鐔津文集 19.19

19.19

始余讀嵩禪師輔教編。愛其文落落有奇偉氣。而能發揮釋氏之道。以諭夫當世名儒釋子之不知教本者。俾之達性命之奧。見聖賢所以施教敷化之心。而不淪於是非相戰之地（中間敘繁處。皆略之）若夫統之有宗而窮深及微。則尚恐二家之學者或未易曉其邊徼。況能究其道而見其全乎。及其示寂後闍維而五物不灰。然此雖師之糠粃而以歿故已方見信於其徒。則其所蘊精粹要妙。而不獲見知於人者多矣。嗚呼道之難傳也若是乎。予甚悲之。其道雖能化當世名儒。而不能盡化其徒。故師歿後其真風勝軌不甚章章絢爛於世。茲或希世之才黃鍾之音不投於里耳。小器哉。予晚路末學不遑洒掃于庭宇而覘望餘光。徒臨風揮涕有胡不萬年之歎也。今採其遺芳稽首長想。系之以贊云。

When I first read Chan Master Song's *Fujiao bian*, I loved the unconventional and magnificent spirit of his prose, and how he was able to expound the Way of Śākya to instruct those famous Confucians and Buddhist disciples of his time who did not understand the roots of the teachings, causing them to comprehend the mysteries of nature and destiny, and see the mind with which sages and worthies bestow teachings and spread transformation, rather than drowning in a battleground of right and wrong. (Here, the convoluted parts of the preface are all omitted.) As for gathering the lineage into its main source and plumbing the deep and subtle, I still feared that scholars of the two schools might not easily understand its boundaries, much less fathom his Way and perceive it in full! After he manifested passing into quiescence, he was cremated (*jhāpita*), and five items were not reduced to ash. Yet although these were merely the Master's chaff, it was only after his death that he came to be trusted by his followers; thus much of the exquisite, essential, and wondrous qualities he harbored within remained unrecognized by men. Alas, is the Way so difficult to transmit as this? I grieve deeply over it. Although his Way could transform the famous Confucians of the day, it could not completely transform his own followers. Therefore, after the Master's death, his authentic style and superior conduct were not remarkably celebrated and resplendent in the world. Perhaps this rare talent and bell-like tone were not suited to the ears of the common village? How petty the vessels! As a junior student of late times, I had no leisure to sweep his courtyards or catch a glimpse of his lingering light; facing the wind and wiping my tears, I can only sigh, 'Why did he not live for ten thousand years?' Now, gathering his lingering fragrance, I bow my head in long contemplation, appending this eulogy: