AI 譯稿 · AI translation英文為 AI 初譯,尚未經前賢校訂,仍在持續修訂;僅供對照參考,正文請以中文為準。This English is an AI-assisted draft — not yet reviewed by the senior teachers, and revised over time. Offered for reference alongside the Chinese, which remains authoritative.
This book is the record of a series of teachings of the very highest order. Its subject is sincere cultivation — for to cultivate the true Dao, one must first of all hold a genuine heart — and all that it sets forth is a stairway for our step-by-step advance. Hence its name: A Record of Sincere Cultivation.
The language of this book is plain and unpolished, its diction homely; it may not suit the taste of the deeply learned, or of those skilled in elegant phrasing. But the present age is different. What ordinary people speak and write is simply the plain vernacular, easy to understand; to cling to the classical style would only make these teachings harder to spread. All the more so now, in the End Times of the Third Period, when the Heavenly Way is transmitted far and wide, and the buddhas and patriarchs descend in mortal form to save the world — for this teaching, too, is suited to its time. Everything spoken here, and set down in writing, strives to be plain and clear, so that one hears it and at once knows, sees it and at once understands — gaining a double result for half the effort. It is on this principle that the recorder has written.
Yet let the reader bring a discerning eye, and study these pages with an open and humble heart. Their words lie near, but their meaning reaches far; the truth within is inexhaustible, not to be compared with any ordinary book. What is called “the Great Method of the Highest Vehicle” — what is it, if not this? Every topic here is the Director’s own teaching, delivered to the assembly in person, unfolding the true meaning of the true Dao.
Regrettably, the recorder is shallow in learning and slight in talent, and in the writing much was forgotten; inevitably, in catching one point, ten thousand slip away. My one hope is that the reader take this book as a bare outline, and through it recognize the Original Face, see through to the truth, and set out early to accrue merit and establish virtue. That alone would be enough. These few humble words are scarcely worth a glance; I can only hope the wise and discerning will forgive them.
In every age and every land, among men and women, old and young alike, we meet the reverent names and the worship of ‘the Lord on High,’ ‘the Heavenly Father,’ ‘our Lord,’ ‘the Lord of Heaven,’ and the like. Yet what, after all, do such names and such worship mean? A name, of course, is only a designation. But when we examine the reality, it is truly a single point of Truth — formless and imageless, utterly honored and utterly precious, utterly pure and utterly void, utterly centered and utterly upright. This principle has neither sound nor scent, and its emptiness is yet not emptiness. The Book of Songs says: ‘The coming of the spirits — it cannot be fathomed; how much less may one be negligent in reverence!’1 From this we may know that the Lord on High is subtle beyond all measuring, past all thought and speech. And yet the Lord gives birth to Heaven and Earth, brings all things to completion, governs the universe, and encompasses the myriad forms. This shows all the more how the utterly-nothing can give rise to the utterly-existent, and the utterly-void to the utterly-real — acting without acting, the wondrous being of true emptiness.
Put this way, it may sound very abstract, so let us look into it a step further. Scientists hold that the evolution of humankind and the forming of the world are a kind of natural principle. But this principle — who, in the end, presides over it? Surely no human could. And if no human can, then it must be some supremely high, supremely luminous divine power. Consider the sky: the sun, moon, and stars revolve in their turns, each keeping to its season and its order; spring gives way to summer, autumn to winter, cold comes and heat departs. Consider the earth: its mountains and rivers, its lakes, seas, and springs, all joined together as by a single lineage of veins. Things that fly and things that swim, things that move and things that grow, granted life or dealt death, given or taken away — were there no divine power, supremely high and great, supremely firm and yielding, presiding over it all, who else could be equal to the task?
Consider, again, how human beings come to be. We are born of our parents; our parents were born of theirs; and tracing back through great-grandfathers and high ancestors, to the very first ancestor of all — who, in the end, gave birth to that one? The scientists’ theory of evolution says that humans evolved from the great apes of remote antiquity. But if apes in ancient times could change into humans, why can today’s apes not change into humans? And if apes truly could become humans long ago, then after a few thousand more years of evolving, who knows what humans themselves will turn into? Human heredity carries in each of us an inborn nature. As the common saying has it, when a person is in the utmost difficulty, danger, or fright, he cries out ‘O Heaven!’ and ‘O Mother!’ Seen in this light, humankind is born of Heaven, and the scientific account is idle talk. Science today may be all but omnipotent, yet it does no more than borrow metals and chemical elements and fit them together into machines of every kind. But to take any precious material and try to fashion from it a living, spirit-endowed human being — that, I fear, can never be done.
We are born of Heaven, and the Lord on High is our first ancestor. Hence the common saying: we are all children of the Lord of Heaven. Scripture says: ‘born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.’2 The Patriarch of the Dao, too, once said: ‘The Limitless gives rise to the Supreme Ultimate; the Supreme Ultimate to the Two Modes; the Two Modes to the Four Emblems; the Four Emblems to the Eight Trigrams.’3 And again: ‘One gives birth to Two, Two to Three, and Three to the ten-thousand things.’4 The Confucians say: ‘The workings of High Heaven have neither sound nor scent’;5 and that man is to ‘assist the transforming and nourishing of Heaven and Earth.’6 Jesus said: ‘God is our Father in heaven.’7 All these sayings prove, beyond any doubt, that our bodily form and spiritual nature, and the making of all things, truly issue from the Lord on High. And now that we know the Lord on High has shown us grace so boundless, we must bring forth a genuine heart and hold fast to a steadfast resolve — putting a stop to heterodoxy, refusing all crooked conduct, cleansing our own body and mind, and making pure our every thought. To cherish Heaven’s tenderness and repay Heaven’s grace: this, at last, is what it means to hold right faith in the Lord on High and to resolve one’s doubts.
This topic asks each of us, personally: have you understood your own origin and your own task — and have you come to believe in them? Our body, to be sure, is begotten of a father’s seed and a mother’s blood; yet our parents can give birth only to the flesh. Only when the Lord on High bestows the spiritual nature is one reckoned a complete human being. A person’s whole life is like lodging at an inn: one stays a single night and moves on, and of all the furnishings within, not a single thing can be carried away. Steal so much as a trifle that belongs to another, and you are sure to be branded a thief.
Since we know that the spiritual nature is born of the Lord on High and comes to us from the primordial, we may also know that, when we parted from the Lord on High, we surely came bearing a task — sent forth on a divine commission. And what is that task? It is to proclaim Heaven’s transforming teaching in its stead, and to bring order to the world. Yet once fallen into this latter world, we were buried under wine, sex, wealth, and temper. Turning from awakening to embrace the dust, we strayed ever deeper into delusion — piling up measureless sins, drifting through birth and death, grievance-bonds requiting one another, and so brewing a catastrophe without precedent. High Heaven, boundless in mercy, feared above all that we should sink into the horrors of this final calamity. And so it did not begrudge the secret treasure, but sent the true Dao down into the world — that we might attain the Dao, cultivate it, complete it, and perfect it; in this present life escaping the bitterness of the last catastrophe, and after death forever enjoying the bliss of the Limitless. But since we are born of the Eternal Mother, and the Dao too descends from the Eternal Mother, then — having received grace so measureless and vast — how are we to fulfill our filial duty before the Eternal Mother? Only by tenderly heeding the Eternal Mother’s heart and spending our every strength: going out to every place to break new ground and sow the seed, establishing ourselves and thereby establishing others, bringing ourselves through and thereby bringing others through. In this way all our brethren — the ninety-six hundred million souls — may together escape the sea of suffering, together ascend the road of awakening, and together come before the Eternal Mother’s countenance. Only then may the task be counted fulfilled.
總之,凡站在個人崗位上,不做非禮犯法之事,常能行端品正,無愧於天者,可謂信任了自身。
In sum: whoever stands firm at his own post, doing nothing contrary to propriety or the law, but conducting himself always uprightly and correctly, with nothing to be ashamed of before Heaven — such a one may be said to have come to trust in his own self.
The Dao is Principle, and Principle is the road. The ten-thousand affairs and things are born of the Dao, and so each of them possesses its own principle as well: Heaven has the principle of Heaven, Earth the principle of Earth, and man the principle of his nature.
When Heaven loses its principle, the stars fall out of their courses; when Earth loses its principle, mountains crumble and rivers overflow; when man loses his principle, the bonds of human relation fall into disorder. Hence the common proverb: ‘With principle on your side you may walk the whole world over; without it you can scarcely move a single step.’ Seen in this light, the bearing of the Dao upon human life is close indeed.
Confucius said: ‘Who can go out except by the door? Why, then, will none walk by this Dao?’1 Mencius said: ‘When the world is drowning, one rescues it with the Dao.’2 And Zisi said: ‘The Dao is that from which one may not depart for so much as an instant; what may be departed from is not the Dao.’3
From all that has been proven above, we see that, so long as one lives in this world, the Dao is something one dares not depart from for even a moment. Should a man defy the Dao and forsake principle for a moment’s ease, then in this life he must suffer the sanctions of the nation’s law, and after death the torments of the Lord Yama below. And even should he slip through this present life by luck, the principle of Heaven is still manifest and unerring, not off by so much as a hair’s breadth. How, then, could he escape the judgment of the netherworld courts, or go unrequited in the life to come? It is my earnest hope that you will all take this to heart!
The preciousness of the Heavenly Way lies, first, in this: the Dao is not lightly transmitted. And second, in this: at the receiving of the Dao there must be two who introduce the seeker, serving as the masters who guide and guarantee him. Then, before the Eternal Mother, he makes a great and solemn vow, testifying that this is no heterodox byway, no heretical White Lotus sect, and still less any scheme to cheat him of his money. The vow closes with these two lines: ‘Should the one who brings a seeker in be of unclean household or of unupright conduct, may he willingly bear Heaven’s chastisement and be struck down by the five thunderbolts.’
Moreover, at the receiving of the Dao you first make the ten great vows; without them, though you held ten thousand taels of gold in your hands, you could still not obtain it. And among those ten vows, the phrase ‘to repent with a true heart’ proves further that before receiving the Dao we were, every one of us, sinners — while after receiving it, holding fast with a sincere heart and with a true heart repenting and mending our faults, one may become, in society, a wholly good person. Should one then embrace the Dao and carry it out, diligent and never resting, one may rise even to become a buddha or a patriarch. Therefore, having obtained the true Dao, we must press on. Let one only advance day by day and press on month by month, accruing merit and heaping up virtue: then in this life one will surely escape catastrophe and avoid calamity, and beyond this life transcend birth and death as well — so that one’s own forebears of seven generations and descendants of nine return together to the realm of Principle. Is this not the preciousness of the Heavenly Way?
An ancient sage said: ‘To receive the Dao is easy, but to cultivate it is hard; to cultivate the Dao is easy, but to bring it to completion is hard.’ This too bears out the meaning of our present topic. Examined closely, the reasons people do not press on after receiving the Dao are of two kinds.
First: after receiving the Dao, one does no adequate study, fails to grasp the true meaning of the Dao, and gives rise to all manner of doubts. For instance: (1) doubting that the Heavenly Way is true, and that a single pointing of the master could ever bring one to completion; (2) doubting that Heaven’s appointed hour has come, and that the Ingathering1 has any set term; (3) doubting — one’s affinity being shallow and one’s karmic grievances heavy — that the demonic trials will prove too heavy and too severe; (4) doubting whether the effort and expense laid out for merit serve any real purpose; (5) doubting the turning of Heaven’s hidden design, so remote and vague, they say, that there is nothing to rely upon. Such doubts multiply in confusion, rising layer upon layer.
Second: being clouded over by one’s own temperament, one is hindered on the road of the Dao. Thus the Buddhist teaching says: ‘The reason people of the world cannot cultivate is that there are six kinds of obstruction.’ (1) Not awakening to the truth that the six senses and the four elements2 are but a provisional joining — hence the obstruction of the bodily frame. (2) Over food and drink and the union of man and woman, giving rise to deluded craving — hence the obstruction of appetite and desire. (3) The bold and gifted exhausting their wits and strength in pursuit of worldly affairs — hence the obstruction of fame and rank. (4) The talented and lettered giving free rein to eye and ear and laboring over ornate phrasing — hence the obstruction of the written word. (5) Bound by convention and following the crowd, tied fast and unable to break free — hence the obstruction of affairs. (6) Probing the mysterious and pondering the subtle, then turning awakening back into doubt — hence the obstruction of abstract principle.
With all these veilings, the mind falls into confusion and disorder — how then can one cultivate the Dao? Trace it to its source, and the fault lies wholly in not understanding the Truth. Yet for this root-malady, those who lead the work at the fore, and those who take on the office of introducer and guarantor,3 all bear a fair share of the responsibility.
Look at the immortals, buddhas, sages, and holy ones of the past: which of them awakened by his own effort, without relying on a teacher’s helping hand? Though it is said, ‘Let the student come to learn; the teacher does not go out to instruct,’4 yet of those who came to fruition untaught, there is not one in a thousand. And so the Holy Teacher has said: ‘In the End Times of the Third Period, the great work of the Ingathering is under way. Whether each altar succeeds or fails rests entirely on whether those who carry the work give it their full strength.’
Everyone who has entered the Dao holds a Heaven-appointed duty within his own altar, and each has juniors of his own. My hope is that all of you will come to know the Truth, rouse your spirit, and go before others — as one who, having established himself, helps others to stand, and having reached through, helps others to reach through. By no means shrink from hardship for the sake of ease, misleading yourself and misleading others, and so incurring the guilt of a sinner for all the ages.
六
天道與人道有否區別
Is There a Difference Between the Heavenly Way and the Human Way?
The Heavenly Way and the human way are, at root, no different; a distinction arises only because people’s vision reaches far or near, and their scope runs great or small. Speaking of the human way: to be filial to one’s parents, brotherly to one’s siblings, faithful to one’s friends, and respectful to one’s teachers and elders — only then can one be said to have fulfilled it. But people’s circumstances and fortunes are seldom alike. If one has a strict and clear-sighted father, a loving elder brother, a faithful and dutiful friend, and a teacher of upright character, then aims align and the Way is shared: each fulfills his part, and all delight in the great Way of human relations. But suppose it is otherwise — the father a Gusou, the brother a Guan or a Cai, the friend a Sun or a Pang, the teacher a Shen Bao1. How then could one fail to weigh the greater against the lesser, or fail to tell right from wrong, tending instead the petty self of the moment, only to leave behind a foul name for ten thousand ages? All the more so today, when we ourselves meet the extraordinary opportunity of these sixty thousand years. If one lacks far-reaching aspiration and seeks only to keep every human sentiment smooth, then when Heaven’s appointed hour arrives and the fruits are fixed according to merit, those who have nursed only their lesser self — their names fallen from the list, like Sun Shan’s2 — will they not repent beyond all remedy?
Let the anecdotes of the ancient sages bear this out. Emperor Shun married without informing his parents; the Duke of Zhou put one brother to death and campaigned against another; Patriarch Qiu cut off a romantic attachment; Ma Danyang and his wife divided the meditation cushion and each set off in a separate direction3 — all cases of not prizing the small niceties, but nurturing the great integrity. In your own cultivation, each of you meets different circumstances. At this hair’s-breadth moment, this juncture between rising and falling, you must above all see your goal clearly, and never, for the small niceties of human feeling, ruin the great work of ten thousand generations. Take Śākyamuni Buddha again: at nineteen he left the household life and forsook his parents. Judged by the surface, this seems unfilial; yet in the end he became the founder of the Buddhist teaching, made his name renowned, and thereby brought honor to his parents, so that together they returned to the heavenly realm. So too the Ancient Buddha of the Southern Sea4, who cultivated against her parents’ wishes and later realized buddhahood as the Thousand-Hand, Thousand-Eye Buddha; her parents shared in the glory, and her ancestors ascended along with her. Seen in this light, among the ancient sages and worthies not one ever realized the fruit and transcended birth and death while keeping wife and friends and children about him — the whole household gathered together, never breaking free of the cangue of passion, the lock of love, and the coils of affection.
In antiquity Gun labored at the floods without success, and Shun put him to death at Mount Yu. Yet Yu did not avenge his father; he carried on his father’s purpose instead and completed the taming of the floods — though he was abroad eight years, and passed his own door three times without once entering — and in the end became one of the Three Great Officials.5 There is also the time when Jesus was teaching the multitude, and his mother came with his brothers and sisters, seeking him and wishing to speak with him. Someone told Jesus, and he answered: ‘Who is my mother? And who are my brothers?’ Then, pointing to those who were listening, he said: ‘Behold — whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother, and sister, and mother.’6 And Jesus in the end became the Lord of the Christian faith.
All these bygone sages, having cultivated to the true fruit — could their parents and ancestors then fail to be raised to new life? Thus an old saying goes: ‘To be careful in the mourning of parents and to keep faith with the distant ancestors — this is true filiality; to serve the living according to ritual — this is to accord with one’s parents. But if one takes mere provision for one’s parents to be the whole of filial duty, then once they have died and lie in torment below, how is the child to share in their deliverance?’7 And the Classic of Filial Piety says: ‘Our body, our hair and skin, we receive from our parents; not to dare to injure them is the beginning of filiality. To establish oneself and walk in the Way, making one’s name renowned in ages to come and so bringing honor to one’s parents — this is the fulfillment of filiality.’8
From this we may know that the Heavenly Way and the human way are bound together: some, by fulfilling the human way, come into accord with the Heavenly Way; others, by cultivating the Heavenly Way, quietly accord with the human way. In sum, for the Heavenly Way and the human way alike, what accords with principle is right, and what runs against principle is wrong.
七
何謂行功立德
What It Means to Accrue Merit and Establish Virtue
‘To carry out’ means to put into practice; ‘merit’ means efficacious work; ‘to establish’ means to set firmly in place; ‘virtue’ means excellence of character. Only when one truly puts efficacious work into practice can excellence of character be firmly established. In short, to spare no toil or hardship in seeking life and welfare for society and for the community of people — this is what is called ‘accruing merit,’ and its fruit is precisely the establishing of virtue.
按行功來說,有內外兩功:
As for accruing merit, there are two kinds of work: the inner and the outer.
(一)內功:是自己正心修身,克己復禮,一言一行,不敢有一毫人欲之私。
(1) Inner work: this is to rectify one’s own heart and cultivate one’s person, to master the self and return to ritual propriety, so that in every word and every deed one dares not harbor even a hair’s breadth of selfish desire.
(二)外功:是開荒下種,設立法船,不惜精神物力,犧牲一切,屈己從人,為道設想。
(2) Outer work: this is to open new ground and sow the seed, to launch the ship of the Dharma — sparing neither spirit nor means, sacrificing everything, bending oneself to accommodate others, and taking thought for the Dao.
Without inner work, the wellspring is not pure; without outer work, one’s virtuous conduct is not complete. Thus the Śrīmālā Sūtra says: ‘When evil is exhausted, we speak of merit; when goodness is full, we call it virtue.’1 And the Sixth Patriarch says: ‘Inward humility of heart is merit; outward conduct according to ritual is virtue’; ‘For the self-nature to bring forth all things is merit; for the substance of the mind to be free of clinging thought is virtue’; ‘Not to depart from the self-nature is merit; to act without defilement is virtue’; ‘To see one’s nature is merit; impartial equality is virtue.’2 By ‘impartial equality’ is meant that all the living beings of the universe return to a single body, with no distinction among them.
The Buddhist precepts say: ‘Let every word be measured — in such speech there is merit.’ Seen in this light, whether our speech, our conduct, and our thoughts run crooked or straight is a matter of the utmost consequence. The Buddhist precepts also say: ‘Keep clear and pure, and let no dullness cloud you; guard your thoughts as you would guard a city against its fall. Stay bright and awake, and let no disorder scatter you; keep watch over the mind more strictly than over the body.’ As the proverb has it: ‘Guard your thoughts as you guard against a plague.’ From this we may know that accruing merit and establishing virtue lie in advancing the outer work — and still more in the inner work of watchfulness when alone.
八
何謂尊師重道
What It Means to Honor the Teacher and Revere the Dao
In the End Times of the Third Period, the true Dao has descended into the world. Whoever receives the single pointing of the enlightened master1 may, for himself, escape the great catastrophe and be spared calamity, and so transcend birth and death; and even his ancestors of seven generations and his descendants of nine may climb the ladder to Heaven together with him and reach the realm of Ultimate Bliss. From this one may know how broad, how great, is the grace and virtue we receive from the master. And since we have received the master’s virtue, how are we to repay it? By honoring our teacher, as is only right.
Yet the true meaning of honoring the teacher does not lie merely in outward offerings and outward respect. It asks something more — ‘to embody the teacher’s heart, to honor the teacher’s instruction, to model the teacher’s conduct, to carry on the teacher’s aspiration, to walk the teacher’s Way, to fulfill the teacher’s vows, and to revere the teacher’s intent’ — until heart is sealed to heart, and, as if by unspoken accord, deed answers to deed. Only this is truly to honor the teacher.
The Analects says: ‘When there is work to be done, the disciple takes on the toil; when there is wine and food, the elder is served first.’2 This too sets forth the meaning of honoring the teacher. So it was when the seventy-two disciples honored Confucius, and when Wan Zhang and the rest honored Mencius: though each did so in his own way, all arrived by different roads at the same end, every one of them sealing mind to mind and putting into practice the true honoring of the teacher.
And what is it to revere the Dao? It is to hold the Dao foremost in all things: to bend oneself to follow others, and to bring the Dao to fulfillment wherever it is seen, rather than ever serve one’s own private gain or, in hardship and want, let one’s integrity fail. Therefore whoever holds the Dao in reverence will surely ‘guard the good Way even unto death,’3 never failing in the great points of conduct — ‘in moments of haste cleaving to it, in times of upheaval cleaving to it.’4 The ancient sages said: ‘The gentleman seeks the Dao and does not seek his food; he sorrows over the Dao and does not sorrow over poverty.’5 And again: ‘To take benevolence as one’s own burden — is it not heavy? To lay it down only in death — is it not a long road?’6 All this proves how precious the Dao is, never to be lightly regarded.
Yet honoring the teacher and revering the Dao cannot be parted. Because the Dao is transmitted through the teacher, one cannot but honor the teacher; and because the teacher’s whole purpose is to transmit the Dao, the Dao cannot but be revered. Lean too far toward honoring the teacher, and one falls into clinging to outward forms, until it turns into mere human sentiment; lean too far toward revering the Dao, and one falls into a barren emptiness, until it turns into hollow feeling. And so honoring the teacher and revering the Dao are bound together — truly one yet two, two yet one, no more than two faces of a single body. Let everyone ponder this and awaken to it!
That people of the world cannot ‘commit no evil and practice every good’1 comes about entirely because they do not understand the principle of cause and effect and its retribution.
孔子云:「善不積,不足以揚名;惡不積,不足以滅身。」
Confucius said: ‘Unless good is heaped up, it is not enough to win a name; unless evil is heaped up, it is not enough to ruin the self.’2
關聖云:「善惡兩途,福禍攸分。」
Lord Guan said: ‘Good and evil are two roads, and upon them blessing and calamity divide.’3
老君曰:「種瓜得瓜,種豆得豆。種不失時,十年根生蒂結。是瓜是豆,依然得還。」
Lord Lao said: ‘Plant melons and you get melons; plant beans and you get beans. Sow without missing the season, and in ten years the roots strike and the fruit sets. Be it melon or bean, each comes back to you all the same.’4
感應篇云:「禍福無門,惟人自召。善惡之報,如影隨形。」
The Treatise on Action and Response says: ‘Calamity and blessing have no gate of their own; it is a man himself who summons them. The recompense of good and evil follows him as the shadow follows the shape.’5
因果經云:「欲知前世因,今生受者身;欲知來世果,今生作者心。」
The Sutra of Cause and Effect says: ‘Would you know the cause of your former life? — it is what your body now bears in this one. Would you know the fruit of your life to come? — it is what your heart now does in this one.’6
地藏經云:「作善作惡,從來絲毫不爽。降禍降福,賞罰自古無差。」
The Kṣitigarbha Sutra says: ‘For deeds of good and deeds of evil there has never been the slightest miscount; in the sending down of calamity or of blessing, reward and punishment have from of old never erred.’7
燃燈佛云:「一毫之善,與人方便;一毫之惡,勸人莫作。」「衣食隨緣,自然快樂。饒人是福,欺人是禍。」
Dīpaṃkara Buddha said: ‘With even a hair’s-breadth of good, ease the way for others; against even a hair’s-breadth of evil, urge others not to do it.’ And: ‘Let food and clothing follow their given lot, and gladness comes of itself. To pardon others is a blessing; to cheat them is a calamity.’8
孟子曰:「天作孽,猶可違;自作孽,不可活。」
Mencius said: ‘When Heaven sends down calamity, it may still be evaded; but calamity of one’s own making leaves no room to live on.’9
易云:「積善之家,必有餘慶;積不善之家,必有餘殃。」
The Book of Changes says: ‘The house that heaps up goodness is sure to have blessings to spare; the house that heaps up evil is sure to have woes to spare.’10
書云:「作善降之百祥;作不善降之百殃。」
The Book of Documents says: ‘On the doer of good, Heaven sends down a hundred blessings; on the doer of evil, a hundred woes.’11
The sayings of the ancient sages and worthies cited above all prove that what one sows, one reaps: cause and effect and its retribution are absolutely without error. Take the present world as well. Show kindness to others, and they are sure to be grateful to you; abuse and oppress others, and they are sure to hold you in bitter resentment. Consider the greedy officials and corrupt clerks of the past, who strutted upon the stage of the world calling themselves able and strong, flaunting their might and leaning on their power to trample the orphaned and the widowed. Once their measure of evil was full, they collapsed like crumbling earth and shattering tile — and did not the dead among them die, and the caged end in cages? And the local despots and vicious gentry who once played the fox borrowing the tiger’s terror, lording it for a season — are they not now scattered and fleeing this way and that, with no home to return to? Seen in this light, cause and effect and its retribution are the rightful principle of Heaven’s own working; it is only a matter of coming early or coming late.
故諺云:「善因善報,惡因惡報。如若不報,時辰未到。」可知前因後果,是絲毫不差的。
Hence the proverb: ‘A good cause, a good requital; an evil cause, an evil requital. If the requital has not yet come, it is only that the hour has not yet arrived.’ From this one may know that cause before and effect after are not off by the slightest measure.
十
冤欠之由來與解消
The Origin of Karmic Debts and How to Dissolve Them
Whenever, without the other’s consent, one profits at his expense — scheming in secret, harming others for one’s own gain, leaving someone to suffer a wrong unredressed — this is called a grievance (冤). And whenever, even with the other’s consent, as in a long-standing loan, one turns cold to the kindness and defaults on what is right, falling short and leaving the debt unpaid — this is called a debt (欠). Grievances and debts are something everyone has. Trace them to their source, and most are incurred through not understanding cause and effect and its retribution; and so, unredeemed, they pile up day upon day, year upon year, age upon age, growing heavier all the while.
For a person is born endowed with the upright qi of Heaven and Earth. Heaven covers him and Earth sustains him; the sun and moon give him light, the rain and dew their nourishment, the five grains and water and fire their sustenance — and only so can he lodge for a while as a guest in the world. Having received such lavish grace from Heaven and Earth, ought he not to practice benevolence and righteousness, to walk the upright Way of Heaven and Earth, and so repay Heaven’s grace? Sadly, the people of the world are blind to this. Not only do they fail to repay Heaven’s grace; there are even those who, wholly without restraint, resent Heaven and cheat their fellows — and can such a one be said to owe no debt to Heaven’s grace? Or consider the grace of one’s parents, who bore and reared us through all their toil — a grace a whole lifetime can scarcely repay. To fall short in filial duty: is this not, once again, to owe a debt to the grace of one’s parents? And so with all the rest — a spouse stinting in kindness, children wanting in love, friends failing in trust, master and disciple severing what is right — all alike are origins of debt.
As for grievances: our craving for the pleasures of the palate, our wanton slaughter of living creatures, even the ants we tread to death unawares and the insects we harm — every one of these is an origin of grievance. Worse still are the ignorant who, blind to their own true nature, commit every kind of wickedness — theft and lechery, killing and arson, secret scheming and plotting, offending Heaven and violating right principle. Do they not know that every person has a nature and every creature a soul, and that those who have been wronged and left owed will never fail to come and collect their due? And how much more so now, in the final catastrophe of the Third Period — the very day appointed for the settling of accounts. If we who cultivate the Dao do not repay, one by one, the grievances and debts heaped up across sixty thousand years, how can we ever return to the Heaven of Principle?
Look at the human world: no official holds office while still charged with a crime; and in the Heaven of Principle, all the more, no immortal or buddha ascends while still bearing such a charge. We cultivate the Dao in order to transcend birth and death; and to be done with birth and death, we must repay our grievances and debts in full. But how are they to be repaid? By earnestly imploring the mercy of High Heaven — asking, on the one hand, that it shelter us, taking our grievances and debts upon itself for a time; and on the other, that we ourselves swiftly accrue merit, so that hereafter we may help to deliver those we have wronged, offsetting the debt with merit. Will not the grievances and debts then dissolve of themselves?
十一
為何齋戒及齋戒之利益
Why Keep the Vegetarian Precepts, and Their Benefits
Since we cultivate the Heavenly Way, we must embody the heart of Heaven. Heaven has the virtue of cherishing life, and takes benevolence and compassion as its root; we who cultivate the Dao ought likewise to take benevolence and compassion as our root, and hasten to keep a pure mouth and eat only vegetarian fare. Thus Patriarch Lü said: ‘My flesh is the flesh of all living beings; the forms differ, but the principle is one. Do not wait for Lord Yama to pass sentence — ask your own heart what ought to be done.’1 From this we may know that the immortals and buddhas, the sages and realized ones of ages past, and the sages of the Three Teachings all kept a pure mouth and a vegetarian diet, and so, little by little, came to their attainment. The Dao has its Three Purities and Five Phases, and Buddhism its Three Refuges and Five Precepts — all plainly shown and clearly spoken, ringing clear in the ear. Here is proof beyond any doubt that the keeping of the vegetarian precepts in Buddhism and the Dao is no mistaken thing.
But was not Confucius himself, the venerable Master of the Confucian school, one who kept a pure mouth and a vegetarian diet? In his day, to be sure, Confucius was a man without power or position, and to avoid the ridicule of others he kept his conduct upright but his words deferential,2 holding all within and never putting it on display. Consider what is recorded in the ‘Xiang Dang’ chapter: ‘Wine bought in the market and dried meat from the shop, he would not eat. Food gone off in color, he would not eat; ill-smelling, he would not eat; badly cooked, he would not eat; out of season, he would not eat; cut awry, he would not eat; lacking its proper sauce, he would not eat; and he never went without ginger at his meals.’3 So too, when Ji Kangzi feasted him, he ate no meat; and Confucius observed abstinence three times a month — three days of intensive purification and seven of ordinary purification. Again, ‘the things about which the Master was most careful were purificatory abstinence, war, and sickness.’4 All of this proves, beyond any doubt, that Confucius kept the vegetarian precepts.
Mencius said: ‘Having seen them alive, he cannot bear to see them die; having heard their cries, he cannot bear to eat their flesh. Therefore the noble man keeps his distance from the kitchen.’5 And again: ‘Let the raising of fowls and pigs, dogs and swine not be neglected in their season, and those who are seventy may eat meat.’6 But by the age of seventy a person’s vital energies are already in decline; the stomach and bowels digest poorly, and with teeth loosened or fallen he can no longer chew — how, then, is he to eat meat? And even for one still hale and strong, the eating of meat is never truly fitting. Moreover, as the common saying has it, ‘Since olden times, few have reached seventy.’7 All the more does this show that one who has come to seventy is already near death — will he even live to eat that meat? From this we may know that Mencius not only kept the vegetarian precepts himself, but urged everyone else to keep them too.
For the five pungent roots, the three forbidden creatures, and such things as tobacco and wine are all substances that cloud the nature. The five pungent roots — scallion, garlic-chives, shallot, garlic, and asafoetida — are engendered by the errant, disordered vapors of Heaven and Earth, and readily harm the vital energy of the five organs. The three forbidden creatures — Heaven’s forbidden, the winged fowl; Earth’s forbidden, the running beasts; and the Water’s forbidden, the creatures of the deep — are all creatures that move crosswise through the world, each brought forth by the vapor of a single quarter. To eat them readily harms the Three Treasures and one’s original spirit, and secretly diminishes one’s hidden virtue besides. Tobacco and wine, too, drain away the vital energy and the spirit; all of these we ought to renounce. For our cultivation of the Dao is a casting-off of the turbid and a keeping of the clear, a refining of the yin and a replenishing of the yang. If we give free rein to our appetites and covet the pleasures of the palate, how can our cultivation ever come to fruition?
Take the very making of the End Times of the Third Period — is it not the accumulation of age upon age, of humans and beasts devouring one another by turns? Look at the old poem: ‘A thousand years and more, the broth within the bowl — its grievance deep as the sea, its rancor never stilled. Would you know the calamity of sword and spear that afflicts the world? Only listen, at midnight, to the cries from the butcher’s gate.’8 How plainly it speaks! And all living beings possess the buddha-nature. Because in former lives they were deluded and heaped up sin and evil, in this life they have turned into beasts to bear the recompense, suffering only that they may work off their guilt. Yet now we butcher and slay them. We split their bellies and open their entrails; we cut and chop and slice and scrape; we boil and fry and sear and stew — all to please our mouths and fill our bellies, to make our skin fair and our bodies fat. Where, I ask, is the principle of Heaven in this? Where is conscience? And so the Buddhist precepts say: ‘To lean on my own strength and trample the weak — surely this is against all reason. To eat another’s flesh to nourish my own body — how then can the conscience rest at ease?’
This being so, how are we to redeem the sins we have piled up through birth after birth, generation after generation? Chiefly, by keeping a pure mouth and a vegetarian diet. For now, in the End Times of the Third Period, High Heaven has opened wide its compassion: for anyone who sets his will upon a pure diet, Heaven will take up his former debts and accumulated karma and hold them in abeyance, waiting for him to accrue merit and establish virtue, and so work them off. Otherwise he wipes out debt with one hand while heaping it up with the other, to no avail, and in the end will never succeed. Now, as the three disasters and eight afflictions press upon us again and again, whoever keeps a vegetarian diet over the long term keeps his body pure; the immortals and buddhas can then readily shield and protect him, so that he does not fall into the calamities of the age. Moreover, in the End Times of the Third Period the great work of the final ingathering is under way, and the immortals and buddhas of all the heavens lend their aid to the Dao. If your spiritual body is pure, the immortals and buddhas can readily make use of it, and will surely work merit through you — and there will yet come a time of communion of spirits.
My hope is that you will see this clearly, and soon — that you will put it into practice in your own person, and strive with all your strength to bring your juniors and your households to completion, leading those who have not yet vowed to a pure diet to take it up, and those who have not yet made their vows to make them. Truly, in this Third Period, cultivation has a share for everyone: the man cultivates and the man gains, the woman cultivates and the woman gains, and whoever does not cultivate gains nothing. But my deepest longing, for each of you, is this: that you may all pass safely through the final catastrophe, that your spiritual nature may return to its root, and that at the Grand Assembly of the Three Primes the divine and the human may rejoice together and the whole family be reunited. That would be well indeed!
Among all the things of this world, wherever there is a true there must be a false, and wherever there is a false there must be a true — for this is the principle of complementary opposites. Without the true, the false does not appear; without the false, neither does the true. In answer to this question, you all say: ‘The Dao is true, the Principle is true, the Heavenly Mandate is true, the spiritual nature is true.’ Quite right — every principle that is without form and without image is true! And you also say: ‘The thirty-six deviant paths, the seventy-two heterodox gates’ — that one’s own physical body, and all that has form and image, breath and color, is false. What you say is entirely right, and very well put!
Before long, however, a myriad sects arise all at once. The thirty-six and the seventy-two all claim to act in compliance with Heaven and to carry out its destiny, to conduct the universal deliverance and the final ingathering; and their magical arts are startling, manifesting wonders of every kind. By then the true and the false are so intermingled that they are truly hard to tell apart. When we come to this juncture, we must bring forth a surpassing wisdom to put them to the test: Is the lineage of their Dao orthodox? Is their doctrine true? Is their Heavenly Mandate true? In all that they contrive and do, in all their stress upon outward forms, we ought to discern the matter thoroughly and clearly. Only with sure footing may we proceed; otherwise the danger is very great.
You all say that the spiritual nature is true and the physical body false. In these years of the final catastrophe, having met with the true Dao, you seek not the ease and comfort of the body but only the release of the spiritual nature from suffering — and this, to be sure, is right. But how is your spiritual nature to be released from suffering? It turns on whether a single thought is true or false. If the thought is true, then all is true, and even what is false can be made true; if the thought is false, then all is false, and even what is true is turned to falsehood. The dividing line between true and false lies in the very first stirring of a single thought. And so the true and the false within the heart must all the more be discerned thoroughly and clearly.
The two words ‘demonic trials’ name a road that we who cultivate the Dao must all pass along. Hence the saying: ‘One who cultivates the Dao yet knows nothing of trials is not worth talking with.’ And again: ‘Where there is the Dao, there is surely the demon; the Dao and the demon follow each other as shadow follows form.’ Whoever would perfect the Dao must be forged and tempered in the very midst of the demonic trials. And so the Daoists say, ‘Without refining, nothing true is made’; the Confucians say, ‘Without testing, no one becomes a sage’; the Buddhists say, ‘Without grinding and refining, no one becomes a buddha.’ As the proverb has it: ‘Jade uncarved is made into no vessel; gold unrefined is worth nothing.’
凡吾修道者,經過魔考,要知正是 上天造就吾們。茲將魔考真意,分列數項,望眾參之。
Whenever we who cultivate the Dao pass through the demonic trials, we must understand that this is precisely Heaven’s way of making us. Let me now set out the true meaning of the demonic trials under several heads, for you all to ponder.
(1) To sort the true from the false. The appointed time of Heaven has come, and the final ingathering draws near.1 Yet among those who cultivate the Dao, the good and the worthless are still mingled together, and the true is hard to tell from the false. There are even those who indulge human feeling and defy the principle of Heaven — who recklessly call black white, who stir up trouble out of nothing, who serve their private ends under public pretexts, dark and treacherous in nature, working every kind of deed that wounds Heaven and harms what is right. By this they cause the truly cultivated to suffer wrongs they never earned. And so Heaven sends down the trials of the demon, to pick out the pure and the choice and winnow away the unworthy; then the true and the false stand judged apart. Those who cultivate with a genuine heart, being now without flaw, are fit to take up the work of the final ingathering of the Third Period.
(2) To dissolve karmic debts. Through all our past lives, birth after birth and death after death, the debts of grievance and wrong we have piled up over sixty thousand years stand like mountains and seas. In this life we have been granted the seeking of the Heavenly Way — but how should the karmic debts of lifetime upon lifetime simply let us go? And so August Heaven, in its boundless compassion, sends down the trials of the demon: cutting and grinding, carving and polishing us, to reveal our true resolve and settle our ancient faults. Every trial we pass through settles one measure of karmic debt; little by little the heavy weight of wrong grows light, and what was dead is brought back to life. The sages and worthies, the immortals and buddhas of every age past, were each one of them forged and tempered in the trials of the demon.
(3) To transform the temperamental nature. Because a person, once fallen into the acquired world, is molded differently in disposition and endowment, there arise natures of ten thousand kinds, none of them even, and none of them in keeping with the Mean. So it is that those who cultivate the Dao can seldom avoid holding themselves right and others wrong — haughty and grasping at the far-off, flighty and vain and rash, careless and inattentive, acting without understanding why and practicing from habit without examining it.2 Yet let a person weather a few demonic trials and strike his head against a few nails, and of himself he will turn his heart and change his mind, repent and mend his faults, transforming the temperamental nature and returning to the nature given by Heaven.
(4) To fix one’s rank. The nine grades of the lotus throne3 are assigned according to merit. As the saying goes, the true Dao and true trials reveal the true heart — and this is decided wholly in the midst of hardship and adversity. Heaven sends the trial, and man is put to the proof: it is your aspiration, your insight, your learning, and your attainment that determine whether you rise or fall.
So it was that Confucius, cut off from grain between Chen and Cai for seven days,4 his followers all fallen sick, only expounded and recited the more fervently, his lute and his singing never ceasing. He called Zilu before him and asked: ‘The Book of Songs says, “Neither wild oxen nor tigers, yet they are driven through that wilderness.”5 Is my Way wrong? Why have we come to this?’ Zilu, his face darkening with resentment, replied: ‘I had thought a gentleman meets with no such straits. Can it be that the Master is not yet wholly benevolent, so that men will not trust us? Can it be that the Master is not yet wholly wise, so that men will not let our Way go forward? Besides, Master, I once heard you say: “Do good, and Heaven rewards you with blessing; do ill, and Heaven repays you with disaster.” Now you, Master, have heaped up virtue and cherished what is right, and have practiced it long — how is it, then, that you dwell in such want?’ Confucius said: ‘Zilu, you have not yet grasped it! Let me tell you. If the benevolent must always be trusted, then Bo Yi and Shu Qi would not have starved on Mount Shouyang; if the wise must always be employed, then Prince Bi Gan would not have had his heart cut out; if the loyal must always be requited, then Guan Longfeng would not have been put to death; if the remonstrator must always be heeded, then Wu Zixu would not have been slain.6 Whether a man meets his time is a matter of the hour; whether he is worthy or unworthy is a matter of his gifts. Gentlemen of broad learning and deep counsel who yet do not meet their time are many — how should I, Qiu, be the only one? The iris and the orchid grow in the deep wood, and do not withhold their fragrance because no one is near; the gentleman cultivates the Dao and establishes virtue, and does not change his measure for poverty and want. To act rightly is a matter for man; whether one lives or dies is a matter of fate. Thus the ambition for mastery in Chong’er of Jin was born of his hardships in Cao and Wei, and the ambition for mastery in King Goujian of Yue was born at Kuaiji. A man set low who feels no care thinks nothing far; a man always at ease in himself has no breadth of resolve. Who, then, can know a man’s beginning and his end?’
Zilu went out, and Zigong was called in, and Confucius put to him what he had put to Zilu. Zigong said: ‘The Master’s Way is supremely great — that is why the world cannot contain it. Might the Master not bring it down a little?’ Confucius said: ‘Zigong! A good farmer can sow, yet cannot be sure of the harvest; a skilled craftsman can work with cunning, yet cannot make his work suit every eye. The gentleman can cultivate his Way, and order and shape it, but he cannot be sure the world will accept it. And now you would leave off cultivating your Way, and seek only to be accepted. Zigong! Your resolve is not broad, and your thought does not reach far!’
Zigong went out, and Yan Hui came in, and the same question was put to him. Yan Hui said: ‘The Master’s Way is supremely great, and so the world cannot contain it. Yet even so, the Master presses it forward and puts it into practice. That the age has no use for us — this is the disgrace of those who hold the states; what fault is it of the Master’s? It is only when one is not accepted that the gentleman is revealed!’ Confucius sighed with delight: ‘The Way is in him indeed, this son of the house of Yan! Were you a man of great talent, I would gladly be your steward.’7
From the differences in what each of these disciples said, we may know that their attainments and achievements were bound to differ as well. In the end Confucius became the Supreme Sage, and Yan Hui the Sage of Return; Zigong became one of the Ten Wise Disciples, and Zilu a Great Worthy.8 This too may be taken as a guide to how rank is fixed within the demonic trials. In sum: since we cultivate the true Dao, we must undergo the demonic trials — that is a settled principle. In the section that follows, I will set out the several kinds of demonic trials, for you all to turn over and ponder.
(1) Inner trials. Under this head fall afflictions such as festering sores and lingering sickness that will not be shaken off, wounds from insects and bites from dogs, falls and blows and sudden frights, the disasters of flood and fire, and the ravages of thieves and bandits — all of them, great and small alike, arising from cause and effect. To have them dissolved, the way is to ‘move them by sincerity.’ For virtue can move Heaven, and sincerity can stir the divine; you need only hold fast to a genuine heart and put your trust in the Lord on High. As it is said, ‘August Heaven has no kin; it succors only the virtuous’1 — and then, all unseen, the hidden spring turns of itself, and the affliction is dissolved away.
(2) Outer trials. These are such things as slander from kin and friends, ridicule from neighbors, threats from the village wardens, rejection by the authorities, and interference by armed force. The way to meet them is to answer with faith grounded in principle. Once you have understood the Truth, you will hold the world’s desires lightly, knowing that life and death rest with destiny — so where is the cause for fear? Thus when Master Cheng cultivated the Dao, the men of his day branded it a false Way and called its followers a faction; they denounced them at court and carved their names in stone, until in all the vast earth there was scarcely a place to set one’s foot. When Master Zhu pursued his learning, the men of that day branded it absurd and called it sorcery: to believe in it was to break the law, to shun it was no crime, to defame it was counted a merit, and to attack it won a reward. His own person was stripped of office and cut off from his salary, and his disciples were banished to labor on the frontier. Master Wang Yangming put down rebellion and disorder, yet his merit went unrewarded; he lodged in a mountain monastery discoursing on Chan, as though he knew nothing of the whole affair. Cai Yuanding and his son, for their faith in Master Zhu’s learning, were sentenced to penal exile and conscription; yet, shrinking from no hardship or peril, they lodged at the post-stations and there transmitted the Dao. In every case these men clearly discerned the Truth and held the world lightly, and so they feared no trial or demon whatsoever.2
(3) Temper trials. These come when a kindness is repaid with enmity, when you are made to bear an injustice you never earned, so that anger fills your breast and the fire of your nature flares up. Should you meet with such a trial, you must answer it with a broad and forbearing heart: he means to make you angry, and you, contrary to his design, are simply not angry. The Patriarch once said: ‘If a man strikes this old fool, the old fool falls straight down; if a man curses this old fool, the old fool only laughs and laughs. Should he spit upon my face, I let it dry of itself; so I am spared the exertion, and he is spared his vexation.’3 And Jesus said: ‘If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other to him as well; if anyone would take your inner garment, let him have your cloak too; and whoever forces you to go one mile, go with him two.’4 We should therefore take the words of the Patriarch and of Jesus for our model, and put them into practice.
(4) Extraordinary trials. The ruin of one’s house and fortune, the parting of husband and wife, the death of one’s children — all belong to the extraordinary trials. We who cultivate the Dao, if we fail to recognize this trial for what it is, easily fall away. How, then, are we to meet it? By ‘holding to principle and accepting our lot.’ Know that houses and lands, fields and estates, all belong to the false, and that husband and wife, sons and daughters, must in the end be parted. As the old poem says: ‘Heaven is empty, earth is empty, and the life of man a dim, uncertain thing between them. The sun is empty, the moon is empty; they rise in the east and set in the west — for whose sake do they toil? Gold is empty, silver is empty; once we are dead, what of it was ever in our hands? The field is empty, the land is empty; how many masters has it passed between? Wife is empty, child is empty; on the road to the Yellow Springs we shall not meet.’5 And so the gains and losses, the flourishing and the withering of a man’s whole life are all fixed by his destiny: they can be neither forced nor declined. Know this, and there is no such thing as a trial at all!
(5) Favorable trials. These may be spoken of on two sides, the mundane and the sacred. On the mundane side: the love of wife and child that cannot be pushed aside or broken through; and the sounds and sights, the goods and gains of the world — for as you follow their tune and give rein to desire, they lead you astray and leave you no way back. On the sacred side: the praise of your elders and the assent of your juniors, which puff you up into pride and license, until you strut with your chin held high and, all unaware, let the heart-of-the-Dao slip away. Should you meet with this trial, you must awaken swiftly and rouse yourself — ‘receive the favorable as though it were adverse.’ On the mundane side, halt at the brink of the abyss and rein in your horse at the cliff’s edge; know that the road ahead is to be feared, and embrace the Dao and cultivate without delay. On the sacred side, turn inward and question yourself: this praise and flattery you have received — is there not cause for shame in it? Then, of itself, the favorable trial will be dissolved.
(6) Adverse trials. These too may be spoken of on the two sides, the sacred and the mundane. On the mundane side: parents, wife, and children who bear you resentment; hard circumstances; want of food and clothing; the loss of heart and the turning of fortune; body and mind sunk in melancholy. On the sacred side: elders without warmth for you, and juniors who look down on you, so that you grow disheartened and dispirited, not knowing where to turn. When you meet with this trial-ground, you must ‘receive the adverse as though it were favorable.’ On the mundane side, keep to your station and accept your lot, holding fast to the heart-of-the-Dao; know that jade, though shattered, does not lose its whiteness, and bamboo, though burned, does not lose its jointed integrity. On the sacred side, cultivate the Dao of non-action and perform the merit of non-action, taking the repayment of grace and the fulfilling of vows as your first aim; at every turn seek the fault within yourself, and in receiving from those above and handing on to those below, feel always that there is somewhere you have fallen short.
(7) Reversal trials. In the End Times of the Third Period, the cultivation of the true Dao is meant, from the first, for release from birth-and-death and the severing of cause-and-effect. It is only because cultivators differ from one another in their root-foundation, their karmic affinities, and their grievance-debts, that the demonic trials they meet differ as well. One man is poor first and rich after, and grows so pleased with himself that he casts off every thought of the Dao; another is rich first and poor after, and sinks into gloom and grumbling, full of complaint, his resolve in retreat. Should you meet with this trial, you must ‘act according to your station,’6 holding fast to a true resolve — unforgotten in thought after thought, present at every hour: in moments of haste cleaving to it, in times of stumbling and peril cleaving to it still.7
(8) Trials of the Way. These are of two kinds, inner and outer. The inner trials arise among our own fellows in the Dao. In their lesser form, speech and conduct grow heedless of one another, benevolence is transgressed and righteousness lost, and resentment and friction spring up between them; in their graver form, the heart breeds treachery, branches and factions split off, and men contend for the domain of the Dao and grasp after the Heavenly Mandate. The outer trials are the thirty-six heterodox ways and the seventy-two side-doors, with all their arts and conjurings — nothing so strange but it is found among them — dazzling your eyes and confounding your spirit, so that true and false are hard to tell apart. With the least greed or delusion, you may find yourself boarding the boat to look for the boat, or riding the donkey to search for the donkey. Should you meet with this trial, you must be without greed and without delusion. Thus the Daoist teaching says, ‘Be pure, still, and without contrivance’;8 the Confucian says, ‘neither sound nor scent’;9 and the Buddhist says, ‘Whoever sees me in form, or seeks me through sound, treads a false path and cannot see the Tathāgata,’10 and again, ‘All that has form is illusory and false,’ and ‘All conditioned things are as a dream, an illusion, a bubble, a shadow; as the dew, and as the lightning — thus should they be contemplated.’11 And so we who cultivate the Dao must recognize the trials of the Way for what they are.
Whichever of you should meet with any of these several trials, by all means call to mind the words the Director has spoken. The ‘trial’ is a testing conducted in the open; the ‘demon’ is a testing conducted in the dark. The open testing is easy to know; the hidden one is not. In sum, it all comes down to no more than four words — joy, anger, love, and hate. Whenever these fail to keep their due measure,12 one has entered the realm of the demon. And so, in cultivating the Dao, one must see clear through the demon’s disguises. Otherwise, far from warding off the demon and repelling it, you will aid the demon and become a demon yourself — how fearful a thing that is!
Consider how the Tathāgata Buddha, in a former life when he practiced forbearance, suffered the humiliation of having his body cut apart by King Kalinga. He held the king to be his very benefactor, and vowed to help him attain the Dao all the sooner, saying, ‘When I am born again in a life to come, I will surely deliver you.’ And later, when the Tathāgata attained the Way, the disciple he delivered — Ānanda — was none other than the later incarnation of King Kalinga.13 Or consider Yue Wumu: when he met his doom at the Wind-and-Wave Pavilion, he feared that his sons and followers might afterward rise in revolt, and so summoned them to the execution ground to perish together with him — even giving thanks to Qin Hui for making of him a loyal and faithful man.14
From this we may know that those who, in ages past, upheld loyalty and filial devotion, integrity and righteousness, for the most part let the body of flesh bear the brunt of the catastrophe while the spiritual nature returned to Heaven. How much more must this be so for us, who cultivate the Heavenly Way? And yet, for all this, it is to be feared that the common sort — who, having seen little, marvel at much — will scarcely refrain from their rumors and slanders, their mockery and disparagement. Thus Laozi says: ‘When the highest sort hear of the Dao, they diligently practice it; when the middling sort hear of the Dao, they half keep it and half let it go; when the lowest sort hear of the Dao, they laugh aloud at it.’15 Zhuang Zhou says: ‘The fence-sparrow knows nothing of the swan’s high aim; with the summer insect one cannot speak of ice; the frog in the well will not believe the sky is vast.’16 The King of Song says: ‘The loftier the melody, the fewer can join in its harmony.’17 Confucius says: ‘As virtue is cultivated, slander springs up; as the Dao grows lofty, defamation comes.’18 Seen in this light, that where there is the Dao there is the demon is a settled principle. We who cultivate the Dao must be watchful and spur ourselves on, embracing a spirit of fearlessness and non-action, and keeping within us the breadth of heart that feels no resentment though it goes unrecognized19 — and only so shall we escape being besieged by the demonic trials.
The mind is the sovereign master of all the numinous powers within the human person; the body is the instrument by which a person carries out his affairs. Every movement of the body is directed and held in check by the mind, and every expression of the mind depends upon the body to take its form. The Buddha said: ‘All dharmas arise from the mind, and all dharmas perish from the mind.’1
The stirrings and stillnesses of the mind are subtle beyond all fathoming; yet they come down to nothing more than two kinds of thought — the errant and the upright. The upright is what accords with principle; the errant is what slides into desire. People of the world constantly lose their uprightness and slide into error, growing blind to principle and led astray by desire. The harm that errant desire does to a person is fearful in the extreme. The Buddhists speak of ‘tethering the monkey of the mind and chaining the horse of the will,’ and of ‘sweeping away the three minds and casting off the four marks’; the Confucians speak of ‘examining oneself on three points and guarding the mind with four prohibitions.’ All of these bear witness to the effort to turn people from error back to uprightness, to curb desire and return to principle.
今將三心四相、三省四勿,簡而喻之,以釋降伏身心之本意:
Let me now set out the three minds and four marks, and the three points of self-examination and the four prohibitions, in simple illustration, so as to lay bare what it truly means to subdue body and mind:
三心乃過去、未來、現在的三種心,不要存他。四相者,著於形,謂之相。
The three minds are the three kinds of mind — those of the past, the future, and the present — and one must not harbor them. As for the four marks: to become fixated upon outward form is what is called a ‘mark.’2
(一)凡為自己衣食計,及兒女計,終日營營,溷於名利,逐浪忘返,縛而不解者,謂之我相。
(1) To scheme all day long for one’s own food and clothing, and for one’s children; to toil and bustle without cease, wallowing in fame and gain, chasing the waves and forgetting to turn back, bound fast and never freed — this is called the mark of self.
(二)見人勢力,攀望不已;見人萎弱,厭惡不已。嫉人之有,吝人之求,謂之人相。
(2) At the sight of another’s power and influence, to fawn and covet without end; at the sight of another’s frailty, to loathe and despise without end; to envy what others have, and to begrudge what others ask — this is called the mark of a person.
(三)色、受、想、行,希望茍求,言正行邪,口善心惡,謂之眾生相。
(3) To be governed by form, sensation, perception, and volition; to harbor craving and grasp after gain; to speak what is upright while acting perversely, and to be fair of mouth but evil of heart — this is called the mark of sentient beings.
(四)跪禱拜祈,而求現在福報。燒符煉丹,冀望長生不老,謂之壽者相。
(4) To kneel in prayer and bow in supplication merely to seek blessings and rewards in the present life; to burn talismans and refine elixirs in the hope of undying long life — this is called the mark of a life-span.
三省者:
The three points of self-examination are:
(一)「為人謀而不忠乎?」按修道說,就是代天宣化,拯救眾生,你盡到責任了嗎?
(1) ‘In planning on others’ behalf, have I failed to be faithful?’3 In terms of cultivation, this means: to proclaim and spread Heaven’s teaching in Heaven’s stead, and to rescue all beings — have you fulfilled your responsibility?
(二)「與朋友交而不信乎?」就是承上啟下,一言一動,自心有無欺妄?你守信了嗎?
(2) ‘In dealings with friends, have I failed to be true?’ This means: in carrying on from those above and handing down to those below, in every word and every act — has your own heart harbored any deceit or falsehood? Have you kept faith?
(3) ‘Have I failed to practice what was transmitted to me?’ This refers to the mind-dharma transmitted by the master, the words the Holy Teacher instructs you with day by day, the teachings inscribed by the buddhas and immortals of all the heavens, and the words the various worthy seniors (the original text here reads ‘the Elders’) have spoken to you — have you contemplated and awakened to them? Have you put them into practice?
(1) ‘Look not upon what is contrary to propriety.’4 This means: since we cultivate the true Dao, we must recognize the true principle and see through all forms and appearances. Let mind and intent abide ever within the Mysterious Pass, and never let them race outward — then of themselves they take no harm.
(二)「非禮勿言。」就是莫談別人是非好壞,自然不擔口過了。
(2) ‘Speak not what is contrary to propriety.’ This means: do not discuss the right and wrong, the good and bad, of others — then of yourself you incur no fault of the mouth.
(三)「非禮勿聽。」就是莫要輕聽人語,心生反感。一念之差,便有險象叢生。
(3) ‘Listen not to what is contrary to propriety.’ This means: do not lightly heed the words of others and let aversion arise in your heart — for by a single errant thought, perils spring up in a throng.
(四)「非禮勿動。」就是人之作為,不要輕舉妄動。必須自心加以檢點,是否合禮,而免錯過身擔。
(4) ‘Move not in a way contrary to propriety.’ This means: in whatever a person does, do not act rashly or recklessly. One must hold one’s own heart to account — whether the act accords with propriety — and so avoid committing a fault that one must then bear.
All the illustrations above are meant to admonish us cultivators to subdue body and mind at every moment. For once a person has fallen into the acquired realm, he is surrounded on every side by sensual desire; and the instant body and mind stir, it is either upright or aslant. When it goes aslant, one is drowned and lingers there, and the road ahead is imperiled. The harm the mind can do is more fearful than all else, for it forever conjures up illusions, and at the least outward provocation it is most easily set churning. Therefore the Buddha said: ‘Demons arise from the mind, and trials are summoned by oneself.’5 If we do not subdue body and mind and stem the wellspring of disorder, how could the cultivation of the Dao ever succeed?
To be guarded in speech means not to speak lightly; to be careful in conduct means to keep one's actions in check. A person's words and deeds should each issue in due measure, for where they miss that measure, things go awry. At the least, one's own good name is ruined, and one meets with slander, contempt, and rejection; at the worst, one drags the whole community down as well, drawing on all manner of demonic trials and bringing insult and abuse upon oneself.
Thus Confucius warned people to be guarded in speech. He said: 'The gentleman wishes to be slow to speak.'1 And again: 'To speak when it is not yet one's turn to speak is called rashness; not to speak when it is one's turn is called concealment; to speak without first reading the other's face is called blindness.'2 And again: 'When a man is worth speaking with and you do not speak with him, you lose the man; when a man is not worth speaking with and you do speak with him, you waste your words.'3 Zigong too said: 'By a single word a man is judged wise, and by a single word judged foolish; a word must never be uttered without care.'4 To be careful in conduct is just this: to guard against wrong and mend one's faults, and never to be careless and so bring on mishap.
In sum, to be 'guarded in speech and careful in conduct' means simply this: that in word and deed a person be cautious and reverent,5 careful in the smallest things and watchful even when alone, never departing from this for a single thought. And so, in cultivating the Dao, whatever word or deed benefits the Dao and furthers it — let it be done; and whatever does not — let it be set aside.
A vow is the heart in its very origin. When the conscience awakens within one's Heaven-given nature, whatever earnest, striving intention then arises of itself — that is a 'vow.'
We who cultivate the Dao all understand the making of vows quite well. The moment a great vow is made, one's name is at once entered in the primordial record; our ancestors are raised on high, and our karmic debts flee far away. This is the very thing I meant when I offered you my congratulations just now.
Since Heaven has shown us so great a compassion, we ought to make our vows and then fulfill them, carrying them out in solid earnest. Otherwise, once Heaven's appointed time arrives and Heaven tests what is true and proves what is real, not only shall we fail to reach the supreme bliss — we shall surely drag our ancestors down with us into the sea of suffering. And why? Only because Heaven, compassionate though it is, will never shelter those who comply in the open and defy in secret, who seem right but are false. This is why, at the receiving of the Dao, the words of the pledge told us plainly from the very first: 'If a vow is made but not fulfilled, it will be hard to return home.'1 Seen in this light, we who cultivate the Dao must hold the making and fulfilling of vows in the greatest seriousness, and never treat it lightly.
To confess is to lay bare; to repent is to turn and mend. 'Repentance and the mending of faults' means to disclose for oneself the sins and transgressions of one's past, and to make one's conduct new in the days to come. Repentance, then, is the foremost essential for us who cultivate the Dao. For in the ordinary course of our dealings — with people, with affairs, and with things — we are forever erring to the one side or the other, and so lay up sins and evils of every kind; and if we do not repent and mend our faults with a sincere heart, how shall we ever attain the Dao? As the proverb has it: 'In Heaven above there are no sin-laden immortals or buddhas; on earth below there are no crime-bearing officials.' This is exactly what it means.
Thus our repentance in this present life, made in the End Times of the Third Period, is a repentance that our own spiritual nature may come forth from suffering; a repentance that we may be formed into pure and spotless, whole persons; a repentance that our ancestors may be delivered to a higher birth.1 Its true meaning is something I pray none of you will make light of. In the Repentance Text we recite each day, it is written: 'Patriarch Maitreya, boundless in wondrous Dharma, shelters and shields all living beings; repenting before the Buddha, mending our faults and making ourselves new, together may we be enrolled upon the Heavenly Register.'2 This too tells us that, in cultivating the Dao, if we do not repent and renew ourselves day by day, we shall find it hard indeed to reach the longed-for day of perfect completion.
十九
一念嗔心起百萬障門開
One Thought of Anger, and a Million Gates of Obstruction Swing Open
Anger is one of the three poisons.1 Whenever thought after thought is aggrieved, and one harbors a calculating, contentious heart — all of this is the heart of anger. In our cultivation of the Dao, our original nature is lively, natural, and free of contrivance. And so, just as the Dao and the seasons of Heaven shift and turn as circumstances require, our human nature — luminous, whole, and unfettered — should shift and turn with them in the same way. Never let it happen that, at the least brush with something not to your liking, you drift along with your surroundings, so that a single angry thought draws you in among the dark demons!
Take, from former times, Patriarch Qiu's cultivation of the Dao.2 When he first met a physiognomist, he was told that his features were most ill-omened, and that he was surely destined to starve to death. Yet in the end Patriarch Qiu brought his merit and practice to fulfillment; he did not starve, but indeed became an immortal. Once, on a sudden stirring of anger, he rode high upon the clouds to seek out the physiognomist and demand why, after all, he had not starved. The physiognomist told him that his hidden virtue had grown great and lofty, so that his features had already turned from ill-omened to auspicious — and only then did Patriarch Qiu realize that his own angry heart had stirred. At once he stilled his mind and quieted his thoughts, withdrew into the mountains, and sat in meditation and Chan contemplation. But once his anger had arisen, quick though he was to awaken to it, the trials of Heaven granted no reprieve. The matter could not be so easily put to rest: it drew upon him all manner of dark demons, and threw his body and mind into turmoil. Happily, Patriarch Qiu had recognized what was afoot early, held his ground firmly, and never wavered. Otherwise, by a single errant thought, all his former merit would have been cast away, and he would have sunk forever into perdition.
所以嗔心為害,實在可怕。希望大眾警之、戒之!
Thus the harm wrought by the heart of anger is fearful indeed. May you all be watchful of it and guard against it!
二十
真道真考見真心
The True Dao, True Trials, and the Revealing of the True Heart
This topic is the last of all. Over these two days, the topics the Director has expounded to you and the words he has spoken — drawing on the ancients, speaking to the present — have all been to make plain how precious the Dao is, and how utterly genuine, so that each of you may perform his own meritorious work and fulfill his own vows. But along the road of cultivation, karmic debts and demonic trials simply cannot be avoided. For if what one cultivates is the true Dao, one must undergo the true trials of Heaven above; and only through true trials is the true heart revealed. When, life after life, one has wronged others and run into debt with them, how could these things go unrepaid?
From this we may see that in the very midst of the true trials, Heaven above is secretly dissolving your sins and karmic debts for you. And so, when you meet with a demonic trial, it is precisely Heaven above taking pity on you and bringing you to perfection.1 Be sure to grasp this well. More than that, let this topic stand as one heartfelt word of farewell from me — so that your heart may hold a settled conviction, and in the days to come you will not be bound by the demonic trials.
院長復對大眾諄諄告誡,懇摯勉勵,並賜「思母勉進曲」 (調寄:落花流水) 以作留念。
The Director then earnestly admonished the assembly once more, exhorting them with heartfelt sincerity, and bestowed on them the 'Song of Longing for the Mother, Urging Us Onward' (to the tune 'Falling Flowers, Flowing Water') as a keepsake.
This good hour, like water, flows on and never stays;
the Ingathering is not far off — when nirvana comes, no one can be held back.
The final catastrophe is upon us; alas, the ninety-six lost children2 drift on the sea of karmic sin.
I think of the compassionate Mother who grieves for the world3 —
the ferry upon the sea of suffering, the rescue of all beings.
Dusk after dusk, dawn after dawn — dawn after dawn, dusk after dusk —
the compassionate Mother's heart is forever heavy with care,
the brow drawn tight, the tears let fall:
if the ninety-six are not saved, how shall the Ingathering be counted complete?
All you younger brothers and sisters — awaken!
Follow our Mother, and press onward just so!
Go out to every place, break open the fallow ground and sow the seed;
make haste to help our compassionate Mother.
O sisters! O brothers! Remember my words!
'Understand the principle, and the cultivation of the Dao goes well'; 'hold a right and sound conviction, and you cannot be toppled.' On the road of cultivating and serving, one must always keep the luminous, pure heart of a newborn child4, for only so can wisdom continually arise, ignorance be broken through, and every trial be met without falling. Once one's grasp of the Dao's meaning is clear and thorough, the foundation stands firm and one's practice of the Dao runs deep; then no wind that blows and no trial that comes is enough to shake the original heart — and only then can the work of the temple be carried on, enduring and long.