北山錄 6
English (machine translation) 6
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Contents
6.1
Inquiry Nine on Mourning Attire (Attire follows established affection; mourning is completed through ritual. Inquiring into mourning for parents and teachers, which of the five grades of mourning attire should properly be followed?)
6.2.1
A few disciples were waiting in attendance (disciples). The guests having retired, they approached respectfully with elbows gathered (drawing in their elbows as they stepped forward) and said, "We have been fortunate enough to hear about the practices of the Three Vehicles, but we have not yet studied the rites of the Three Dynasties (the Xia, Yin, and Zhou differed in cultural refinement and simplicity). Yet of the guidelines for the hundred conducts, none is greater than filial piety, and in filial piety none is greater than sending off the dead. When one dies, there is the summoning back of the soul (after sending off to burial, they return to set up the spirit table and mat; they summon back the soul and spirit, fulfilling their love; there is a heart of prayer and sacrifice in it), and for the living there are regulated measures. For when one examines the end, from the end its beginning may be known (the *Book of Rites* states: when death first occurs, the chief mourner wails and the brothers weep; at the minor encoffinment they take their positions by the ancestral shrine; they take off their hair ornaments and bind their hair with hemp; for a serviceman's mourning, on the second day they encoffin; all fast for three days; as for eating gruel, one *yi* of rice in the morning and one *yi* of rice in the evening, an *yi* being one twenty-fourth of a pint; after burial, the chief mourner eats vegetables and drinks water, eating neither wild greens nor fruits). May we venture to ask where a śramaṇa's mourning falls within the five grades of mourning attire (the five mourning attires are *zhan cui*, *qi cui*, *da gong*, *xiao gong*, and *si ma*)?" I let go of the armrest for a long time, and sorrowfully informed them, saying: "The rites of the former kings were what the gentlemen of Lu understood; regarding Confucius, he was capable in many arts; I have not yet plumbed them exhaustively. Now, India is not identical with local customs here (the sons of Śākya, taking the teachings of India as their foundation, differ from the local customs of the Central Domain). Its simplicity is extreme, yet subtle (the customs of the Western regions are simple, unadorned, and brief; the *Record of the Inner Law Sent Home from the South Seas* says: in cleverness and quick-witted sharpness the Divine Land does not equal India; in ritual decorum and rules India does not equal the Divine Land). In antiquity, the unadorned simplicity of Fuxi and Shennong changed in the Central Domain. For when simplicity reaches its extreme it becomes refined, and when refinement reaches its extreme it returns to simplicity. Across the four seas it is not so (the Xia and Yin modeled themselves on Earth, hence were simple; the Zhou modeled itself on Heaven, hence was refined; the four seas do not change). Now the black robes dwell in China. China possesses ritual decorum; how could they be identical to foreign lands (the former kings regulated the music of the four barbarian tribes, but did not regulate their rites; now that the sons of Śākya dwell in China, they cannot be identical with foreign lands)? Therefore, examining the numbers of the five mourning attires, reflecting the degrees of elevation and descent, and deliberating upon their teachings, we establish them as a textual model. As for discussing their institutions, reducing or adding to them to accord with the hearts of all under heaven, that awaits the gentleman (now following the five mourning attires and emulating them: *zhan cui* for three years, *qi cui* for one full year, *da gong* for nine months, *xiao gong* for five months, and *si ma* for three months; raising or lowering them to practice them. If one wishes to accord with the propriety of the world and attain the mean, that awaits the determination of future gentlemen). Therefore, mourning for one's parents should be like the mourning of a serviceman (*shi*), which perhaps strikes the mean and accords with ritual (among the five types of filial piety, relying on the mourning rites of a serviceman hits the mean). The mourning of a serviceman involves leaning on a cane, wearing rush sandals (the *Book of Rites* states: for a serviceman's mourning, on the second day they encoffin and, leaning on a cane, wail; when encoffined, they lean on a cane and wail; by the casket, they hold the cane together), eating gruel (not eating for three days, then eating gruel and drinking water), dwelling in a lean-to shed, sleeping on straw mats, and pillowed on a clod of earth (the *Book of Rites* states: in mourning for parents, one dwells in an unplastered lean-to shed, sleeps on straw mats, and rests on a clod of earth; unless it is a matter of sorrow, one does not speak). Although the austere asceticism of a śramaṇa lowers one's dwelling and reduces one's clothing and food, sometimes exceeding the mourning rites, dwelling in mourning in accord with the conduct of a serviceman does no harm to the sage's teaching (the practice of a śramaṇa is originally one of austere asceticism; if one further, on account of mourning, doubly reduces clothing and food, this accords with the conduct of a serviceman and does not violate the rules of ritual; hence it is said: in mourning, rather than meticulous order, it is better to have sorrow). If one disdains this, thinking that inner constraint by mundane ritual is a failure of expansive virtue, why not tailor it so that the form does not incorporate the cane, thus raising both ultimate and conventional together, brief yet sorrowful (if one does not wish to be bound by mundane ritual taboos for fear of damaging the ultimate path, wearing mourning hemp without carrying a cane allows both ultimate and conventional to be unhindered; though the ceremony is brief, sorrow and ritual are not absent)? Setting out the *fu* and *gui* vessels and arranging the spirit table and mat is not necessarily seeking one's parents as ghosts, but rather expressing one's grief and reverence, revering them as if they were still present (the *fu* and *gui* are sacrificial vessels; the table and mat are the spirit seat; placing them is not necessarily seeking parents as ghosts, but rather carrying forward the focus of the mind, having a destination toward which to express grief and reverence). Mourning sacks and hemp headbands replace embroidered court robes and caps (mourning sacks and hemp headbands are mourning garments; embroidered court robes and caps are official garments). Since a śramaṇa does not wear the mourning sack, why should he wear the hemp headband (since the body does not wear mourning sackcloth, the head should not wear a hemp headband)? Hempen hemp-sack cloth and fine hemp skirts debase the mourning ritual; even Ruists do not do so, much less lofty followers of Śākya (the *Book of Rites* states: one wearing hemp does not wear a sash; one holding jade does not wear hemp; hemp is not added over colors, because auspicious and inauspicious occasions differ; since the monk has left the secular world, his garments are not of the same cut). If there are cases where one does not avoid this, it adds to the suspicion of seductive adornment (seductive adornment means an improper appearance; if one does not avoid worldly criticism, one incurs an improper appearance of wanton elegance, which is suspected of being improper). Except for the untrimmed mourning sackcloth (*zhan cui*), one should not cover the head with hemp or kudzu (for the mourning of parents and close preceptors and masters, one may cover the head); for nuns, however, it may still be permissible. Yet ritual cannot compete at the gate of the prince's court: the prince's court does not receive it as a guest; even for the untrimmed mourning sackcloth, hemp and kudzu have no use on the head there (the *Summary of the Rules of Propriety* states: wearing straw sandals, crooked shoes, or mourning caps, one does not enter the prince's gate; all of these are inauspicious garments, hence even in mourning for parents or teachers, none are used). Before venerable ones, it is like the gate of the prince (neither does one cover the head with hemp). One should maintain purification and abstain from wailing and beating the breast, avoiding public disapproval (one should only burn incense, cultivate merit, and assist them; beating the breast is striking the chest). One should not rely on mourning to decline collective good deeds; rather, rely on collective good deeds to reduce private mourning, provided there is righteousness in it (if there are good deeds such as *poṣadha*, lectures, repentance, and fasts, one does not omit them midway because of mourning affairs; using collective good deeds to reduce mourning rituals causes no harm). At times, there are those who sprinkle the ground and spread mats before they leap and wail, losing their downcast grief (in mourning of the untrimmed mourning sackcloth, heaven and earth crumble; grief cuts through one's inner feelings; how could one wait to spread mats and sprinkle the ground before beating the breast and leaping)? Although within the five mourning attires the ranks of superior and inferior are the same, reducing mourning for an inferior on account of age and virtue cannot be called ignorance of ritual (although the rites of the five mourning attires established by the former kings are uniform, if the deceased is an inferior within the count of the five attires, reducing it on account of age and virtue is also permissible). The ultimate path accords with ultimate grief; not weeping and not leaping is not an opinion from within the phenomenal world (the regulations of weeping and leaping originally accommodate mundane feelings; beyond the phenomenal realm, the mind is forgotten, and lingering attachments do not exist; Zhuangzi says: man's life is the gathering of *qi*; when it gathers, it is life; when it disperses, it is death; if life and death are companions, what do I have to worry about? Therefore, all things are one).
6.2.2
This is why when his wife died he drummed on a tub.) In ancient times, Fayun was in mourning, [and his grief] nearly brought about his demise (When his mother passed away, his emaciation and grief went beyond the rites; for several days he did not eat, almost succumbing to mourning. Sengmin said to him: 'The sages instituted the rites so that the worthy bend down to accommodate them and the unworthy strive to reach them. Grieving so as not to destroy one's nature is recorded even in Ruist texts. How much more so given that the Buddha had profound intentions: directly showing physical care, and distantly bringing forth bodhi. Furthermore, the bandits of affection and attachment must not be indulged.' Only then did he curtail his sorrowful feelings and lightly take rice gruel). When Lingyu went to visit his mother, upon hearing of her death he turned back (Lingyu was an eminent monk of the Sui, surnamed Xing, a native of Songzi in Nanjun. He lived in Xiangzhou for a long time. Suddenly hearing that his mother was sick in the capital of Ye, he went to visit her. Arriving on the road, he heard she was already dead and said: 'I originally came to visit my mother; now that she is dead, what is there to visit?' He then turned back). Noble men considered that, when imparting wise instructions, [Fa]yun erred in excess and [Ling]yu fell short. Now, regarding the rites, those who exceed them bend down to accommodate them, while those who do not reach them strive to attain them. Yun indeed possessed esteemed fame and genuine virtue, but his enmeshed feelings exceeded convention; Yu's position was exalted as an exemplar for teachers, yet his practice offered nothing to be adopted as a rule. Critics say: rather than falling short, it is better to exceed; excess is easy to restrain, but falling short is difficult to guide upward (Excessive grief can be restrained; falling short makes it difficult to guide later generations). Yet in the realm of all the Huaxia, virtue is observed through rites and etiquette. To dwell in their realm and change their customs is something a noble man does not do. Although the affairs of the world establish moral restraints, worthy persons achieve mastery over them, as in the cases of Zizang and Yuan Rang (Xinshi, son of the Duke of Cao, whose courtesy name was Zizang, was a concubine's son of Duke Xuan. When the Earl of Cao died, the feudal lords met with the King wishing to establish him. Zizang declined, saying: 'An ancient record says: the sage masters restraint, next to him guards restraint, and the lowliest loses restraint. Becoming ruler is not my restraint. Although I cannot master it, would I dare to lose what I guard?' He then fled to Song. Yuan Rang was a man of Lu, an unconventional gentleman beyond worldly affairs). When the affairs of the world disrupt the rites, worthy persons establish them, as in the cases of Zeng Shen and Zigao (Shen, courtesy name Ziyu. Gao Chai, courtesy name Zigao. For three years they wept tears of blood and were never seen to show their teeth. Both were disciples of Confucius, men of Lu). Nowadays the world mostly thinks of disorder; why then should the rites not be established? In ancient times, the Worthies of the Bamboo Grove and the fellows of Humu Fu—those who violated the rites considered themselves to be unconstrained (Ruan Ji of the Bamboo Grove lost his mother; Pei Kai went to condole with him. Ruan Ji let his hair hang loose, sat sprawled on the ground without weeping, drunk and staring blankly ahead. Pei Kai, having finished weeping, simply departed. Someone asked Pei: 'Whenever condoling, the host weeps and only then does the guest observe ritual. Since Ruan did not weep, why did you condole?' Pei said: 'Ruan is an unconventional person beyond the realm; hence he does not follow ritual regulations. The likes of us are conventional people; hence we conduct ourselves by rules and etiquette.' People of the time considered both to have attained the mean. Humu Fu was a man of Qi). If Yu also considered this to be unconstrained, then he was neither teacher nor disciple, and must be like those who were neither father nor son. Could it be that during life he did not abandon affection and sought to visit her, but in death he strictly sought his unconstrainedness? (During life, the debt of nurture had not been severed, so he naturally visited and inquired after her; in death, she was already the same as vegetation, and could only be aided in the unseen realm). Therefore, later generations who do not examine their own moral conduct and do not equal Yu will nevertheless mostly emulate Yu! (Mou means to equal. Even equaling is not proper, let alone not equaling him!) Therefore, though those who guide beings mysteriously attain profound realization, they maintain constancy for the sake of beings. The ancients said: 'Among humans, be capable of humaneness; under Heaven, be capable of heavenly nature.' This refers to those who possess the Way: they do not hold an attitude of defying the nature of beings. In the past, Maudgalyāyana wept while offering food (Maudgalyāyana's mother was Qingti of the Long-Nails Brāhmaṇa clan; due to stinginess, greed, and lack of faith, she sank into evil destinies. When Maudgalyāyana attained the Way, he took food and went to deliver her), and Śākyamuni supported the coffin (When King Śuddhodana passed away, the Buddha supported the coffin at his funeral. Moreover, when the Buddha's maternal aunt, the bhikṣuṇī Mahāprajāpatī, entered nirvāṇa on the same day with five hundred nuns, at that time upāsakas who had attained the right path lifted the coffins of the five hundred nuns, and the Four Heavenly Kings carried the bier of the Buddha's foster mother Mahāprajāpatī. The Buddha himself walked before holding an incense burner, burning incense and making offerings. He said to the monks: 'All of you help me make offerings to the body of my foster mother.' At that time, each of the arhat monks went by supernatural power to Mount Marīci, fetched ox-head sandalwood incense, and assisted the Buddha in preparing the pyre); these display to humanity the traces of gratitude and longing. Indeed, being able to abide in these traces without being attached to them may be called ultimate! (Mourning has four regulations: based on affection, on principle, on restraint, and on adaptation to circumstances; it is proper to adapt to what is appropriate). A sūtra says: 'Filial piety is called the precepts.' What does this mean? Filial piety takes reverence and compassion as its root. Through reverence, one honors one's parents; through compassion, one loves others. Honoring parents, one does not despise the myriad beings; loving others, one does not harm living kinds. In preventing harm and putting an end to transgression, nothing is greater than this. If one does not proceed from filial piety, being able to uphold the precepts is impossible (Precepts take compassion as root and reverence as support). Why is this? If one is unfilial, one has no parents; having no parents, one will not revere superiors. Revering superiors not, yet being able to be compassionate to inferiors—such has never occurred. The Vinaya says: 'Should one bear one's parents on one's shoulders while they defecate and urinate upon oneself through continuous kalpas, one still could not repay a single day of their giving life and nurture.' Since the Great Sage caused people to repay them with effort during life, why should there be no grief in death? Therefore, diverging from Yu may be worthy, but admiring Yu is base (For later followers whose elevated conduct falls short of Lingyu to wish to imitate him is not merely a matter of following the norm). Do not let those who uphold the moral teachings accuse sons and grandsons who enter the Way of violating filial piety and fraternal duty, for critical arguments would multiply from this! The disciples said: 'We have respectfully heard your instruction regarding mourning for one's parents (Mourning for parents has now been discussed). How should one mourn one's teacher?' He replied: 'The Rites say: In serving one's parents, there is concealment and no confrontation (A son concealing for his father, uprightness lies within this); one's attendance and nurture on both sides have no fixed manner (On both sides refers to holding and supporting, which have no fixed constancy); one renders diligent service until death, and observes three years of formal mourning (For a father's death, three years of unhemmed sackcloth; for a mother's death, three years of hemmed sackcloth. If the father is alive, it is only for one full year, out of deference to the father's honor. Unhemmed sackcloth means leaving the edges unfinished; hemmed sackcloth means hemming them as usual). In serving one's ruler, there is confrontation and no concealment (A minister considers remonstrance to be loyalty); one's attendance and nurture on both sides have fixed manner; one renders diligent service until death, and observes mourning for three years by analogy (Honoring the duty between ruler and minister, one compares him by analogy to a father). In serving one's teacher, there is neither confrontation nor concealment; one's attendance and nurture on both sides have no fixed manner; one renders diligent service until death, and observes three years of mourning in the heart (For a teacher's mourning, there are originally no garments; the demeanor of restraint is held in the heart).' It also says: 'Brothers weep in the ancestral temple.'
6.2.3
[According to the rites,] one wails for a father's friend outside the ancestral temple gate, for a teacher in the bedchamber, for a friend outside the bedchamber door, and for an acquaintance in the open country. But in the Buddhist tradition, this differs from the [classical] rites (it is different from the Ruist rites). Now, a teacher is the root of virtue and arts: without virtue, how could one establish oneself? Without a teacher, how could there be instruction? From kings and dukes down to merchants and tillers of the soil (a tiller is a farmer, like Changju and Jieni, who continued furrowing without pausing when they saw Zilu), all revere their teachers. Furthermore, the Buddhist tradition places paramount importance on that from which the precepts arise (sons of gentlemen, farmers, artisans, and merchants still establish their teachers; how much more so the Buddhists who shave their hair, dye their robes, and transmit the precepts!). Therefore, if one possesses the precepts, one is named a śramaṇa; if one lacks the precepts, one is not a śramaṇa. To be born from the precepts is thus called true birth, and the precepts are conferred by a teacher (the precepts are called the Vinaya Pitaka, which guards against wrongdoing and halts evil; it is identical to the Sanskrit vinaya). Hence, one regards the teacher as a father (a teacher originally had no mourning garb, but now is treated the same as a father). In foreign languages, an upādhyāya is rendered here as 'one through whose power [life] is born,' meaning he possesses the power to give birth to the disciple's precepts and Dharma. In foreign languages, an ācārya is rendered here as a 'model of conduct,' meaning he can guide and regulate one's deportment and sense of duty. Of these kinds, there are five: namely, the tonsure [master], the ten precepts [master], the reliance [master], the karmavācā [master], and the instruction [master] (karmavācā refers to reciting the motions when receiving the precepts). Among them, some initiate the shedding of hairpins and ornaments and the assumption of prohibitions for oneself; others bring to fruition one's Dharma-body and wisdom-learning through oneself. Now, the world considers the ruler, the father, and the teacher to form a single continuous debt of kindness: the father gives birth to one, the teacher instructs one, and the ruler feeds one. Therefore, there are three [forms of mourning]: the full mourning (zhifang), the equivalent mourning (fangsang), and the mental mourning (xinsang) (mourning for a father is zhifang, for a ruler is fangsang, and for a teacher is xinsang). Yet the Buddhist tradition exalts [the teacher] because of the precept-dharma (the precepts are the foundation of entering the Path, and the teacher is the cause of transcending the world). One does not merely wail in the bedchamber and observe mental mourning; one ought to wear coarse hemp and straw sandals, equating him to the father's unhemmed sackcloth (mourning garb for a teacher is identical to that for a father; the filial piety of unhemmed sackcloth lasts twenty-five months). However, it is not necessary to lean on a staff before rising, to wail as if one's voice would never return (meaning crying until one's breath is entirely exhausted), or to respond merely with 'yes' without conversation (these are all rites for mourning a father, which need not strictly apply to mourning a teacher). In all other respects, one follows the rites (aside from these, all is the same as the rites for mourning a father). Nowadays, the sons of crooked alleys (crooked alleys mean the sons of humble clans in village lanes) cry out to the blue sky, bewailing a cruel punishment, altogether unmindful of the suspicion that they are treating [a master] as an actual father (nowadays when monks lose their teachers, they wail loudly, crying out 'Azure Heaven!' and so forth; these are not in accordance with the rites, raising suspicion regarding one's real father, and it is proper to discard them). As for clay carts and straw figures, they are vessels for the spirits of the dead: since one does not anticipate the teacher entering the realm of ghosts, of what use are these? (All such mortuary goods are useless.) When Daodeng of the Northern Wei died, Emperor Xiaowen issued an edict saying: 'Our master, the Dharma Master Deng, has suddenly passed away. We are shaken with grief and cannot restrain Our sorrow. While making careful preparations for the funeral, We cannot attend at once; following the teacher-disciple relationship according to the rites, We shall wail outside the gate.' (According to the rites, one wails for a teacher outside the bedchamber door.) When Tanyan of the Sui passed away, the Emperor was stricken with grief and suspended court audiences; from the Prince of Teng on down, all disheveled their hair, went barefoot, and followed the funeral procession wailing. Later generations have been unable to add to or subtract from this. The Historian of the Columns left no trace across the shifting sands, or underwent corpse-liberation at Huaili; his disciples heard of no mourning rites (Laozi, seeing the decline of the virtue of the Zhou, rode an ox out through Hangu Pass and went west into the shifting sands. Moreover, Zhuang Zhou says that Laozi died in Huaili of Fufeng, and Qin Yi mourned him by wailing three times and departing. Since then, the mourning dress system of his disciples has never been heard of). When the Minister of Crime of Lu died, his disciples were doubtful about what mourning garb to wear. Zigong said: 'Formerly, when the Master mourned Yan Yuan and Zilu, he did so as if mourning a son, yet wore no mourning garb. I propose that we mourn the Master as if mourning a father, yet wear no mourning garb.' Thereupon, the disciples all wore hemp headbands and went out (they did not wear mourning robes for lamentation, but added hemp headbands and observed mental mourning for three years; this is recorded in the 'Tan Gong'). Coming down to the Han and Wei dynasties, mourning for teachers grew even more profound, reaching the point where it was made equivalent to mourning a father. Today, the rites have grown superficial, and few wear mourning headbands (mian is mourning garb). Formerly, Master Huiyuan prescribed seven days of mourning, because worldly feelings are difficult to sever, so as to allow one to express grief; to exceed this would be to bind oneself by [secular] rites (since monks originally belong to the transcendent teaching, yet worldly feelings are not entirely cast off, he instituted a seven-day rite to express grief; to exceed this would be to constrain oneself with Ruist teachings). When Liu Qiu, the recluse of the Qi dynasty, died, his disciples, though instructed in the inner teachings, mourned him as a father without mourning garb (Liu Qiu lived in Jingzhou. Later he shook out his robes and declined official service, abstaining from grains, wearing hemp clothes, and residing in a thatched hut. He discarded worldly texts, investigated Buddhist principles thoroughly, and set forth the doctrine of sudden enlightenment; at that time none could confute him. He annotated the Lotus Sūtra and lectured on the Nirvāṇa, Large Prajñāpāramitā, and other sūtras. In the beginning of the Jianwu era, he was summoned to be a Erudite of the National University. He died in Jiangzhou. White clouds lingered, a strange fragrance filled the room, and sounding chimes were heard in the empty air; he was sixty years old. His disciples mourned him as a father, yet wore no mourning garb. Yu Shen said: 'His writings are a model for the world; his conduct is a standard for scholars'; hence he was posthumously titled Master Wenfan). In the Sui dynasty, Tiantai [Zhiyi] admonished against wailing or wearing mourning garb. Each of these accorded with the requirements of its own time. Now Liu Qiu did not look back upon the offering of lambs or wild geese (ministers hold lambs and grandees hold wild geese. Liu Qiu was initially magistrate of Dangyang, then transferred to Nancheng, whereupon he shook out his robes and resigned voluntarily; he was forty-two years old. Contemporary discussions compared him to Shu and Bing of the Han, who rejected glory and cared nothing for emoluments or rank); he had already cast aside bodily form. When he faced his current death, it was not that he had just begun to die. If he had made them observe mourning rites, it would have been akin to pretending to value lambs and wild geese. Therefore, he minimized benevolence and righteousness so as to display simplicity and an unadorned end, and his disciples followed the proposal of Confucius's school. For Tiantai, more than fifty prefectures received the refuges and precepts from him; if they had followed the practice of unbleached silk and plain white, half the country would have been clad in mourning clothes! Thus it was proper to suppress this and follow the customs of India. Zhongni said: 'In funeral ceremonies, it is better that there be sorrow rather than elaborate order.' (Funeral rites should achieve moderation; if it is smooth and orderly, it is better to be genuinely mournful.) This shows the profound intention to reform the times. Now the custom of Qin and Luo is that mourning is indeed mourning; but when any of the ten teachers passes away, how should grief be graduated and diminished? (The preceptor can be treated the same as unhemmed sackcloth; the root precept master can have greater-conquest mourning; the instruction master can have lesser-conquest mourning; from the karmavācā master down to the tonsure master, the ten precepts master, the eight precepts master, the five precepts master, the reliance master, and the Dharma-conferring master, all can be given fine hemp mourning.) If it were not mourning, that would be all; but since it is mourning, how could there be no differentiation? Therefore, the precept master may receive greater-conquest mourning (nine months of mourning garb), the instruction master lesser-conquest mourning (five months), and the rest fine hemp mourning (three months). As for friends, the rites state: 'Living together, when entering one wears the hemp headband, but when leaving one does not.' If friends are all in other states, then one only observes mental mourning for a teacher for three years, and for a friend for one year; therefore, when grass has grown on a friend's grave, one does not wail.
6.2.4
In foreign regions there are no mourning regulations (in general, whenever "foreign regions" or "external realms" are mentioned, it means Tianzhu). They do not build mounds nor plant trees [at tombs] (a mound is the earth over a grave). They discard [the body] in the midst of the wilderness (donating it to birds and beasts in a charnel ground), or they heap firewood and burn it (incinerating it with firewood), or they sink it into deep waters. Those who are buried in graves are few, and the periods of mourning are uncounted (to bury means to inter; they either discard, burn, or submerge, and there is also no matter of periods for the five mourning garments), like the antiquity of the Central Florescence (identical to high antiquity). As for those who wish to follow this, doing away with weeping and abandoning mourning regulations on the pretext of not violating the Vinaya, I have no truck with them (to reside in the Eastern Land yet wish to follow Western etiquette is impermissible). Eating by balling food in the hand, kissing the feet, baring the shoulder, going barefoot, and circumambulating and stepping backward—these are all customs of distinct cultures (The Record of the South Seas says: In the Western land they ball rice with their hands to eat; in worshipful kissing of the feet they lick them with the tongue; baring the shoulder exposes the right arm; barefoot means bare feet; circumambulating and retiring to sit down—these are all customs of Westerners; nowadays none of these are practiced in funeral rites, so how could one wish to follow [only funeral abandonment]?). In the Central Kingdom they are not done; why then, when facing mourning, would one wish to adopt them? Moreover, lamentation, weeping, and mourning garments are not inherently proscribed offenses (they are merely restrictive monastic prohibitions); although they are forbidden in the Five Classes [of offenses], the Vinaya includes the principle of accommodating local customs. Who can say that observing mourning must run counter to the intention of the Sage? Formerly, when [disciples] beat their breasts and pounded the ground in the Twin Groves, the Buddha opened his coffin and arose; he consoled them without rebuking them, surely out of compassion for their wailing longing and to deepen their grief and respect (When the Buddha entered parinirvāṇa at Kuśinagara, his disciples wailed and beat their breasts; the Buddha's mother, Māyā, arrived from the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven, and the Tathāgata arose from the golden coffin to meet his mother, not rebuking the disciples and others for their sorrowful wailing—this was surely to enrich their feelings of grief and longing). When there is respect, one carries out their purpose; when there is longing, one reflects upon their teachings. When teachings are established and purpose is declared, there is genuine gain in the principle of beating one's breast and pounding the ground. The Nirvāṇa [Sūtra] is the ultimate teaching; in what way could it be otherwise? If it is said that having abandoned one's parents, renounced worldly customs, and practiced the unborn Dharma, one should forget emotions and sever affection so [mourning] is certainly improper, then why [expect this] prematurely (wishing to forget emotions before one has even undertaken cultivation—how erroneous that is!)? Is this not like seeing an egg and expecting it to crow at dawn, or seeing a pellet and expecting an owl stew (the dawn-caller is a rooster, which has the merit of keeping time; now seeing an egg and already expecting a rooster is contrary to reason; the owl is like a dove, green in color, and its meat makes the finest roast, but one must obtain it with a pellet; now seeing a pellet and immediately demanding roasted owl is perverse; only when emotions are forgotten toward objects does one accord with the Way; now that emotions are not yet forgotten, how can one wish to renounce worldly customs so hastily?)? Novices in practice have not yet mounted to holy stages; their resolve and deeds are low and slight; they are merely petty people within the worldly realm. How could they suddenly cut off affection? If one does not love one's parents, one merely shifts that love to others (not loving one's parents yet loving others is called contrary to virtue), and hangs around the gates of the powerful and wealthy with fawning eagerness (fawning eagerness means an anxious and restless demeanor), seeking attachment to them. Those who forget their emotions merely forget the orthodox moral teachings and rituals of propriety (nowadays in our order we see those who cast off orthodox teachings, call it śrāvaka-practice, grasp fully and abandon guidelines, yet when seeing the wealth and property of noble gates, their countenances are full of rapacious longing), yet toward anger, desire, rivalry, clothing, and food, they greedily chase after them—what have they forgotten? Since emotions are not fully forgotten and affection is not fully severed, why should they seek to discard only mourning rites? Someone may ask: “If śramaṇas are permitted to follow local customs for mourning, may they also follow local customs in paying homage to the ruler (since they conform to worldly rites, why not also conform in bowing and saluting)?” I say: Not so (a general reply). Why is that (a counter-inquiry)? Bowing is an external embellishment, whereas filial piety arises from the inner mind. Suppressing the external embellishment preserves the decorum of the shaven-headed ancestor; suppressing the inner mind destroys the natural inclination toward love and respect. Rather than suppressing both, it is better to allow both: allowing them not to bow accomplishes the faithful praise of the sovereign and ministers; allowing them to observe mourning accomplishes the filial piety and fraternal love of human relations. Therefore, the distinction lies in what is permitted and what is withheld. In fact, grief in foreign regions is also extreme: thus King Prasenajit mourned his mother with frantic distress and deep sorrow (King Prasenajit of Śrāvastī mourned his mother, covering his body with dust and ashes); when the Great Sage manifested his decease, the fourfold assembly wept tears of blood that appeared like palāśa blossoms; and when Śāriputra reduced his body to ashes, the devas of the formless realm shed tears like a fine spring rain (the formless realm manifested colors born of meditation to descend and offer solace). Is this not because those who gave us life and bestowed grace upon us evoke feelings that are deep and ardent? Neither constrained by punishment nor encouraged by exhortation, the resolve issues from the core of one's heart. Hence there is the grief of the "vast heaven and towering thorn-ferns" (Sorrowful, sorrowful parents, / Giving me birth with toil and pain; / Wishing to repay their deep grace, / Like vast heaven boundless. Towering means large; thorn-ferns are bitter herbs. In the time of King You of Zhou, the people were long burdened with corvée and could not care for their parents, as though failing to recognize what was righteous), and the sorrow of "ascending the hall and leaning against the partition wall" (The partition walls are the east and west walls; the filial son ascends the hall and leans his back against the partition wall). Without awaiting an appointed time for weeping, cries wail forth on their own; without glaring or frowning, one's countenance is naturally afflicted. How could one, to feign high aloofness, forcibly suppress it, or from shame of worldly ways, seek to alter it? Formerly, the Tripiṭaka Master of Qizhou (Yijing), upon returning from the Western Regions, constantly expounded the merits of that distant journey and with remote sentiment prized the instructions of the golden quarter, considering that putting on coarse black hemp cloth ran contrary to standard rules, and keeping long hair was a departure from old decorum; that this was also to re-tie the knots of defiling toil and become further entangled in shackles (wearing dark clothes and growing long hair may not necessarily accord with the Way). He also said that this was to cast aside the holy teachings of our father Śākya and to elevate the worldly rites of the Duke of Zhou and Confucius, singling out Lingyu as one who understood the Way. In my humble view, the world's śramaṇas are not all Lingyu. Attempting to be Lingyu, one fails even at the Handan gait (the beautiful women of Handan in Zhao commandery walked with elegance); will one not end up losing both the ultimate and the conventional? The ancients said: "The sage transcends conventions; next, one maintains conventions; at lowest, one loses conventions" (the words of Zicang of Cao). If one neither transcends nor maintains them, what is it if not losing them? Therefore, those who observe mourning should retire to solitude to cultivate their practice, arising with the longing of "chilly springs and gentle breezes" to cultivate the incense and lamp-offerings, so that the hidden and manifest may universally rely on the blessings of pure abstinence—how could this be contrary to the Way? Nowadays, there are petty men who observe mourning as if there were no mourning at all; their clothing and food are easy and leisurely, their laughter and talk merry and bright. How perverse they are ("If in mourning there is no grief, how can I observe them?")! Even the ruler of the realm could question them: What crime did the giving of life and upbringing commit? Shen Yue of Caotang under the Liang, when both his parents were nearing their end, rushed to bid them farewell, weeping and wailing like a child (longing like a young child, wailing like an infant); he severed contact with the human world, and his virtue grew ever more far-reaching.
6.2.5
His reputation grew ever more weighty. If even one who did not eat the five grains went to such lengths, can those who feast on delicacies and dress in fine robes surpass Yue in their standards?
6.3
Chapter 10: Criticizing Divergent Views (Rebuking what is wrong is called "criticizing"; adducing matters that deviate from the correct is called "divergent").
6.4.1
The worthy who establishes virtue conceals his purpose as if stealing away. (To establish means to erect. To conceal means to hide. The gentleman who establishes virtue harbors broad and magnanimous qualities within, constantly cloaking them as if they were insufficient.) The family that practices deceit makes fine words flow like water. (Fine means pleasing. The deceitful gentleman promotes glib flattery, hence his artful words flow with beauty.) Clinging to the empty as real, adorning the crooked to warp the upright, they extol what accords with them and revile what differs from them, aggressive and disorderly. Like the sun rising only to be veiled by clouds, like clear waters stirred into waves by the wind, it is hard indeed to see the end of it. (Artful speech throwing rectitude into chaos.) A sūtra says: In antiquity there were two disciples, each guarding one of their master’s legs, each disparaging the one they did not guard. (The *Sūtra of the Wise and the Foolish* says: In the past there were two disciples told to each guard one leg. When the one guarding the left leg was away, the one guarding the right leg struck it. When the one guarding the right leg was away, the one guarding the left leg struck it. Within a month, both of the master’s legs had rotted away. This is a metaphor for the Mahāyāna and Hīnayāna today disparaging each other.) In anger they struck at each other; their anger never ceasing, the legs were lost. Nowadays, men of deviant doctrines each jealously hoard fame; (Jealousy means enviously harming others.) they have no regard whatsoever for their holy master. How lamentable! I once ventured to discuss this, saying: Outward appearance differs from the heart, and nature is formed by habit. When the rustic songs of Ba are sung, those who join in harmony are inevitably many. (In the past, when the people of Chu sang the songs of Ba, the rustic folk who joined in were many; but when the piece “White Snow” was composed, those who joined in were few.) As with the stones of Yan and fish eyes, those who can truly appraise them are inevitably few. (Stones of Yan resemble jade; fish eyes resemble pearls.) Therefore, those who chase clods flock together in heterodoxy and delusion, (Ganging up in their deviant doctrines like dogs chasing after clods of earth.) each preserving their own master, barking at Yao on behalf of Jie. Now, when words do not attain righteousness, they are deemed deviant doctrines; to refute them with propriety is termed ‘critique’. Striking at the root and blocking the deep pool, one may perhaps hope for success. (What is set forth today hopes to strike at their root and block up their source.) Yet the light of a tiny flame depends on the Torch Dragon to assist its illumination, and the close ring of a *pulao* relies on thunder and lightning to aid its resonance. (A tiny flame is like the fire of a glowworm. The *pulao* is a sea beast; when a whale strikes it, its roar shakes the rivers and valleys. Nowadays, it is cast atop bells, and a whale-shaped pestle is used to strike it to obtain its roar. Now the Venerable of Beishan speaks with humility, saying that although he wishes to strike at the root, block the source, and halt their deviant doctrines, he regrets that his own talent and wisdom are like a tiny flame; being equally insignificant, he relies on the voices of the multitude of worthies to aid him, so as to glorify the age of the Semblance Dharma.) This is truly what is harbored in my humble bosom. Once, a fawning and subservient person (Fawning means compliant in appearance; subservient means forcing a pleasant countenance.) privately said to me, “Their faction is flourishing; (Referring to the followers of deviant doctrines.) if you are not accepted by your contemporaries, what will you do? (Fearing that he will be resented by the times. When the people are full of deviance, they lack self-reliance, and flatterers have many factions.)” I replied, “If a beast looks back fearing to wet its tail, it will never cross over. (When a fox is about to cross a river, if it fears wetting its tail, it will not cross over.) If one attains righteousness, what resentment is there to fear even if one is harmed? The fisherman slaying a river dragon, the hunter grappling with a tiger—both follow their resolve. (If one is afraid, one will not act. As it is said, those who discuss supreme virtue do not conform to the vulgar; those who accomplish great deeds do not consult the multitude.)” The deviant doctrines say: “Those who bind themselves to the study of the precepts are in truth of petty wisdom, with narrow sentiments that are not serene. (Bound means stuck; narrow means confined; serene means tranquil. It means that those who uphold the precepts are confined to the Hīnayāna.) Meeting objects, they fear faults; discarding their own bodies as if dung and soil, they place profound care on grass and trees. (In antiquity there was a precept-holding monk who was robbed of his robes and bowl on the road by bandits, who then bound him with grass. In the heat of the day, the monk could not break the grass and leave, fearing he would break a precept.) Great beings view this as a perilous and treacherous path. Is it not better to rely on our Great Way, cast off our constraints, and unleash our minds? Neither following in others’ footsteps nor lowering our brows, neither suffering from hunger nor sickening on greens, roaming free amidst food and drink, magnanimous atop goods and wealth—what is there that does not suit our pleasure? Who could abandon the rich savor of rich meats and fine silks, only to become a ruined, cruel, and lowly thrall among the spirits of the future world? (If in this life one does not partake of delicacies and wear splendors, only to end up as a lowly and degraded ghost after death, why do it?)” The critic says: How can it be so? Unashamed before men, unfearing before Heaven, indulging desire and outraging goodness—no sin is greater than this. Precepts are dignified deportment. (Dignified means possessing authority to be revered; deportment means possessing conduct to be modeled.) Dignified deportment is the outward manifestation of virtue. *The Classic of Odes* says: “Be prudent and cautious in your deportment; do not err in your manners.” And again: “A majestic and dignified deportment is the cornerstone of virtue.” (Both emphasize the way of dignified deportment.) Thus, if one sets out on a long journey, they serve as tallies and seals; (Long means distant; when traveling a long road, one can journey by means of the precepts. Tallies and seals are like official travel permits today.) if one wades across great waters, they serve as a floating buoy; (The Vinaya says: Just as a person wishing to cross the great sea relies on a floating buoy to make the crossing—this is a metaphor for upholding the precepts. If one breaks even a minor precept, one cannot cross over.) if one restrains a runaway horse, they serve as bit and whip; if one cultivates a thousand acres, they serve as level ground. The goat cart contains only the five classes of offenses; (First, pārājika; second, saṃghāvaśeṣa; third, prāyaścittika; fourth, pratideśanīya; fifth, duṣkṛta. These only guard the two karmas of body and speech.) the ox carriage encompasses the three collections of precepts. (The three collections of body, speech, and mind.) Falling short from beginning to end, one sinks among dragons and ghosts; (Those who break the precepts mostly sink among dragons and ghosts.) keeping them whole from start to finish, one transcends to become human or deva. Their radiance is like the sun and moon; their beauty is like a necklace of jewels. Thus, with the binding of grass and the protection of the goose, (The binding of grass is as above. As for protecting the goose: in antiquity, a monk entered the royal palace and saw a goose swallow a pearl. Later, the king searched for the pearl and did not find it; suspecting the monk, he questioned him. Fearing that the goose would be killed, the monk said nothing. When the king was about to execute the monk, the monk still said nothing. Just then, the goose regurgitated the pearl. The king knew he was innocent and asked why he had not spoken. The monk said: “Had I spoken, I feared the goose would be killed.”) they chose death without double-mindedness; driving away the dragon and causing the wild goose to drop, their sincere dedication was consistent throughout. (For instance, there was a monk who manifested supernatural powers at the dragon’s dwelling to drive it away, yet failed; but when a precept-holder went there and snapped his fingers three times, the dragon immediately departed. The *Dazhidulun* says: There was a monk who upheld the precepts; when mealtime arrived, he thought of food, which moved the king of wild geese. Knowing this, the king of geese made a goose throw itself to the ground wishing to offer itself as food. When the monk realized this, he did not eat it.) Moreover, you and I are both in black robes: on our heads we wear no caps, and on our bodies we wear only coarse cloth.
6.4.2
The four seas are unified; there is neither prejudice nor rejection (["neither prejudice nor rejection" means] neither thickness nor thinness). Why merely select [monks] by the monastic age of the field of merit and satiate them with the offerings of burning incense burners? (A monk receives the full precepts only after reaching twenty years of age; having passed through summer and winter, this is called "summer-monastic age" [vassa].) If their deportment and standards are not controlled, how do the black-robed and white-robed differ? (Nowadays monks merely rely on seniority in monastic age to occupy the higher seats and receive offerings, yet totally fail to cultivate and regulate their dignified deportment.) Now, among the practices of the sages, none is superior to abstention and the precepts; among the minds of the sages, none is superior to compassion and frugality. If one does not observe abstention and the precepts, one slanders the practices of the sages; if one lacks compassion and frugality, one contravenes the minds of the sages. Slandering their practices and contravening their minds, the eight difficulties will be reached without having to take a step (the eight difficulties are: 1. hell, 2. hungry ghosts, 3. animals, 4. the northern continent, 5. the heaven of non-conception, 6. being born blind, deaf, and mute, 7. worldly wisdom and eloquence, 8. being born before or after a Buddha; these are all stations that obstruct the noble path); the five sufferings will arrive without waiting to be summoned. To this world, the next world, and the ghostly spirits of future lifetimes, they will create deep hatred and immense enmity (because slander in this lifetime causes the spiritual consciousness to sink and fall in future lifetimes, accumulating resentment and hatred). If one supposes that the Great Way is a matter of open-mindedness and that minor practices harm virtue, then what place remains for the bodhisattva precept scriptures? (If one cannot uphold the Hinayāna precepts, how could one uphold the bodhisattva precepts? The Hinayāna precepts originally flow forth from the Mahāyāna.) Therefore, to act thus is like wearing a tiger's pelt while having the body of a rat, or falsely assuming the form of a horse (for a monk to be unable to uphold the precepts and yet promote the Great while berating the Minor is truly like having the form of a dog or rat while falsely assuming the substance of a tiger or horse). Although they wish to borrow words to evade blame, in truth they only gloss over their offenses. The deviant teachings say: "Dhyāna is the learning of the mind. When the mind merges with spiritual transformation, it departs without walking; when about to halt, it instead speeds away. Its motion is like surging waves; its stillness is like the silence of an abyss. One should leave it to self-attainment and give free rein to it in wuwei. Why must one sit upright with a withered body, relying on the existent to seek the nonexistent? One who attains it is a person of a hundred years; one who does not attain it is also a person of a hundred years. Furthermore, sectarian paths arrogantly contend, and their doors and windows are overgrown and obscure (even if one realizes its principle, one still does not escape arising and ceasing; how much worse if one's traces surpass Vairocana—is that not arrogant contention? If form and mind are a chaotic blur, are they not overgrown and filthy?). If one seeks it in reality, who would awaken to it? It is not as good as rising and resting, reclining and leaning back, easing one's own body for a while; or letting bells, Sanskrit chanting, lecturing, and recitation thoroughly entertain one's mind. As for dhyāna, I have no use for it!" (This means an attitude that values lecturing and chanting and takes no delight in the flavor of dhyāna.) The critic says: How vague is its falsity! How far-reaching is its danger! (["Vague" means] superficial; ["far-reaching" means] distant. Once one listens to deviant teachings, their shallow and slandering falsity seems like far-reaching contemplation, yet it completely deviates from the profound and abstruse principles and interests, leading to extreme danger. When the principle is neglected, there is danger.) Having ascended and then tumbled, there is truly cause only for regret! What the five destinies cannot bind, and by which the three vehicles mount the carriage strap (a bridle binds a horse; a carriage strap is the rope for mounting a carriage; for one who realizes the principle of emptiness, the five destinies cannot constrain his body, and how could the three vehicles contain his rank? He transcends and emerges), stilling the clamorous dust on the thoroughfares and opening the profound mechanism of the spiritual gate (["thoroughfare" means] a great road; ["mechanism" means] a door-pivot)—none takes precedence over practitioners of dhyāna! Therefore, gentlemen who cultivate virtue and ward off evil have never failed to dwell like a corpse and feed like a nestling so as to arrive at wuwei (["ward off" means] to prevent; ["nestling" means] a young bird; for a gentleman who has forgotten the mind, his dwelling is without action like a corpse, and his eating is without contention like a nestling, placid and nothing more). If there are those who do not proceed by this way, then their words and thoughts will be tangled like hemp, their schemes will flow like a current, their bodies will be driven by their minds, their suffering will be exhausted only with their years, and in a state of confusion and staring blankly (["staring blankly" means] raising the eyes), bustling and faltering (a description of small steps), how could there be any peaceful leisure? (Those of today who claim [to practice] dhyāna are unable to remain quiescent; body and mind shift and turn following external objects, driven day and night. How could that be called peaceful leisure?) However, dhyāna is shared by internal and external [teachings], and its ranks differ between the lesser and the greater (dhyāna involves disliking the lower stages and aspiring to the higher stages, subduing afflictions so they do not arise; performing the six practices is an observation common to the internal teachings, external paths, Mahāyāna, and Hinayāna, and is not merely a single word or phrase). Each has depth or shallowness according to cultivation and realization (there are access concentrations and basic concentrations, principle and phenomena; the Mahāyāna and Hinayāna differ in depth). Just like the three animals—the elephant, the horse, and the hare—crossing the river, this was indeed sung by the former sages (the Hinayāna is compared to the hare, the middle vehicle to the horse, and the Mahāyāna to the elephant; their depths differ). In the past, during the Jin and Song dynasties, most of the Tripiṭaka masters who came from the west taught through the methods of dhyāna. Harmonious and solemn, they practiced them in silence, not using them to dazzle the world. For instance, the power of concentration of Zhu Daoyou was deep and far-reaching: as he chanted scriptures on a high cliff, a pack of tigers came before him to listen; when one tiger alone fell asleep, You struck its head with a ruyi sceptre to make it listen. Guṇavarman did not rise [from meditation] for many days; when disciples went to check on him, they saw a white lion standing against a pillar, and the open air was filled everywhere with blooming blue lotuses. Thus braving the rain, he was not soaked; treading in mud, he was not soiled. In the Wei, there was Bhadra, who transmitted mind-awakening to Huiguang. Guang lacked the power of concentration in his youth, but ended up as the State Chief Monk through his mastery of the Tripiṭaka texts (originally surnamed Yang, a native of Dingzhou. Bhadra saw him, found him extraordinary, and had him leave home; his intelligence was peerless, and at the time he was called the Sage Śrāmaṇera. In the Southern Qi he served as a monastic official, and later became State Chief Monk; he was very accomplished in literature, which circulated in the world). Only Sengchou attained Bhadra's Way: he parted tigers with his monk's staff and averted disasters with his kāṣāya robe (Dhyāna Master Chou was at Mount Wangwu, where he saw two tigers fighting; he parted them with his monk's staff, and each went its way. Lu Xiujing and others under the Northern Qi submitted a memorial requesting a contest of magic with the monks; they chanted spells causing the monks' robes, bowls, and other items to whirl and fly into the air. The State Chief Monk ordered Tanxian to face them. The opponents again chanted spells causing a large log to rise into the air; [Tanxian] then took Dhyāna Master Chou's patched robe and placed it on top; thereupon, though they cast spells and performed rites, they could not move it at all. The Emperor was greatly pleased). When Chou first entered concentration, he did not rise for nine days. Bhadra said: 'Since the Pamir Mountains, the pinnacle of dhyāna learning is you, and you alone!' At the end of the Eastern Wei, Bodhidharma set forth the teaching of the Four Practices, which comprehensively gathered the true profundities (the four practices are: 1. the practice of repaying grievances: when encountering affection or enmity, willingly accepting them, knowing this is the work of one's past with no resentment or enmity; 2. the practice of following conditions: feeling neither joy nor anger toward any circumstances; 3. the practice of seeking nothing: having no greedy seeking; 4. the practice of accordance with the Dharma).
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- 北山錄 — Classical Chinese