could it be the upright discernment of an enlightened master? Thus the proverb says: "Purple indeed obscures red; folly thus corrupts wisdom." Let us broaden the comparison: from the Son of Heaven above down to the commoners below, all rely on form and mind to constitute their person, and receive yin and yang to transform their bodies. One cannot, simply because form and mind are alike, conflate the wise with the foolish; nor, because yin and yang are fundamentally equal, make the noble and the base identical. That this is untenable is luminous in its ultimate principle; even if one forcibly equates them, where is the sense in it?' Much of the rest of the text is not recorded here. It also says: 'The Records of the Grand Historian states: "Laozi traveled west and only reached the Moving Sands." Scriptures such as The Conversion of the Barbarians and The Western Ascension are unworthy of serious investigation. Only at the end of the Han did the three Zhangs begin to practice their way, misleading and throwing all under Heaven into chaos, as is fully seen in historical records. Thus Li Ying's Shu ji says: "Zhang Ling, avoiding malaria among the shrine mounds, obtained a book of ghost-incantation techniques and thereupon understood ghost-magic. Later he was devoured by a great serpent, but his disciples falsely reported that he had ascended to Heaven. His son Heng, and Heng's son Lu, in turn practiced his way, calling themselves the Three Masters: Ling was the Heavenly Master, Heng was the Succession Master, and Lu was the Inheriting Master. All used the way of ghosts to transform the foolish masses." The Book of the Later Han says: "Zhang Lu was initially an Officer of Righteous Command; he then ambushed and killed Su Gu, the Grand Administrator of Hanzhong, cut off the Xie Valley, killed Han emissaries, and held sole control of Hanzhong for over thirty years. Wearing yellow turbans and yellow cloth robes, he fabricated talismanic writings to deceive the populace. Those who received his way paid five pecks of rice, so the world called them 'rice bandits'. When beginners first arrived, they were called 'ghost soldiers'; later they were called 'libationers', each leading their own units, and the barbarian customs revered them. The imperial court could not suppress him, and so appointed Lu as General of the Household for Pacifying the Barbarians, accepting his tribute. In the twentieth year of Emperor Xian, Cao Cao campaigned against and defeated him." At the end of the Han, ghosts uttered the prophecy: "Those in yellow robes shall be kings." Thereupon Zhang Jiao, Zhang Lu, and others first wore yellow robes. The Cao clan received the mandate, substituting yellow for red, hence adopting the reign title Huangchu ('Yellow Beginning'). Only then were the Yellow Turban bandits pacified. Under the Northern Wei, Kou Qianzhi gradually reinstated their garb. Today, in an age of the Great Dao, customs should conform to minor shamans; the color of the headcloth should be changed back to ancient ways. Furthermore, Laozi was a great worthy who renounced status and honors; he was also a court official, so how could his clothing color have been distinct? In antiquity there was specialized study of scriptures, but no special distinction of clothing. Yellow turbans and hemp clothing originated from the Zhang family. When sages and worthies institute teachings, they are magnanimous and gentle; ghosts and spirits are stern and harsh, shifting like cold and heat. Laozi warned against flavors, yet libationers all drink wine; Zhang instituted ghost garments, and yellow robes became uniform. The genuine and the counterfeit are clear as day, and their leniency and severity are plain to see. Therefore, I briefly cite several points of the Zhang clan’s fabrications to caution those who have not heard of them.'