No. 1452-A紫栢老人集序
Preface to the Collected Works of the Venerable Zibai
匡山逸叟憨山釋 德清 著
Mount Lu Hermit Hanshan Monk Deqing's Commentary
太虗寥廓。長風鼓而萬竅怒號。殊音眾響。皆一氣之所宣又奚可。以大小精麤。謂靈根之有閒哉。惟吾佛以不思議智。流出一切音聲陀羅尼。故世諦語言。皆悉顯示第一義諦。若夫塵說。剎說。熾然說。即水流風動。皆演圓音。況宇泰定而照羣情。觸境而發。無思而應若谷響者乎。是以從上諸祖。證無師自然智者。即揚眉瞬目。怒罵譏訶。莫不直示西來大意。又豈可以識情語言。而擬議其形容哉。故達磨西來不立文字。而曹溪則有壇經。及二派五宗。雖直指向上。然皆曲為今時。或上堂入室。示眾舉揚。機如雷電。凡垂一語。必輯為錄。大槩聊爾門頭。若大慧中峯。至我明楚石皆其類也。葢借語傳心。因言見道。言其所絕言耳。今去楚石二百餘年。有達觀禪師出。當禪宗已墜之時。蹶起而力振之。得無師智。秉金剛心。其荷負法門之志。如孛陵之血戰。縱張空拳。猶揮駐日。雖未犁庭掃穴。而一念孤忠。與囓雪吞氊者。未可以死生優劣議也。真末法一大雄猛丈夫哉。然師賦性不與世情和合。至老見客未效一額手。雖未踞華座。竪槌拂。然足跡所至半天下。無論宰官居士。望影歸心。見形折節者。不可億計。以自性宗通。故隨機之談。如千鈞弩發。應弦而倒。無非指示西來的意。稱性衝口。曾無刻意為文也。一唾便休。弟子輩筆而藏之者什一。師初往來於金沙曲阿之閒。與于王賀氏諸君子大有夙緣。所聞最多。如庵居士于公執侍甚謹。得片言如寶隻字不遺。凡隨師杖屨者。必搜而得之。師每至匡廬。必主於江州孝廉邢君來慈長松館。多有所說。師化後。併屬弟子仲櫜。潤甫。結集成帙。予久沈瘴海。適為師了末後因緣。之雙徑。先過金沙之東禪。二公以予與師為法門深契。故出其稿。稽首請校而梓之。予三讀其言。喟然而歎曰。嗟乎。末法降心。力拔生死之根。如一人與萬人敵者。予獨見師其人也。覩其發強剛毅勇猛之氣。往往獨露於毫端。如巨靈揮斤。真所謂與煩惱魔。欲魔。死魔共戰。竟能超越死生。如脫敝屣。可謂戰勝有功者也。故其所吐。豈可以文字語言音聲色相求之者耶。佛說欲為生死根。師凡所舉必三致意。痛處劄錐。直欲勦絕命根。即此可當金鎞矣。又何庸夫門庭施設哉。昔覺範禪師。妙悟超絕。語工典則。其所著述。自自之曰文字禪。故予題之曰。紫栢老人集。葢非墮於俗數也。觀者當具金剛正眼。視之於言外。則思過半矣。 時天啟元年歲在辛酉春王上元日書於匡山五乳峰下木石庵中
The vast emptiness is boundless. A strong wind arises, and myriad hollows roar in response. The diverse sounds and countless echoes are all expressed by this single breath—how can one then speak of the great or small, the refined or coarse, as if the spiritual root had distinctions? Only our Buddha, with inconceivable wisdom, flows forth all sounds and dhāraṇīs. Thus, worldly speech and language all reveal the ultimate truth. Whether it is the dust speaking, the lands speaking, or speaking with blazing intensity—even the flowing water and moving wind all proclaim the perfect sound. How much more so when one's mind is profoundly settled, illuminating all conditions, responding to circumstances without thought, like an echo in a valley? Therefore, the ancestral masters of old, who realized the untaught, natural wisdom—whether raising an eyebrow, blinking an eye, scolding in anger, or ridiculing—all directly point to the great meaning from the West. How can one then use intellectual understanding or language to speculate about its form?
Thus, when Bodhidharma came from the West, he established no words, yet Caoqi (the Sixth Patriarch) left the Platform Sutra. As for the two schools and five lineages, though they directly point to what is above, they all skillfully adapted to their times. Whether ascending the hall, entering the chamber, addressing the assembly, or raising up teachings—their methods were like thunder and lightning. Every word they spoke was compiled into records, largely as expedient gateways. Masters like Dahui, Zhongfeng, and in our Ming dynasty, Chushi, all belong to this category. They used words to transmit the mind, relied on speech to reveal the Way—speaking of that which transcends speech.
Now, more than two hundred years after Chushi, the Chan Master Daguan appeared. At a time when the Chan school had declined, he rose up with great effort to revive it. Attaining the untaught wisdom and upholding the diamond mind, his determination to bear the Dharma gate was like a bloody battle at Baling—even wielding empty fists, he could halt the sun. Though he did not completely uproot the enemy's stronghold, his single-minded loyalty cannot be judged by life and death, nor compared to those who endured snow and swallowed felt. Truly, he was a great hero of the Dharma-ending age!
Yet, the Master’s nature did not conform to worldly sentiments. Even in old age, when meeting guests, he never once bowed in flattery. Though he did not occupy a high seat or wield the staff and whisk, his footprints covered half the land. Countless officials and laypeople, upon seeing his shadow, turned their hearts; upon encountering his presence, bowed in reverence. Because his own nature was in accord with the ancestral transmission, his responses to opportunities were like a thousand-pound crossbow released—the target fell with the twang of the string. All were nothing but pointers to the meaning from the West. His words flowed naturally from his nature, never deliberately crafted as literature. Once spoken, they were done. His disciples recorded and preserved perhaps one-tenth of them.
The Master initially traveled between Jinsha and Qu’e, sharing deep karmic connections with gentlemen like Yu and Wang He. Among them, the layman Yu served him most diligently, treasuring every word and never losing a single character. Anyone who followed the Master’s staff and sandals would search out and collect his teachings. Whenever the Master went to Mount Lu, he stayed at the Changsong Pavilion of the provincial graduate Xing Laici in Jiangzhou, where he often gave teachings. After the Master’s passing, his disciples Zhongrang and Runfu compiled them into a volume.
Having long dwelled in the miasmic seas, I happened to fulfill the Master’s final karmic connection at Shuangjing. First passing by Dongchan Temple in Jinsha, the two gentlemen, knowing my deep Dharma affinity with the Master, presented the manuscript. They bowed and requested that I edit it for publication. Reading his words three times, I sighed deeply and said: Alas! In the Dharma-ending age, to subdue the mind and sever the root of birth and death is like one person fighting ten thousand. I have seen only the Master as such a person. Witnessing his fierce, resolute, and courageous spirit often revealed in his writings—like a giant spirit wielding an axe—truly, he battled the demons of affliction, desire, and death, ultimately transcending birth and death as if discarding worn-out sandals. He can be said to have achieved victory through battle. Therefore, how can what he expressed be sought through words, language, sounds, or forms?
The Buddha said desire is the root of birth and death. Whenever the Master raised a point, he emphasized it repeatedly, piercing the painful spot like an awl, aiming directly to cut off the life root. This alone can serve as a golden scalpel—what need is there for elaborate gateways and setups? In the past, the Chan Master Juefan, with his wondrous awakening and supreme excellence, crafted elegant and canonical writings. He himself called them the "Chan of Words." Thus, I have titled this collection *The Collected Works of the Old Man Zibai*, not falling into worldly conventions. Readers should possess the diamond eye of truth, looking beyond the words—then they will have grasped more than half.
Written on the Upper Prime Day of Spring in the year Xinyou, the first year of the Tianqi era, at the Wood and Stone Hermitage beneath the Wuru Peak of Mount Lu.