北山錄 6.2.4

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.