法苑珠林 82.6

82.6

I have humbly heard that the precepts are the teacher of humanity, revered by both monastic and lay. The mind is the master of karma, controlled alike by ordinary beings and sages. This is truly because the three jewels provide sustenance and all four kinds of birth are equally moistened by them. Therefore the sūtra says: 'The saddharma endures; the saddharma disappears.' Does its meaning not lie herein? Thus, taking the observance of precepts as virtue is demonstrated clearly in the great sūtras; their intrinsic goodness worthy of veneration is clarified in the great treatises. Precepts, moreover, are compared to the sun and moon, and likened to precious gems. In principle they equal fragrant ointments; in practice they are like treasuring water. Crossing the great sea, they are called a sturdy vessel; producing and growing the sprouts of goodness, they are termed level ground. For this reason, when bodhisattvas receive them, not an atom's breadth is missing; when arhats guard and uphold them, not a mustard seed's width is violated. One would rather die clutching one's thirst than drink water [containing] insects, and rather be tied up unto death without harming blades of grass. The Classic says: 'Establish yourself and practice the Way, spreading your fame to future generations; in speech and action be loyal and trustworthy, apprehensive and cautious.' How could one let loose the horse of the mind without applying bridle and reins, or gallop the ape of passion with no restraints or chains at all? If the buoyant raft is already ruined, what prospect is there for the journey ahead? If the vase of virtue is already broken, superior conditions are forever severed. Or again, one invites and gathers evil people, associating with baneful gangs, mutually inciting one another and fully committing offences and flaws. With neither remorse nor shame, neither disgrace nor modesty, day by day it grows worse, sinking and floating ever more. It is like the bitter seeds, mugwort, and wormwood whose branches and leaves are entirely bitter, or the harītakī tree throughout whose whole trunk there is no sweetness. Passing from light into darkness, there is no further time of escape. Since the number of kalpas is so vast, the pain and suffering are difficult to bear. Thereupon, the boiling cauldron gushes and seethes, its fierce vapor surging to heaven; the glowing coals blaze brightly, their crackling sounds shattering the ground. Molten copper poured into the mouth rots the belly and dissolves the liver; copper pillars pressed against the body exhaust bones and flesh alike. Tossing and turning, wailing and groaning—how can words recount it? Such sufferings indeed arise from breaking the precepts.