出三藏記集 10.60

10.60

Now, the myriad existences are rooted in continuous arising, yet that which arises is without arising. Transformation and change show their omens at the origin of things, yet that origin is without an origin. Thus, non-arising and non-origin are the nature of things. Arising and origin do not stir from this nature, yet the myriad existences are arrayed on the outside, and regret and resentment arise on the inside—is this not solely due to perverse thoughts? Because the Fully Awakened One saw how perverse thoughts spontaneously arise, the Āgamas were made for them. Because he knew that stagnation in existence stems from delusion, prajñā was brought forth to illuminate it. However, the origin that it illuminates is subtle and tranquil, and its shores and reaches are vast and boundless; its principle surpasses the outward expressions of the text, and its direction transcends the realm of discursive thought. If one seeks it through words, one goes against its profundity; if one gauges it through intellect, one loses its essential aim. Is this not the reason why practitioners of the two vehicles stumble in the tripiṭaka, and why novices expose their scales at the Dragon Gate? Therefore, Aśvaghoṣa arose in the remnant of the True Dharma, and Nāgārjuna was born at the end of the Semblance Dharma. The remnant of the True [Dharma] was easy to propagate, so he directly revitalized its lingering ethos, merely polishing and dusting it away. The end of the Semblance [Dharma] was full of complications, so he lodged his traces as an ordinary man to demonstrate awakening to beings by gradual degrees. Furthermore, he borrowed the illumination of the Dragon Palace to brighten the wisdom that searches out the abstruse, and relied on hearing hidden secrets to exhaust the subtleties of profound words. Thereupon he took the wisdom scriptures as his model and composed this explanatory commentary (śāstra). In opening a level road, he caused the chariots of the Great Vehicle to advance abreast and enter directly; in discerning the true mark, he caused the delusions of false views to return of themselves before going astray for long. As for his composition of the treatise: when formulating its opening statements, he surely marked diverse views to exhaust the beautiful; when bringing it to completion at the end, he set forth non-attachment to exhaust the good. Where the explanation was not exhaustive, he established arguments to clarify it; where the arguments were not yet settled, he relied on an equitable middle way to determine them. He caused the spiritual text to have no sections difficult to comprehend, and allowed those of a thousand years later to understand the intent of the author—it was truly the achievement of such a man! There is the Dharma master Kumārajīva, who from youth spread a reputation for intelligence and with age amassed renown for outstanding preeminence. As soon as his talent was displayed, his high standard reached across ten thousand leagues; whenever his words issued forth, his brilliant eloquence made things flourish or wither. He consistently relied on this treatise as a profound mirror, relying on its lofty aim to clarify the essential principle. In the third year of the Hongshi reign of the Qin, when the year was in the star sign Xingji, on the twentieth day of the twelfth month, he arrived in Chang'an from Guzang. The King of Qin, opening his heart, had long harbored a desire to meet him; how could it merely be an ordinary delight? Meeting and talking face to face, they lingered for whole days; delving into subtleties and reaching the utmost depths, they passed full years oblivious of fatigue. Furthermore, considering that although the efficacy of face-to-face conversation was profound, he regretted that the fruit of individual attainment was not widespread; although the essence of reaching the utmost was abstruse, he lamented that the influence of the ferry and bridge was not yet universal. Thereupon, with mutual understanding in their hearts, they jointly propagated the benefit of mutual transcendence. He thus assembled over five hundred śramaṇas of doctrinal enterprise and ministers and scholars of discernment and insight from the capital, meeting in the hall of the Xiaoyao Garden on the banks of the Wei River. The imperial carriage paused on the grand riverbank; the imperial guards rested their vigilance among the groves. [Kumārajīva] personally took up the abstruse texts, collating and rectifying the names against the Hu originals; he inquired into and mastered the essentials of the vinaya, smoothing the level road for future treaders. Once the sūtra text was established, he then produced this explanatory treatise. The abridged original of the treatise had one hundred thousand verses, with thirty-two syllables per verse, amounting to 3,200,000 words. Because the Hu and Chinese languages differ, and there are discrepancies of complexity and brevity, two-thirds were removed to yield these one hundred fascicles. In relation to the 300,000 words of the Greater Prajñā[pāramitā], the abstruse chapters and graceful aims become clearly visible; the path of return is directly reached without any lingering doubt about where to proceed; and seeking it through the text leaves nothing to be criticized. Thus the record of Tianzhu says: 'At the end of the Semblance and True [Dharma eras], had it not been for Aśvaghoṣa and Nāgārjuna, the gate of the study of the Way would have drowned, perished, and been lost.' What was the reason for this? It was truly because the two eras had not yet attained the subtle, and heterodox teachings were flourishing; false words and true teachings arose together; hazardous paths and level roads vied in advance. Beginners were influenced by them and drifted away; those aspiring to the Way were confused by them and scattered. Without these two masters, who could have rectified them? Therefore, the various states of Tianzhu erected shrines for them and revered them like Buddhas, and moreover praised and chanted of them, saying: 'The sun of wisdom had already set; this man caused it to shine again. The world had long slept in darkness; this man enlightened it and made it awake.' If so, it may truly be said that their merit reaches the ten stages (daśabhūmi) and their Way equals that of [a bodhisattva of] the final rebirth (eka-jāti-pratibaddha). How could it not be fitting to transmit and praise it? How fortunate that outside this uncouth realm, we have suddenly obtained this treatise in its entirety! The Hu text is intricate throughout, just as in the first chapter. Because the people of Qin prefer conciseness, the Dharma Master pruned and abridged it. If its text were translated in full, it would approach more than a thousand fascicles. In the Qin language, the Dharma Master grasped the general rules, but in knowing only the terminology of a single dharma, he was still separated from and not yet conversant with its unique niceties. If words are not understood by one another, feelings have no way to be harmonized; if feelings are not harmonized, one cannot entrust the conceived awakening beyond the outward text; if words are not understood, how can different paths be reconciled to a single consensus? The principle is indeed so. If one were to advance and wish to stay the brush to debate correctness, one would spend the whole day contending without ever achieving anything; if one were to retreat and wish to simplify it for convenience, one would bear the criticism of clumsily forcing an interpretation two or three times over. Thus he only translated and recorded according to the text, without providing any literary embellishment. We only hope that wise individuals of clear understanding will pass over its text and draw upon its profundity.