北山錄 6.4.7

6.4.7

'[my] head and the jade will both be smashed together.' The king, fearing to smash the jade, did not dare harm him, and the jade ultimately returned to Zhao.) Emperor Wu of Liang dismantled the palace protocols and allowed śramaṇas free rein to wander and tread. When the officials considered that the imperial throne was not appropriate for a śramaṇa to mount, Zhizang insolently sat cross-legged upon the throne, looking stern and raising his voice, saying: 'In former times, this poor monk was Master Gu of Wuzhong, and did not feel bashful before the imperial couch; how much less so now as a disciple of Śākya, descendant of Dīpaṅkara, the Golden-Wheel [Monarch]?' (['Nai' means] 'I'. 'I am a descendant of Dīpaṅkara Tathāgata.') 'If the dānapati kills this poor monk, there is no fear of lacking a place to receive rebirth; if you commit me to the Shangfang prison, it will not hinder me from practicing the Path.' The common vulgar regarded this as able to overstep the Son of Heaven and elevate the gate of Śākya, but the noble man thinks otherwise. The imperial order of the Liang dynasty was already relaxed (['chi' means] disordered) and all matters had degenerated. Was it only that single imperial couch that should be subject to restraint? Emperor Wu of Liang once wished to govern the sangha officials himself, and decreed that the officer in charge should have all those who consented sign their names. At that time, none dared resist him. When the petition reached Zhizang, Zhizang struck it across with his brush and said: 'The great sea of the Buddha's Dharma is not something secular people can understand.' The Emperor read it without minding it. The Documents says: 'Rule the multitude with leniency, and approach inferiors with simplicity.' This was the governance of Tang and Yu. Now, if one is lenient and preserves it with simplicity, the people will be at peace; if one is lenient without being simple, the laws will fall into disorder. In the Liang era, there was leniency without simplicity, and yet there was no disorder—why wait for that Zhizang? Although he was fortunate that there were no laws [punishing him], how could he not fear the historical records of later generations? (The writings of the bamboo slips.) A different discourse says: 'Our master sat cross-legged, his mind dwelling in dhyāna, and abruptly [departed] like the molting of a cicada. Later generations grieved and commemorated him, erecting a lofty pagoda and giving him a lavish burial—is this not magnificent?' ('Our' refers to the venerable elders of our Chan gate. The student was boasting of his dying while sitting, and of his lofty pagoda and lavish burial.) The critic says: The noble man is conversant with righteousness; the petty man is conversant with gain. (['Yu' means] to understand.) It depends on the details. If it was brought about by virtuous conduct, grief and glory may follow; but if he bent [his conduct] for savory delights, gathered [disciples] haphazardly, and contrived schemes for afterward, he will heavily bind his spirit and sink into the crime of purchasing fame. (If he truly had unhindered comprehension of departing and staying, it is permissible; but if he was not genuine from the start, merely seeking post-mortem fame and hypocritically deceiving the ordinary and vulgar, this will heavily increase the deceased's guilt.) Now, if an affair is not adorned, it lacks dignity; if it exceeds [the measure], it becomes superficial rivalry. (If one possesses virtue but it is not manifested, it fails to shine forth to the later eras; if one lacks virtue and engages in hypocritical adornment, it falls into superficial rivalry.) Therefore, when a master's dying words are lavish, one must seek what is righteous; when a master's dying words are meager, one must likewise seek what is righteous. One does not follow merely because it was a dying command, but follows only what is righteous. (Even when there are words of a dying command, one must seek conformity with the proper measure and practice it.) In antiquity, the Lord of Cao commanded a meager burial, and the grand master said: 'The state has its constant rites.' (Lavishness arrogates what belongs to superiors, while parsimony pinches inferiors; striking the mean between lavishness and parsimony conforms to the constant rites.) Yet there are those who command their corpses to be exposed: although wishing to benefit birds and beasts, in truth it is needlessly executing their own corpse. (The eminent monk Huishi instructed that his corpse be exposed to bestow upon birds; his small favor did not extend everywhere—how could it compare to wide salvation through wholesome vows? Moreover, exposing it is foul and vile. Displaying a corpse is called 'execution'.) One who abides in fine virtue should dispense with this intention; even the view of Master Yuan at his end is perhaps not considered good by us. (Nanyuan at the approach of his end commanded that [his corpse] be bestowed upon the hundred birds.) Now, for the dead, the conscious spirit has departed; how can the physical form know anything? (Once the storehouse consciousness has departed, it becomes the same as insentient matter.) Between standing, sitting, and lying down, which is superior and which inferior? Thus [the Buddha lay] on his right side by the Golden River (The Buddha was at the Golden Sand River; lying on his right side, he entered into nirvāṇa); [Mahākāśyapa] crossed his legs on Cockfoot Mountain (The venerable Kāśyapa, upholding the Tathāgata's saṅghāṭī robe, remains on Cockfoot Mountain until Maitreya appears; after presenting the robe, he will perform eighteen transformations, return to Cockfoot Mountain, sit cross-legged, enter extinction, and transform fire to cremate his body); Huiyong sought his shoes before getting up (The eminent monk Huiyong asked for his shoes before the bed and passed away); and Lingrui held a scroll as he met transformation (The eminent monk Lingrui held a scroll in his hand and passed away). Each followed his own time and awaited the end, rather than coveting peculiarity to dupe the worldly. (Deng Yinfeng passed away standing upside down.) In the past, the eminent monk Tanjian was a man [headed for] rebirth; he passed away while sitting calmly, and his disciples still stretched his limbs and encoffined him. Nowadays, people act contrary to this. Dhyāna opens the gate of profound understanding and transcends the realm of birth and death; cold and heat cannot enter it, burning and drowning cannot reach it. If one dies while in dhyāna, how does that differ from bathing in the spring waters of the Yi and yet being burned by fierce fire, or wearing armor and yet being wounded by a poisoned arrow? (Whenever someone dies, they must dwell in a distracted state.) Therefore, the holy disciples of past and future Buddhas who enter the absorption of cessation do not emerge from dhyāna and do not die for a hundred years, a thousand years, or hundreds of millions of years. In the Western Regions—in the kingdoms of Qiepantuo, Zhuojuhe, and Wusha—the forms and appearances of those whose outflows are exhausted are all magnificent (['Du' means] grand): on craggy cliffs and solitary peaks, with closed eyes and hanging hair, amid roaring thunder and collapsing mountains, hunters frequently behold them. (The Record of the Western Regions and the Travel Record of the Tang Tripiṭaka Master describe them.) In the past, when Zhao Xiangzi (Lord Wuxu of Jin, the son of Zhao Jianzi) was hunting and burned the mountain forests, there was a man flying through the fire, unobstructed by mountains and rocks; he was one of those who entered dhyāna. (If one enters dhyāna, one should not fly; it is suspected he was a master who wielded supernormal powers.) After the divine monk Heluojie of the Jin died, his disciples piled wood like a mound and burned him, but after several days it did not turn to ashes; they moved him to a stone chamber, and several decades later, onlookers marveled that he appeared as though alive. He had entered the fourth dhyāna and reached the absorptions of the formless realm, which is why he could make his mouth and nose cease breathing. (From the fourth dhyāna up to the grounds of the formless realm, by nature there is no wind element; therefore, the breath entering the nose does not operate.) As for the regulations of pagodas and temples, the world has long lost their proper way. In the Western Regions, a pagoda is a square tumulus (In Sanskrit it is called 'stūpa' or 'thūpa'; here it is called 'funerary pagoda', an abbreviation; they are either square, pointed, or round): for commoners, an earthen mound is raised over it, resembling a 'hall' in this land (square) or a 'great mansion' (a great house with eaves on four sides); only from wheel-turning kings up to the Great Sages do they distinguish names and manifest virtue by means of tiers (One tier for a wheel-turning king, four tiers for a śrāvaka, twelve tiers for a pratyekabuddha, and thirteen tiers for bodhisattvas and the Tathāgata). From antiquity down to the Liang and Chen dynasties, rarely did people fail to lower the coffin for burial, return the earth, and heap a mound planted with trees, or set up stele ropes (The 'shuai' are the ropes for lowering the coffin. In antiquity, stone pillars were erected over the grave with holes through which ropes were passed, using the ropes to lower the coffin, which is called 'jian'. Later, some engraved the lord, father, and clan upon them facing the entrance to the tomb path).