by Donald Lopez
Arouse Your Mind and Practise!
Now, all the buddhas adorn the palace of tranquil extinction [nirvāṇa] because they have renounced desires and practised austerities on the sea of numerous aeons. All sentient beings whirl through the door of the burning house of saṃsāra [the cycle of death and rebirth] because they have not renounced craving and sensuality during lifetimes without measure. Though the heavenly mansions are unobstructed, few are those who go there; for people take the three poisons [greed, hatred and delusion] as their family wealth. Though no one entices others to evil destinies, many are those who go there; for people consider the four snakes [earth, air, fire and water] and the five desires [commonly: wealth, sex, food, fame and sleep] to be precious to their deluded minds.
Who among human beings would not wish to enter the mountains and cultivate the path? But fettered by lust and desires, no one proceeds. But even though people do not return to mountain fastnesses to cultivate the mind, as far as they are able they should not abandon wholesome practices. Those who can abandon their own sensual pleasures will be venerated like saints. Those who practise what is difficult to practise will be revered like buddhas. Those who covet things join Māra’s entourage, while those who live with love and compassion are the children of the King of Dharma himself.
High peaks and lofty crags are where the wise dwell. Green pines and deep valleys are where practitioners sojourn. When hungry, they eat tree fruits to satisfy their famished belly. When thirsty, they drink the flowing streams to quench their feeling of thirst. Though one feeds it with sweets and tenderly cares for it, this body is certain to decay. Though one softly clothes it and carefully protects it, this life force must come to an end. Thus the wise regard the grottoes and caves where echoes resound as a hall for recollecting the Buddha’s name. They take the wild geese, plaintively calling, as their closest of friends. Though their knees bent in prostration are frozen like ice, they have no longing for warmth. Though their starving bellies feel as if cut by knives, they have no thoughts to search for food.
Suddenly a hundred years will be past; how then can we not practise? How much longer will this life last? Yet still we do not practise, but remain heedless. Those who leave behind the lusts within the mind are called mendicants. Those who do not long for the mundane are called those gone forth into homelessness. A practitioner entangled in the net of the six senses [eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind] is a dog wearing elephant’s hide. A person on the path who still longs for the world is a hedgehog entering a rat’s den.
Although talented and wise, if a person dwells in the village, all the buddhas feel pity and sadness for him. Though a person does not practise the path, if he dwells in a mountain hut, all the saints are happy with him. Though talented and learned, if a person does not observe the precepts, it is like being directed to a treasure trove but not even starting out. Though practising diligently, if a person has no wisdom, it is like one who wishes to go east but instead turns towards the west. The way of the wise is to prepare rice by steaming rice grains; the way of the ignorant is to prepare rice by steaming sand.
Everyone knows that eating food soothes the pangs of hunger, but no one knows that studying dharma corrects the delusions of the mind. Practice and understanding which are both complete are like the two wheels of a cart. Benefiting oneself and benefiting others are like the two wings of a bird. If a person chants prayers when receiving rice gruel but does not understand the meaning, should he not be ashamed before the donors? If one chants when receiving rice, but does not understand the meaning, should one not be ashamed before the sages and saints?
Humans despise maggots because they do not discriminate between clean and filthy; saints loathe the śramaņas [ascetics] who do not differentiate between pure and impure. The precepts are the skilful ladder for leaving behind the clamour of this world and climbing into the empty sky. Therefore, one who wishes to become a field of merit for others while breaking the precepts is like a bird with broken wings who tries to fly into the sky while bearing a tortoise on its back. A person who is not yet liberated from his own transgressions cannot redeem the transgressions of others. But how could one not cultivating the precepts still accept others’ offerings?
There is no benefit in nourishing a useless body that does not practise. Despite clinging to this impermanent, evanescent life, it cannot be preserved. People who hope to achieve the virtue of dragons and elephants – that is, eminent monks – must be able to endure long suffering. Those who aspire to the lion’s seat of the buddhas must for ever turn their backs on desires and pleasures. A cultivator whose mind is pure will be praised by all the gods, while a person on the path who longs for sex will be abandoned by all the wholesome spirits.
The four great elements will suddenly disperse; they cannot be kept together for long. Today, alas, it is already dusk and we should have been practising since dawn. The pleasures of the world will only bring suffering later, so how can we crave them? One attempt at forbearance conduces to long happiness, so how could we not cultivate? Craving among persons on the path is a disgrace to cultivators. Wealth among those gone forth into homelessness is mocked by the noble. Despite interminable admonitions, craving and clinging are not ended. Despite repeated warnings, lust and clinging are not eradicated. Though the affairs of this world are limitless, we still cannot forsake worldly events. Though plans are endless, we still do not have a mind to stop them.
For todays without end, our days of doing evil have been rife. For tomorrows without end, our days of doing good have been few. For this years without end, we have not reduced the defilements. For next years without end, we have not progressed towards enlightenment.
Hours after hours continue to pass; swiftly the day and night are gone. Days after days continue to pass; swiftly the end of the month is gone. Months and months continue to pass; suddenly next year has arrived. Years after years continue to pass; unexpectedly we have arrived at the portal of death.
A broken cart cannot move; an old person cannot cultivate. Yet still we humans lie, lazy and indolent; still we humans sit, with minds distracted. How many lives have we not cultivated? Yet still we pass the day and night in vain. How many lives have we spent in our useless bodies? Yet still we do not cultivate in this lifetime either. This life must come to an end; but what of the next? Is this not urgent? Is this not urgent?
Translated by Robert Buswell from Hanguk pulgyo chŏsŏ I: 841a–3. The translation appears in Peter H. Lee et al. (eds.), Sourcebook of Korean Civilization, Vol. 1: From Early Times to the Sixteenth Century (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993), pp. 154–7.
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KARMA TALES
The doctrine of karma is one of the foundations of Buddhist thought and practice. The sufferings that beset humans (and all sentient beings), as well as the happinesses they enjoy, are considered to be the results of deeds done in the past. Over the centuries, Buddhists, both monks and laity, have remained preoccupied with karma, generally seeking a magical means of subverting the negative karma of the past and an efficient technique for amassing positive karma in the present. Scholastic works provide detailed expositions of how karma functions, categorizing all manner of good and evil deeds according to the effects they create. Some deeds create individual experiences, others create an environment. Some deeds have both a primary effect and a residual effect: a person who commits murder and is reborn in hell may have a short life when eventually reborn as a human. Other works explore the precise function of karmic causation, where karmic seeds are preserved prior to bearing fruit (which may not occur for aeons in the future), how these seeds are passed from lifetime to lifetime, and how they are destroyed in the process of enlightenment: the initial vision of no-self is said to destroy all the seeds for future rebirth as an animal, ghost, or hell-being.
But the workings of karma are much more than an academic concern. Karma provides both a motivation and an explanation for much of Buddhist practice. Texts from across the Buddhist world
explain what deeds must be avoided, and the consequences of not doing so. And they explain what deeds to perform, and the rewards that will eventually follow. Indeed, one of the standard elements of new teachings that appear on the scene throughout Buddhist history is the claim that performing a particular deed, whether it is reciting a particular mantra or making an offering to a particular buddha, creates merit that is equal to all the grains of sand of the Ganges or all the atoms in a universe. But in other circumstances, the calculations were less grand. In medieval China, there developed a genre of karma ledgers, account books that listed hundreds of meritorious and demeritorious deeds, assigning a certain number of positive and negative points to each. Readers were encouraged to pause before sleep each night to take account of the past day’s activities, recording good deeds (and their respective merit) in one column and bad deeds (and their respective demerit) in another.
Karma also explains the strange events of this and other worlds. Even when a catastrophe is ascribed to the machinations of a demon, that demon is believed ultimately to be motivated by the karma of those who suffer. Sometimes the deed that causes a particular pleasure or pain is thought to have been performed many lifetimes in the past. But more immediate explanations are sometimes more satisfying, and Buddhist literature is replete with tales of the results, both good and bad, of deeds done in this lifetime. In some stories, those who have committed a particular misdeed are allowed to visit hell to see the fate that awaits them, and then return to earth to make amends for their sins and proclaim the benefits of virtue.
A group of such stories from Japan is gathered in a work entitled Record of Miracles of Good and Evil Karmic Retribution in the Kingdom of Japan (Nihonkoku genbō zen’aku ryōi ki, better known by its abbreviated title, Nihon ryōi ki), compiled by Kyōkai (also known as Keikai) around 787. They include a story about the benefits of rescuing animals (see Chapter 44); an account of the powers of recognition of Prince Shōtoku, the first Buddhist sovereign of Japan; and a cautionary tale about slanderous speech.
Flowers laugh without uttering a sound. Roosters cry without shedding tears. Examining the ages reveals that good deeds are as rare as flowers among rocky peaks while evil acts are as plentiful as the grass on fertile hills. Failing to improve one’s cause and effect [i.e., karma] and committing sins is to be like a man without eyes who walks by stumbling along…. How can people not be more cautious? If you allow this life to pass by meaninglessly, then subsequent repentance will be of no use. How can you expect your momentary body to grow long eyebrows [like those of an immortal]? How can you always trust in fleeting fate? Since the world already has entered an aeon of decline, how can you not strive harder? Speaking faint words of anguish will not spare you from the disasters [of this aeon: famine, war and epidemics]. Merely offering one serving of food to the saṅgha, however, will cultivate good fortune so that in future lives you will avoid starvation. Observing for one full day the precept against taking life will strengthen your practice of the Buddhist path so that you will avoid wars throughout this aeon of decline.
Once there was a bhikṣu [monk] who lived in the mountains and practised sitting Zen. Every day at his noon meal he would give some of his food to the birds. The birds, therefore, always flocked around him. One day after the bhikṣu finished his meal, he cleaned his teeth, washed his hands and picked up a pebble to toss. There was a bird on the other side of the fence where the bhikṣu could not see him. When the bhikṣu threw the pebble, it hit the bird in the head and killed it. That bird was reborn as a boar, which lived on the same mountain. One day the boar happened to climb a ledge above the bhikṣu’s hermitage and dislodged a boulder while grubbing for food. The boulder fell down and killed the bhikṣu. The boar intended no harm. The boulder killed by itself.
If even an unintentional act [i.e., the bhikṣu’s killing the bird] results in an unintentional retribution [i.e., the bhikṣu being killed], then how much more so will murders that are accompanied by evil intentions generate baleful retribution! Planting evil seeds and reaping baleful fruit is the behaviour of one whose mind is deluded. Doing good and setting one’s sights on bodhi [enlightenment] is the behaviour of one whose heart is awakened.
The Circumstances by which Sovereign Prince Shōtoku Exposed an Extraordinary Countenance
Sovereign Prince Shōtoku was the son of the Heavenly Sovereign Tachibana Toyohi [a.k.a. Yōmei] who resided in Iware next to a pond and a pair of zelkova trees. During the reign of the heavenly sovereign [i.e., Suiko] who resided in Owarida he acted as sovereign prince [i.e., regent]. The prince had three names: Abundant Ears Stabledoor (umayado no toyotomimi), Holy Virtue (shōtoku) and Upper Residence (kami-tsu-miya). Because he was born in a stable, he was called Stabledoor. Because he possessed the innate ability to listen to ten people argue at the same time without missing a single word he was called Abundant Ears. Because he behaved with monk-like dignity, because he wrote commentaries on Buddhist sūtras such as the Queen Śrīmālā and the Lotus, because he propagated the dharma to benefit living beings, and because he systematized the hierarchy of court honours, he was called Holy Virtue. Because his house was located above the heavenly sovereign’s residence, he was called Upper Residence.
Once when the sovereign prince still resided at his first home in Ikaruga, certain circumstances caused him to depart for an inspection tour. On the side of the road in Kataoka village there was a hairy beggar lying sick on the side of the road. When the prince saw the sick person, he dismounted, formally greeted him, took off his own cloak and covered him with it. Then the prince continued his inspection tour. Once the inspection tour was completed and the prince returned to that spot, he found his cloak hanging on a tree branch. The beggar was no longer there. The prince took his cloak and wore it. A minister addressed him: ‘That robe is defiled because it has been touched by a commoner. Can you be so impoverished as to wear it?’ The prince replied: ‘Cease! You did not know him.’
Later that beggar died in another location. The prince heard of his death and sent men to perform the temporary burial and to inter his body at a tomb constructed in the Moribe hill, which is located in the northeast corner of Hōrin Temple in Okamoto village. The tomb was called Human Tree Tomb (hitoki haka). Later when the prince’s men inspected the tomb, they discovered that it had not been opened and that there was no corpse to lay inside. There was only a poem, which had been written and attached to the tomb’s door. The poem said: ‘If the Tomi Creek in Ikaruga runs dry, oh, only then shall my lord’s name be forgotten.’ The men returned and reported [that the corpse had disappeared]. The prince listened to them in silence without saying a word.
Truly know that a holy person knows holiness, but an ordinary person knows not. The [minister’s] ordinary physical eyes saw only a commoner, but the holy person’s penetrating vision saw the hidden body [of an immortal]. It was a rare, strange affair.
Circumstances by which the Purchase and Release of Turtles Produced the Karmic Reward of Being Aided by the Turtles
Zen Master Hŭng-jae (Japanese: Gusai) was from the kingdom of Paekche. At the time of the wars in Paekche, the ancestor of the ruler of Mitani District in Bingo Province had been sent on a military expedition to aid Paekche. At that time he made a religious vow that if he were to return safely, then he would construct a monastery on behalf of the gods. Since he avoided disaster, he asked the Zen master to return with him. Mitani Temple is the monastery that the Zen master constructed. Priests and laypeople alike looked upon it with awe and reverence.
The Zen master needed gold leaf and other goods to complete the temple’s main buddha image. He went to the capital to sell produce in exchange for these items. He returned via the port of Naniwa. When the master arrived there, a fisherman was selling four large turtles. The Zen master encouraged people to purchase the turtles and to release them. Then he hired a boat, which he boarded, along with two boys, to cross the Inland Sea. In the middle of that night, the boatman decided to go to Kabane Island in Bi
zen. He grabbed the boys and threw them into the sea. Then he turned to the Zen master and said: ‘Get into the sea.’ The Zen master tried to edify the thief, but the boatman could not be reformed. Thus, the Zen master made a vow and jumped into the sea. The water rose only as high as his waist. He felt boulders under his legs. At dawn he saw he was being supported by turtles. They carried him through the sea to Bitchū and, after nodding their heads three times, left. Could it be that they repaid their debt of gratitude for having been released?
On a subsequent occasion, that thieving boatman and six commoners came to the Zen master’s temple to sell the gold leaf [that they had stolen from the Zen master]. First, the patron came out to calculate the price. Afterwards the Zen master came out and saw them. The commoners were terrified. They did not know whether to stay or to run away. The Zen master, out of pity, did not impose any additional punishment. He [merely instructed them to] make the buddha image, decorate its pagoda and to make offerings.
In later years the Zen master moved to the seashore, where he taught whoever came by. He lived more than eighty years.
If even beasts do not forget acts of kindness and repay their obligations, then how can (so-called) righteous men forget their obligations?
Circumstances by Which a Wise Person Slandered a Manifest Holy Man, Went to King Yama’s Hell, and Suffered
The monk Chikō, originally of Kawachi Province, was a śramana [Buddhist ascetic] at Sukita Temple in Asukabe District. His secular status was Sukita lineage (uji) with Muraji title (kabane) – later renamed Kami lineage, Suguri title. (His mother’s lineage was Asukabe, Miyatsuko title.) He was innately gifted with a sharp memory and was first in wisdom. He wrote commentaries on Buddhist sūtras such as the Yulanpen jing (Japanese: Urabonkyō), the Great Perfection of Wisdom Sūtra, and the Heart Sūtra, and he taught student monks how to chant the Buddha’s teachings.
