鐔津文集 13
English (machine translation) 13
- Language
- English
13.1
Composed by Śramaṇa Qisong of Dongshan, Tanjin, Tengzhou
13.2
Stele Inscriptions, Records, Epitaphs, Memorial Addresses, and Rhymed Proclamations
13.3
Stūpa Inscription (with Preface) for the Late Upādhyāya Venerable Qin of Zisheng Chan Cloister in Xiuzhou
13.4
In the mid-autumn of the renyin year of the Jiayou era, people of Xiuzhou interred the bodily relics of the late Great Upādhyāya, the Venerable Qin, into a stūpa at Mount Anle in Yuhang, returning him to his beginning. His Dharma-heir disciple Shengwen and the Confucian scholar Wenren Anyuan then tasked Qisong with writing both a record and an epitaph. The Upādhyāya’s taboo name was Shengqin; his original surname was Xie. The details of his lineage and origin are not recorded, in accordance with the custom of the sons of Śākya. He was a native of Shouyang in Xiang Commandery. Having left home as a youth in pristine celibacy, he served Chan Master Weiqi of Mount Bairong in Xiang as his teacher. During the Xiangfu era, having passed the examination by reciting the scriptures, he had his head shaved. In that same year, he received the full precepts at Yanling Temple in Guiguan. When he returned to Bairong, his master happened to pass away. Once the burial was completed, he resolved with great determination to journey westward, seeking out and visiting various masters of the lineage. The Upādhyāya’s natural endowment was pure, profound, admirable, and solid; from an early age he possessed insight into the Dao, having attained self-realization while still a youth. He studied extensively under the senior Chan masters and venerable teachers of Heng, Xiang, Yan, and Ying, but it was exclusively with Upādhyāya Yuan of Deshan that he thoroughly plumbed the profound purport. At first, he presented Yunmen’s phrases to Master Yuan to seek confirmation. Although he inquired diligently for nearly three months, Master Yuan never offered the slightest complete resolution, wishing him to attain realization on his own. One day, having achieved awakening, he went to Master Yuan to verify it. As soon as Master Yuan saw him, he said: “You have penetrated completely.” At that moment, the Upādhyāya suddenly felt his body transcend the void, oblivious to any obstruction from the building. Returning to where he had stood, his entire body poured with sweat. Such were the efficacious signs of his awakening to the Dao. Prior to this, the Upādhyāya had studied under another monk to train in the meditative practice of ānāpāna. When he first received that method, he sat on the ground and burned his crown before his master; suddenly an extraordinary light radiated upward, round and bright like the sun. When the light extinguished, his crown was completely unharmed. His master said: “You are a vessel for the supreme vehicle; persevere, and do not limit yourself to this.” Such was the spiritual response he evoked. Thereafter, Chan students gathered to admire him in great numbers. He came to Western Zhe and mingled anonymously at Mount Anle in Yuhang. In the early Huangyou era, Lord Nie (Houzai), the Prefect of Jiahe, heard of his reputation and, leading the people of the commandery, invited him to guide the assembly there. During his twelve years there, people of Xiuzhou, whether wise or foolish, male or female, were transformed by his moral virtue. Dharma companions who flocked to his gatherings numbered no less than several hundred daily. The monastery was thoroughly refurbished, and provisions for the monks were abundant. Chan dwelling in Xiuzhou verily flourished beginning with this Upādhyāya. On the renyin day in the mid-summer of the fifth year (gengzi) of the Jiayou era, he manifested a slight illness. Sitting upright, he spoke a verse and passed away. His worldly age was sixty-eight; his monastic seniority was forty-two. On the jiyou day in the fifth month of the gengzi year of the Jiayou era, following the teachings, he was cremated (jhāpita), yielding five-coloured śarīra so radiant as to be innumerable. Among the disciples he ordained, Zongyi inherited his Dharma and led an assembly in one region, along with Shengwen and Youchang. In his daily life, the Upādhyāya had compiled essential sayings of the ancients, entitling the work the Yuanzong ji, which his disciples have now transmitted. Indeed, the Dharma he attained is truly the secret essence of all Buddhas, the foundation of all sentient beings, and the transmission of all patriarchs. It is not something words or silence can reach, yet without words or silence it cannot be disclosed even slightly. Thus, when the Upādhyāya presided over the assembly and received people, though he taught and instructed with diligence, his words were ever concise and his engagements were not burdensome. In general, his essential Dao and compassionate virtue touched people most deeply. Therefore, upon his demise, the entire city of Xiuzhou wailed in grief as though they had lost a dear parent. Gentlemen, knowing that Qisong shared an especially deep friendship in the Dao with the Upādhyāya and knew the full details of his life, entrusted me with this composition; although I hesitated, I could not decline. The epitaph reads:
13.5
Truly his bones are peerlessly round; / truly the Dao is also thus. / Neither arising nor ceasing, / without slant and without partiality. / Hills may flatten and rocks may crumble, / but this Dharma shall forever endure.
13.6
Record of the Portrait Hall for the Late Chan Master Xian of Zisheng Chan Cloister in Xiuzhou
13.7
When the Chan Master was ill, I went from Hangzhou to inquire about his medical care. He looked at me and said: “I am old and sick; this must be the end. In death I shall burden you to dig my pit and bury me, and to record my Dharma transmission.” He then imparted the account thereof. Not long after I returned to Hangzhou, he indeed suddenly passed away. The students, not knowing [the arrangements], cremated his remains, so in the end he could not be interred in a stūpa. Therefore, his names and deeds are displayed in the Portrait Hall, and the present Elder Qin was instructed to carve them on stone to transmit them. The Chan Master’s taboo name was Qingxian. His ancestors were natives of Jianyang, of the Fan clan. The Fan clan had been an official family for generations; both his father and grandfather held office, so there is no need to record them further. Originally, because of his father's official posting, the Chan Master was born in Kuaiji. When his father died in office in Haiyan County, he and his mother managed their property and resided in Xiuzhou. At that time, the Chan Master was just five years old, yet his refined aura was already evident. His mother, marveling at this, instructed him to leave home under the pure practitioner Zizhao at what is now the Zisheng Hermitage. When he was past ten, his head was shaved. He received the full precepts at Lingguang Temple, and studied the Śūraṅgama and Perfect Enlightenment under a lecturing master, residing quietly for another ten years. Once he had mastered the scriptures, the following year he traveled widely beyond the local area, inquiring extensively into the essentials of Chan. After another ten years, he returned. Originally, Xiuzhou had never had a Chan monastery, and provisions for arriving travelers were lacking. But after the Chan Master returned, he completely transformed the cloister, striving to live together with the assembly and instructing his subordinates to govern the cloister according to the Chan regulations of the ten directions. Once it was somewhat regulated, he built a hut to live alone in the grove, strictly practicing the dhūta austerities. He neither stepped outside nor lay down to sleep for nineteen years; though his clothing and food were coarse, he regarded them with ease. Before long, it happened that the late Chan Master Qing of Xuedou came to his hut and said: “How wonderful, benevolent one, that you have reached this stage!” He then fully demonstrated the Dharma he had realized, and Master Qing thoroughly affirmed him, so that in the end he also inherited from Master Qing. During the Tiansheng era, the Prefect of the commandery, Lord Zhang (Jisheng), held him in high esteem and ordered him to restore the abbot's quarters to conduct the traditional affairs of Chan practitioners. Later, when the late Hanlin Academician Lord Ye Daoqing governed the commandery as Palace Vice Director, he was all the more pleased upon meeting him; he revered him as an Elder and ordered him to transmit his Dharma. For nearly twenty years until he finally passed away, he remained in this position. Alas! His worldly age was already seventy-six, and his monastic seniority was sixty-two. The Chan Master had administered this cloister from his prime to old age, forty-six years in all. Toward others he was most dignified, and in personal conduct extremely austere. His food and material provisions were strictly plain and frugal, out of step with worldly customs. For this reason, his followers found him demanding, and few grew close to him; only the scholar-officials valued his cultivation and purity, unwilling to defile his chamber with meat or wine. Formerly, when monks in Wu sat according to monastic precedence, order had been lost, precedence being determined by power rather than precepts and virtue. The Chan Master was deeply pained by this and repeatedly submitted letters to the authorities requesting rectification. Although the worldly ignored his words, the Chan Master was never discouraged. When Lord Ye Daoqing became the Transport Commissioner of Wu and Yue, the Chan Master sent him another letter; Lord Ye agreed with it and corrected the practice throughout his jurisdiction. Soon after, the assembly of Xiuzhou indeed elevated the Chan Master to the high seat. After only two assemblies, he declined completely and did not set foot in the secular world for nearly fifteen years. Yet this was merely his upright nature, deeply committed to protecting the Dharma. Once he said to me: “I am unable to benefit things greatly through the Dao, and my moral conduct is not worth looking at, which shames me before the ancient sages. If I were to watch the Dharma fall into disorder without intervening, my shame would be even greater.” I replied: “There is no need for humility. The lineage of Caoxi is the wondrous Dao of the world, yet few students attain it. The twelve dhūta austerities are the utmost conduct for leaving the world, difficult even for our own kind. To step forward for the Dharma without regard for oneself is also something rarely achieved by others. You have attained and practiced all three of these; of what have you to be ashamed?” The Master said: “How would I dare claim this?” Nonetheless, I use this to praise him among our peers, wishing that they may be encouraged thereby. From the Chan Master’s passing to now, the jihai year of the Huangyou era, it has been five years. How sorrowful!
13.8
Stūpa Inscription (with Preface) for the Late Great Master Puci of Lingyin
13.9
The Master’s Dharma name was Youmin. He was a native of Yushan in Xinyang; his original surname was Ye. In his childhood he already had the aspiration to leave secular life. Having informed his parents and obtained their permission, he entered the Xingjiao Hermitage of his county, leaving home under the monk Shengtan. After receiving the full precepts, he traveled in the four directions seeking the Dao. Arriving in Hulin, he met Chan Master Huiming; as he possessed the capacity for the Dao in an unassuming way, he respectfully accepted his teachings as a disciple and mastered his Dharma completely. In Dharma duties, whether hard or easy, he experienced them all. In time, Huiming ordered him to supervise the affairs of the monastery. Shortly thereafter, the monastery was completely destroyed by a great fire. When the authorities investigated the fault, his colleagues felt endangered and all feared calamity. The Master said to them: “I oversee the affairs of the monastery; the fault rests entirely on me. I alone shall bear it; you need not be afraid.” The officials indeed did not enter the monastery to question the Master, but merely punished the cook. Was this not what the ancients meant by ‘facing adversity without seeking escape’? Later, when Huiming passed away and his funeral was completed, the Master led the assembly, saying: “Our prefecture should invite the Great Elder Huizhao (Venerable Cong) to preside over the monastery to succeed Huiming, and the previous supervisor should still assist him.” Striving together, they restored the monastery. In less than ten years, they reconstructed the halls and dwellings, towering over a thousand bays and even more magnificent than before. During the Qingli era, the court, based on recommendations, bestowed upon him the monastic robes, and later also granted the title Puci. When Huizhao passed away, the Master was severely ill, yet he forced himself to handle the funeral affairs despite his illness. When Huizhao was near death, his testamentary letter had recommended the Master to succeed him, but the authorities doubted the matter and did not grant him Lingyin, appointing another monk to preside instead. The Master served that monk with even greater reverence, without the slightest resentment or stinginess appearing in his demeanor, so that people respected his virtue all the more. At that time, Prefect and Longtu Academician Lord Ji learned of this, and thus appointed the Master as Elder to reside at the Upper Tianzhu Hermitage. When Lord Sun of the Guanwen Pavilion first arrived to administer Hangzhou as Grand Academician of the Zizheng Hall, he specially transferred him to preside over Lingyin. On the day he first expounded the Dharma, Lord Sun and high-ranking officials and nobility, no fewer than a hundred persons, participated in the gathering, burning incense and listening to his discourse; while monks and laypeople, old and young, noble and base, arrived shoulder to shoulder by the tens of thousands. On that day, the voices of people and tracks of horses filled the valleys; such splendor for a Dharma assembly has rarely been seen. The Master was by nature broad-minded, fair, compassionate, and forgiving, accommodating and generous to others, and people praised him greatly. Thus, having resided at the monastery for merely six years, the monastery was increasingly repaired and the assembly grew ever more peaceful; he ordained twenty-three disciples. In the beginning of the mid-winter of the yihai year of the Jiayou era, he suddenly contracted a slight illness and took to bed. One day before his passing, he spoke with me, Meng, about handing the monastery over to the present Chan Virtuous One Zhi; his tone was precise and calm, as sound as usual. On the thirteenth day at cockcrow, he arose and washed, asked the hour, and then sat peacefully and passed away. His worldly age was sixty-one; his monastic seniority was forty-one. On the twenty-ninth day of that month, he was interred in a stūpa due north of the Ape-Calling Ravine, within the monastery wall. After the stūpa was completed, Master Zhi, presenting his biography, asked me, Meng, to write an epitaph. In the ancient Biographies of Eminent Monks, those among our peers who possessed virtue, valuable teachings, or great meritorious service to the religion were recorded. Lingyin today is among the foremost celebrated monasteries in the realm, upon which the flourishing and declining of our Buddha-Dharma depends. Alas, with such lifelong service to this monastery, can it not be said that Puci performed meritorious service for the Dharma? Therefore, I did not decline, and recorded his deeds. The epitaph reads:
13.10
Truly his merit lay in the Dharma; / truly his virtue lay in the Dharma. / Since the Dharma is unarisen, / how could its superior conditions ever be extinguished? / Truly the Master’s abundant goodness is ever constant, / never fading and never falling, / as can be clearly seen.
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Stūpa Inscription for the Late Great Worthy Shao of Baosheng Temple on Mount Shibi in Hangzhou
13.12
Shibi Temple is more than thirty li from Hangzhou. Heading west from Longshan, one enters deep into a secluded ravine with the beauty of flowing streams and rocky cliffs. Although its atmospheric quality was clear and pure, the world at first did not know of it. Only after the Great Worthy [Xing]shao and his elder brother, Dharma Master Xingjing, resided there did its renown spread; this too is a case of a place becoming famous because of the people. The Great Worthy's taboo name was Xingshao, a native of Qiantang in Hangzhou. His original surname was Shen. At first, his mother dreamed of obtaining and swallowing the śarīra of an extraordinary monk, whereupon she became pregnant. When he was born, his nature was pure and good, unlike that of an ordinary child. He took no pleasure in eating meat and loved to hear of Buddhist affairs. Just at the age of twelve, he went to Chan Master Zhijue Yanshou requesting to become his disciple, and his parents permitted it. When he received the precepts, he became thoroughly versed in the Vinaya texts. At that time, State Preceptor Shao resided on Mount Tiantai, and his Way was greatly flourishing. The Great Worthy then tucked up his robes and followed him. When the State Preceptor saw him, he recognized his capacity and at once had him go to study the threefold contemplation method under Dharma Master Xiji of Luoxi. Thereupon, together with his elder brother Xingjing, he served Master Ji, inquiring into the great essentials. Before long, their studies were accomplished, and they returned to Hangzhou, where they at once repaired their old temple. Soon after, he also ceded the temple to Master Jing so that an assembly for lectures could gather. Both Master Jing and the Great Worthy took Zhijue as their teacher when leaving the household; the Great Worthy was the elder brother in the Dharma, while Master Jing was the elder brother in secular life. Master Jing distinguished himself through his native virtue; sixty years before this, even veteran scholars and renowned monks in the Wu region praised him as an eminent man, so at that time students flocked to him. When Master Jing moved to lecture at another temple, the Great Worthy returned to live at Shibi. For fifty years before and after, he maintained his resolve for the mountain forests and never casually wandered into village manors or local communities. He kept his conduct pure and refined, and those who knew him praised his pristine moderation. One day he manifested a slight illness, and by the evening of the third day, he gave final instructions to his disciples. First, the community gathered for tea; once he handed over his utensils, he passed away sitting upright. By this time, his age was eighty, and his monastic seniority was sixty-eight years. Nearly twenty years later, I first came to Shibi and met his disciple Jianchang, from whom I heard of his demeanor. Chang was also unbending and pure, able to uphold the model of his predecessor. Thereupon, together with his fellow student, the junior brother Jianwei, he earnestly entrusted me with the Great Worthy's stupa epitaph. I once said to them: What the teachings call rare encounters in human life are of several kinds, and a good friend is especially difficult. Secular writings say, 'A good man I have not succeeded in seeing; if I could see someone of constant virtue, that would suffice.' Indeed, meeting the worthy and good is difficult. As for this Master, he left the household under Venerable Shou, studied the Dharma under Venerable Ji, and was recognized by State Preceptor Shao. Venerable Shao was an unfathomable person, whose extraordinary integrity, exceptional virtue, and practice of the Way were illustrious; while the two Venerables Shou and Ji were also possessors of the Way among our flock. How could there be many such people in the world? This Master met and was personally influenced by all of them. Even to meet one would already be extremely fortunate; how much more so to obtain the Dharma through them! In this way, the Master's virtues were manifold. Furthermore, he was a brother to Master Jing; together they applied themselves to study, drew near to the Way, and dwelled in the mountain forests; this too is a lifetime of virtue worthy of being recorded. His stupa is in the western orchard of the temple; therefore, I put brush to paper to inscribe it. This was on the eleventh day of the third month in the guisi year of Huangyou [1053 CE].
13.13
Elegy for Lord Zhongshan, Retired Vice Minister (With Preface)
13.14
On the day the late Vice Minister, Lord Zhongshan, was buried, a guest, moved by his former virtue, composed an elegy to express his sentiments. Yet this guest originally belongs to the Buddhist fold: externally relinquishing physical form and internally dissolving passion and falsehood, he ought not to be moved to mourn. It is simply that, unable to bear seeing a worthy man pass away while the Way of the gentleman grows ever scarcer, and sighing incessantly, he provisionally resorts to mourning in this elegy. Nevertheless, though the Duke's merits and virtues rest with the people, and his name and deeds have been broadcast by the Grand Historians, those people do not necessarily fully know the supreme source of the Duke's morality. That which the Duke took as his foundation was sincerity. Therefore, in the beginning, he cultivated himself and served his parents, and the villagers emulated him. In the middle, he served in the imperial court, maintaining great integrity without wavering, and the Son of Heaven promoted him. In his old age, he retired according to ritual, acting as a model for the scholar-officials, and the world took him as an exemplar. Yet when scholars practice the Way in the world, most are keen at first but slacken midway, correct at the beginning but falling into error later. Who can match the Duke, whose advances and retreats, from beginning to end, were without the slightest flaw? It was simply that by cultivating sincerity and solidifying his foundation, he achieved this. After the Duke laid aside carriage and cap, he increasingly nurtured his longevity with purity and tranquility. Having humbly enjoyed the privilege of associating with the Duke, I also personally came to know that by which the Duke's morality attained its height, and in detail it can serve as a model. Alas, to have been favored by the Duke's exceptional regard, and never to see him again! The elegy says:
13.15
Fish and fowl are teeming, / Governed by dragon and phoenix. / The dragon cannot remain hidden, / The phoenix cannot decline. / Human relations are orderly, / Maintained by sages and worthies. / The sage cannot be lost, / The worthy cannot be diminished. / The man of ripe maturity / Has already passed away with the transformation! / Although his exemplary model remains, / How can it be observed up close? / The great night suddenly turns to dusk; / When will dawn come again? / Once the divine spirit departs, / How can the vast stillness know? / His morality is bequeathed to the world, / Longed for by the hearts of the multitude. / Passing down purity and integrity to the family, / A teacher for generation after generation. / The five blessings are valued in their entirety; / The Duke obtained them here. / His natural endowment was uniquely fine; / Who could be his equal? / The human lifespan is a hundred years; / The Duke nearly reached the term. / Filial sons and obedient grandsons, / Why must you add to your grief? / That which brings me sorrow / Is that worthy men grow ever fewer. / Pure sincerity is not carried on, / The Way of the gentleman wanes. / The ten thousand kinds are in turmoil, / Heterodoxy and orthodoxy dispute each other. / Standing aloof and acting independently, / If not upon you, upon whom could one rely? / The autumn wind soughs, / The white dew falls thick. / Plants and trees wither and shed, / The burial mound rises lofty. / The spirit carriage departs alone, / Red banners flutter and fly. / Looking upon this parting, / A vast and everlasting farewell!
13.16
Elegy for Administrative Assistant Li Huishu (With Preface)
13.17
Li Huishu of Longxi died; someone brought me the report. Hearing of it, I mourned him and was deeply moved. Huishu possessed outstanding talent and was habitually proud of the vigor of his ability; therefore, in literary composition and debate, he rarely yielded to others. In the second month of spring last year, about to take up an appointment, he came to my room and conversed with me, unable to leave all day. He once said, 'In the past they spoke of Pingshu in monk's robes; looking at you now, Master, he is not worthy of comparison.' He could not help lamenting that our acquaintance had come so late. When I sent a letter rebuking his excessive praise, he replied again, 'In the realm today, among those who are worthy and discerning, how many such men are there? In Zhongling, what need is there to yield?' Thereafter, he repeatedly praised me in weighty words among his circle of friends, promising that he would return for intense discussions. Although I am not that kind of person, considering his affectionate regard, how could it not be said that he understood me? After we parted a year ago, his aspirations were just in their prime; how could I have expected that he would suddenly pass away? The ancients compared human life to floating clouds that vanish abruptly and cannot long be preserved; seeing this, it is truly to be believed! The elegy says:
13.18
Yesterday parting from Huishu, his will and vigor were strong; / Today hearing that Huishu has suddenly passed away. / Only now do I know that what I could not believe must indeed be so; / Hearing it for certain, unconsciously my heart grieves. / Grieving for the gentleman, what cuts so deep? / Thinking of your original aspirations, which were never unfolded. / A virtuous and good man unable to fulfill his destiny (or 'summoned'), dying as an administrative assistant; / Alas, the banishment-worthy genius's brilliant talent was vast! / Lu Ji and his brother both died young; / The iris and orchid wither and fall, how can they look to each other? / In the high hall is an aged parent with hair disheveled; / The white sun drags endlessly, sorrow without end. / I recall last year when you came to my room, / Clapping hands and conversing, your voice ringing clear. / The sitters marvelled and nearly fell over in laughter; / Exhausting right and wrong, judging the good and bad. / At that time our agreements matched so well; / With fervent voice and expression, you praised me so much. / Saying that Pingshu was not worthy of comparison; / Feeling petty and doubtful of myself, how could I dare accept it? / White clouds have a tryst, still waiting for you; / Who could have thought your roaming soul would vanish into the vast beyond? / Wise men from of old have rarely enjoyed longevity; / How can the principle of Heaven be measured?
13.19
Elegy for Zhou Shuzhi (With Preface)
13.20
Zhou Shuzhi, named Ce, was a native of Xunyang in Jiujiang. In his youth he was intelligent and perceptive, able to read and memorize with great strength. From the Six Classics, Yang Xiong, and Mencius, to Sima Qian's Shiji, the Hanshu, Laozi, Zhuangzi, Lie Yukou's treatises, and our Buddhist sutras, once they passed before his eyes, he generally comprehended them. In assessing the past and present and citing precedents, his statements were always grounded in classical authority. He often astonished those seated with him, all of whom yielded to his lofty discourses. For his literary style, he took the 'Appended Statements' of the Classic of Changes; it was strikingly crisp and quite refined. He was ashamed to compete for advancement, and even in moments of haste did not compromise his integrity; thus his fame was not widespread. His friends repeatedly urged him to strive forward on account of his family's poverty and his aging parents. Only after passing forty did he sit for the examination for 'abundant talent and extraordinary distinction'; soon dismissed by the officials, he returned to his home district. He devoted himself to instructing younger scholars with his Way. The local customs of Jiangzhou were frivolous and rash, with few people able to maintain gravity and composure; Shuzhi lived forthrightly among his fellow villagers, so the younger students did not dare act insolently. In the fourth month of last year, I received a letter from Shuzhi's son Mingfu, and learned that Shuzhi had died in the seventh month of the guizao year. Alas! I was once a friend of Shuzhi. Whenever we debated, if we did not accord in the Way, he never uttered a word. In the uprightness of our friendship, I considered that even the ancients could not surpass this. Since coming to Wu-Yue, we had not seen each other for six or seven years. Day and night, with surging longing, I thought of returning to Xunyang, admiring the demeanor of Huiyuan, Zong Bing, and Liu Yimin, to grow old together with Shuzhi beneath the forest. Now this news arrives, and my wish has come to naught. Alas, is our friendship ended thus? Mourning that this man will never be seen again, I therefore composed an elegy to make known his virtue. The elegy says:
13.21
O the mountains of the River, / Mount Lu displays its spiritual power! / O the waters of the River, / The Nine Rivers are clear and pristine! / Uniting their vital energy, / An outstanding man was born. / You obtained it, / Both intelligent and clear-sighted. / Your morality was cultivated, / Your capacity and discernment were vast and grand. / In the end you could not unfold them, / Snatched away by transformation in your prime. / Sir, your longevity / Consists in an immortal good name! / Sir, your fortune / Lies in the richness of your learning! / Benevolence and righteousness transmitted in the family, / Treasured and guarded by sons and grandsons. / Who says that having passed away, / You do not shed glory on posterity? / The Pen River touches the sky, / Green and pure with gentle ripples. / White stones and green grass, / Uneven in the evening dusk. / This man does not return, / Parted for ten thousand ages. / Gifting glances toward your mound and tomb, / Across a thousand li my longing lingers on.
13.22
Account of the Procession of Śarīra at Jingyan Temple in Xiuzhou (The Sanskrit word śarīra means 'body bones' in Chinese)
13.23
The Way must have its verifications. Without verifications, who could see the culmination of the Way? Indeed! The Buddha's śarīra are precisely the verification of his Way. Now, that which is supremely great in the Way intrinsically permeates both humans and spirits, life and death, rendering them subtle and wondrous. Because the sage possesses this subtle wonder, when in obscurity he can flourish, and when in brightness he can be as nothing. Therefore, when the sage is alive, he brings goodness to the world while remaining free of attachment to goodness; when he dies, he withdraws his spirit while his spirit remains efficacious. As for śarīra, extending across a hundred generations they remain dignified; when they display their numinous efficacy, no one in the world can fathom them. Is this not the working of his spirit? Nowadays, those among the nine schools of thought and the hundred masters who cultivate in their own ways crowd the realm. In calling it 'the Way,' they do not initially differ from the Buddha, but when one checks their verifications, there are none in the world. Competing to honor their own masters, they claim the Buddha is inadequate. Yet comparing their dead with the Buddhist sages: before a single day is done, the physical form decays; before a single year is out, the bones rot away. Their spirit is utterly silent; where is any trace of fleeting wonder? Could it be that their Way still has that which does not reach up to the Buddha? Formerly, when the Buddhadharma was first transmitted to the Han, the people of Han did not examine it closely; when it was first transmitted to Wu, the people of Wu did not trust it. Both exclusively held to Confucianism and Laozi and rejected us. Therefore Kāśyapa Mātanga and Sengui summoned śarīra to verify the Buddha's world, whereupon people turned toward them in unison. Now, the Way is far, while verifications are near. To observe what is near initiates it; to observe what is far attains it. He who attains it is a sage. By means of verifications one observes the Way, and thus the coarse and the subtle can be discerned; by means of the Way one observes the sage, and thus the great and the small can be seen. People have also said: 'His teachings contain great, inconceivable matters; this makes it ever more known that the Buddha is a great sage.' Is this not so? Moreover, śarīra manifested throughout the world have been numerous from ancient times to the present. Some hover and soar in the sky; some arrive without any cause; some emit rays of light whose brightness rivals the sun and moon; some cannot be burned; some cannot be crushed. But as for this 'circumambulating' śarīra, which vibrates day and night without ceasing, the world had never yet seen such a thing. When one holds its stūpa and pays reverent respect, the golden bells turn even more, as if wonderfully responding in harmony with the person's thoughts! How exquisite! A thing of supreme spirit need not be large; the verification of the supreme Way need not be manifold. Examining how it first came, it is said that it was obtained in Wuyue. The late National Preceptor Shaogong obtained it in Yueyang of the Liang, handed down by Prince Xiao Cha. Thereafter, the former king of the Qian clan placed it inside a golden bell, enclosed it within a small bronze stūpa, and housed it at Lingguang Temple (the former name of the present temple), where it has remained for nearly a hundred years. Shaogong was a perfected person; he designated these śarīra, calling one 'circumambulating' and the other 'entering samādhi.' The one entering samādhi is kept secret and cannot be seen; the one circumambulating has its stūpa opened and is displayed. Is this not because in later generations monks do not keep to the Way while the common people are shallow and lack faith, so that he wished to encourage and inspire them? Therefore, I have recounted his intention and commanded my followers to make it known.
13.24
Inscribed on the Wall of Master Huiyuan's Portrait Hall
13.25
Although scholars have seen the deeds of Master Huiyuan, few can comprehend them fully. To leave the world without a clear vision of the former worthy's virtue is also the fault of later scholars. When I read the Biographies of Eminent Monks, the Record of the Lotus Society, and the New and Old Records of Jiujiang, I admire Master Huiyuan most of all. In total there are six deeds that I deem capable of encouraging others; thus I cite and explain them, setting them out in his portrait hall to show to those who come after. Lu Xiujing was a scholar of heterodox teachings, yet Huiyuan saw him off past Tiger Creek; this shows he did not reject words because of the person. Tao Yuanming was addicted to wine, yet Huiyuan associated with him; this shows he made light of minor matters and valued his breadth of spirit. The eminent monk Bhadra was expelled for displaying miracles, yet Huiyuan welcomed and praised him; this shows he esteemed those with true discernment and corrected the envious rejection of the worthy. Xie Lingyun was rejected for his scattered mind, and indeed died by execution; this shows Huiyuan recognized his capacity and was prudent about his end. Lu Xun was on the verge of rebelling, yet Huiyuan grasped his hand to seek their old friendship; this shows his confidence in the Way. Huan Xuan exerted his awe-inspiring power, yet Huiyuan confronted him without bending; this shows his great integrity. In general, the sentiments of people ancient and modern are invariably to fear power and seek illicit escape, to forget righteousness and shun suspicion, to crave fame and obscure reality, to ally with influence and brook no isolation, to ornament their conduct while fearing entanglement, and to consider themselves right while censuring others. Who else possessed a Way honored in an entire age to be a teacher of worthies, yet was willing to follow another on account of a single word? Who else originally possessed supreme virtue and conduct spotless and pure, yet was willing to keep company with a realm of drunkenness and extol his breadth of spirit? Who else, humbling the honor of a master of humans, showed courtesy to a guest who had been banished and vindicated his worthiness? Who else rejected a gentleman of immense fame from joining his teaching, thereby ensuring a safe end? Who else in righteousness did not shun peril, cultivated cordiality with an old friend, and had faith in the Way? Who else, facing the awesome might of generals in a time of murderous punishment and tyrannical cruelty, preserved the Way without yielding and preserved his integrity? For these reasons, Master Huiyuan's discernment and magnanimity were vast and grand, standing peerless from ancient times to the present. As for his supporting the supreme teaching, broadening the great holy Way, and bestowing protection upon devas and humans—it is not for an ignorant person like me to fully describe whether he was a sage or a worthy! How magnificent! Like the earth breathing out wind, or the pure breezes of the six directions, such is Master Huiyuan's renown. Like the autumn scene across the four seas, or a divine mountain towering in the center, such is Master Huiyuan's pure loftiness. Like a dragon and phoenix among humans and monks, bowing high to Chaofu and Xu You, such is Master Huiyuan's manner and precedent. Like white clouds and cinnabar peaks, jade trees and jasper grass, such was Master Huiyuan's dwelling place. Born after the master, I feel both admiration and regret. Gazing upon his portrait, I bow my head in reverent homage and wish to inscribe this humble writing upon the wall of the hall.
13.26
Inscribed after the Biography of Mei Fu
13.27
Ban Gu said: Mei Zizhen once served as the commandant of Nanchang, but having been thwarted in his ambitions, he withdrew on his own, changed his name to become a gatekeeper in Kuaiji, and moreover was said to have departed as an immortal. Therefore, later commentators merely say that Zizhen was able to take the post of commandant as an official recluse and was skilled at drifting along with the times, often citing his deeds as fine words for those serving as commandants. This too is a lack of thoroughness on the part of scholars. How petty are their words! Zizhen was open-hearted and possessed great integrity; striving forward without regard for his own life, he was loyal to the state and anxious for the realm. When the Han court lost good order and both root and branch were upended, Zizhen loathed the wicked ministers who held power and usurped great authority. Filled with righteous indignation, he submitted memorials discussing the fundamental structure and vital concerns of the state, urging the enactment of ritual regulations and the appointment of talented and upright individuals. Although he collided with the slanderous and sycophantic crowd, he avoided nothing. His tone was blunt and outspoken, intending to startle and awaken the ruler of the time. Although his memorials were repeatedly submitted, the ruler ultimately did not awaken, and in the end the dynasty collapsed like crumbling soil and shattered tiles. Had his words been even slightly employed at that time, the altars of soil and grain of Emperor Gaozu might not have perished. Alas! Zizhen occupied the very bottom of the nine ranks, with not a single supporter at court. Yet resolutely he exerted his will, his loyalty and courage surpassing others. He spoke out to support the state in its peril, defying the dragon's scales and probing the tiger's jaws; though calamity was upon him in the turn of a heel, he still showed no fear. He was truly an impassioned, great gentleman! Ah! Throughout ancient and modern times, among those who read books and pursue learning, who does not harbor pride and view himself as a hero among his companions? If a single word offends them and does not accord with their wishes, they inevitably vent their rage in insults and curses, regretting that they cannot slay the other like an enemy. Yet when they stand at court, seeing unrighteousness—even so great as to harm moral education and damage public morals—because it does not directly affect themselves, though looking, they act as if not seeing; though listening, they act as if not hearing. Often they go along with it in flattery; and if disaster strikes, they gather together in mockery. Hearing of Zizhen's character, what should they feel in their hearts? Zizhen died at the end of the Former Han, roughly more than a thousand years ago from today, yet among county commandants there has been none like Zizhen. Could there be any who have simply not been heard of or seen? I have often lamented that the world does not recognize Zizhen's virtue and Way, but merely exalts his attaining arts and departing as an immortal; therefore I have written this inscription.
13.28
Written after the Biography of Wenzhongzi
13.29
Reading the collected works of Donggaozi, Wang Ji, one learns that the Wang family indeed continued Confucius's Six Classics, and that Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, Li Jing, Dong Chang, Wen Yanbo, Wei Zheng, Xue Shou, Du Yan, and others were indeed Wenzhongzi's disciples. Reading the biography of Wang Bo in Liu Xu's Old Book of Tang, one learns that Wenzhongzi was Bo's grandfather and had indeed composed the Yuanjing. Wang Ji died in the eighteenth year of the Zhenguan reign; being close in time to his elder brother, he was able to recount his deeds. Regrettably, Fang, Du, Wen, Wei, and Wang Bo did not write a single word to transmit Wenzhongzi's worthiness, and the Book of Sui again omitted any record of him; thus later generations considered Wenzhongzi's deeds untrustworthy. When Master Han's writings arose, scholars throughout the realm took Han as their master; and because Han Yu did not praise Wenzhongzi, while Li Ao moreover disparaged his book, comparing it to Duke Tai's Family Instructions, scholars consequently rejected Wenzhongzi. Yet if the Wang clan was able to continue Confucius's Six Classics, he was surely second only to Confucius. Discerning persons ought to examine and correct this by means of the Way of the sages. If Wenzhongzi's Way accords with Confucius, then he is an heir to Confucius; the presence or absence of historical records is insufficient to rely on. Can one simply follow people's likes and dislikes in seeking to obliterate this sage and worthy? Did not Meng Ke say, 'To believe all of the Book of Documents is worse than to have no Book of Documents'? When I look at the Zhongshuo, its reading of the Odes speaks of the 'four names and five intents,' and its reading of the Documents speaks of the 'four regulations and seven ordinances.' The Yuanjing states that the Jin, Song, Qi, Liang, and Chen each lacked these five and thereby brought disaster upon their states, and it praises the establishment of their laws. It possesses the Way of the sages! Alas, not seeing his Six Classics, I provisionally write this to leave to students.
13.30
Written after the Collected Works of Academician Li [Bai]
13.31
When I read the collected works of Academician Li, I see more than a hundred of his yuefu poems. Their purpose honors the state and rectifies human relationships; they outstandingly possess the style of the Zhou poems, not merely chanting of emotions and dispositions, sighing, or singing for casual self-gratification. When Li Bai lived during the fifth generation of the Tang dynasty's rule over the realm, the Son of Heaven was deeply absorbed in music and women, and governance gradually grew slack. Treacherous individuals were able to enter and usurp great authority. It happened that the rebel troops of An Lushan assaulted the palace, and Emperor Minghuang took refuge in Shu. Li Bai grieved that the Son of Heaven had failed to hold his post and lightly abandoned the ancestral temple; thus he composed 'Distant Parting' to satirize him. As for composing 'The Hard Road to Shu,' it was to satirize the arrogance and obstinacy of the feudal lords; composing 'Liangfu Yin' was to mourn that his loyalty was unacknowledged and unused; composing 'Song of the Heavenly Horse' was to lament that worthy talents were discarded and their merits unrecorded; composing 'The Hard Road' was to loathe slander that prevented him from fulfilling his duty as a minister; composing 'Song of the Fierce Tiger' was out of indignation that the barbarians threw the Central Plains into chaos and from a desire to bring peace to the royal house; composing 'Song of Yangchun' was to warn against unrestrained sensual pleasure; composing 'Song of Crows Roosting' was to satirize loving beauty rather than virtue; composing 'Fighting South of the Wall' was to satirize the endless waging of war. Such instances cannot be fully recounted. Even when banished, he still composed 'Chanting at Qiupu,' hoping to awaken the sovereign's mind; but his hopes unrealized, he was ultimately cast aside among the rivers and lakes. Thereupon, in frustrated discontent, he made light of the world, drank heavily to great drunkenness, and lodged his thoughts in the arts of Daoist masters; thus his poems of travels and presentations were mixed with lore of immortals. Now, what arises from one's nature and where one's intent goes: the petty person expresses it through plain speech, while the gentleman expresses it through poetry. Seeking their intent through speech and poetry, the gentleman and the petty person can be fully understood. In the case of Li Bai's poetry, being such as this, how could his nature and intent be that of a minor worthy? Had they employed him from beginning to end and made full use of his talent, allowing him to establish meritorious achievements, how do we know he would truly have been unable? In recent times, people say Li Bai merely possessed pure talent and untrammeled spirit, and was simply an immortal banished from heaven. How could this necessarily be so? Looking at the style, power, talent, and thought of his poetry, it is like towering mountains and surging seas, lofty and vast, impossible to exhaust. Had his poems been present for the sage's editing in ancient times, they could have stood alongside the 'Two Ya' and been transmitted endlessly alongside the 'Guofeng'; the 'Lisao' and 'Sir Fantasy' would not even bear comparison.
13.32
Written after the Biography of Marquis Wu of Zhuge
13.33
When Kongming first tilled the fields by his own hand in Longzhong, he would often compare himself to Guan Zhong and Yue Yi. Among the people of that time, none assented to this, except Cui Zhouping and Xu Shu, who considered it true. When I examine Kongming's deeds, his heart was set on what was entirely public under Heaven: he wished to annex the mighty Wei and restore the altars of the Han dynasty. How did his way differ from Guan Zhong's uniting the feudal lords nine times and rectifying all under Heaven once, or Yue Yi's not sacking the cities of Ju and Jimo in his wish to unify all under Heaven solely through the Kingly Way? Only after Liu Bei went to him three times did they meet; just as Kongming was laying out his plans for Bei—how masterful it was! And when Bei's army was defeated and he fled to Xiakou, Kongming went to persuade Sun Quan, secured troops as reinforcement, and crushed Cao Cao at the Red Cliffs. In this, he was equal to Yue Yi, who persuaded Zhao, Chu, and Wei, caused Zhao to entice Qin with the advantage of attacking Qi, and brought together the troops of the five states, including Chu and Wei, to attack Qi and crush it west of the Ji River: in extraordinary military genius, he was equal to Yue [Yi]. Leading the various armies north, he was stationed in Hanzhong; the memorial he submitted on the eve of departure was akin in loyalty and righteousness to Yue Yi's letter in reply to King Hui of Yan. It was only that in meeting his ruler and encountering his time, he did not attain his ambitions as Guan Zhong did. Had Kongming encountered a flourishing age, had Heaven not deprived him of longevity, and had he been able to carry his enterprise through from beginning to end, restoring the Han, uniting all under Heaven, and raising up and exalting the Kingly Way, then Guan Yiwu and Yue Yi would hardly have matched him. What is regrettable is that he rashly employed Ma Su, and was consequently defeated at Jieting, impairing his great enterprise. If even a worthy and pre-eminent hero such as Zhuge Kongming was so benighted in knowing men, how much more so with those who are not like Kongming: are they not all the more prone to lightly trust and employ glib-tongued people with such ease? Beware of this! Beware of this!
13.34
Written After the Biography of Fan Ju
13.35
Initially, Fan Ju changed his name and surname, styling himself Master Zhang Lu. Entering Qin, he persuaded King Zhaoxiang of Qin, disparaging the Qin Chancellor, the Marquis of Rang. King Zhaoxiang of Qin thereupon banished the Marquis of Rang, took back his chancellor's seal, and at once appointed Fan Ju as Chancellor, entitling him Marquis of Ying. Zheng Anping, whom the Marquis of Ying had recommended and employed, surrendered to Zhao with his troops; the Marquis of Ying was anxious and did not know what plan to devise. Thereupon Cai Ze came west into Qin to see King Zhaoxiang, having someone spread the word beforehand to provoke and anger the Marquis of Ying. The Marquis of Ying was won over by his persuasion, and consequently recommended Cai Ze; the Marquis of Ying then pleaded illness and requested to return his chancellor's seal. Once Fan Ju was dismissed from the chancellorship, King Zhaoxiang of Qin appointed Cai Ze as Chancellor. After Cai Ze had served as Chancellor of Qin for several months, someone spoke ill of him; fearing execution, he soon also pleaded illness and returned his chancellor's seal. Zhuangzi says: 'A cicada had just found a delightful shade and forgot its own body; a praying mantis, raising its concealment, seized upon it, seeing its gain and forgetting its own form; a strange magpie came along and took advantage of it, seeing its gain and forgetting its true [peril].' Zhuang Zhou was struck with dread and said: 'Alas, things indeed bring trouble to one another!' How does this differ from the way Fan Ju and those two or three gentlemen undermined and seized from one another? Coveting what others covet, others also covet it: who can say they are certain to preserve their wealth and honour?
First 35 of 49 passages. Read on
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- 鐔津文集 — Classical Chinese