---
title: "靈峰蕅益大師宗論 · 自觀印闍梨傳"
description: "靈峰蕅益大師宗論是明末高僧智旭的著作。明末佛教面臨內部僵化與外部挑戰，智旭大師立足天台宗，主張禪教律淨融合，回應時代弊病。該書匯集其書信、註疏與開示，系統闡述性相融通、淨土為歸的佛學思想，強調解行並進與實踐修行。作為中國佛教史上承先啟後的巨著，它深刻影響了後世漢傳佛教的發展，尤其對淨土宗的推廣貢獻卓著，被尊為淨土宗第九祖的智旭，其思想透過此論成為明清佛教的重要指南。"
url: "https://rushiwowen.co/en/r/cmgn46ogd0pbbk1040e3fu385"
---

### 自觀印闍梨傳

> Biography of Master Ziguan Yin

方外史曰：「法道之盛也，一人敗之有餘，逮其衰，多人扶而不足。豈魔力果勝道力哉？同分妄情，順易逆難故也。於此有人焉，易世俗所難，緩時流所急，雖大志未遂，厥用未光，亦足為中流砥柱，屹然稱傑。」自觀法友，殆庶幾乎！法友名照印，應天江浦人，俗姓姚。年十二，斷酒肉，出家大報恩寺之竹浪菴。曾祖雲臺公，久習禪思，知為法器，與祖西輪公玉成之解字義，即喜習詩文。祠部劉、田諸公，並加矜重，為童子師，董訓嚴正，事耆宿盡禮，闔寺先臘，咸器重之。年二十三，忽發出世心，棄鉛槧，參雲谷老人，請問法要。顧多病，瘡痂久蝕其膚，未遑遠遊。丁卯，棲霞除夕，偶琢句云：「此際欲何言，燈花凡幾箇？」吟未罷，燈光忽掩，少頃，燼乃復明，不覺汗流浹骨，猛省無常。從此視世閒事，益如枯木死灰矣。己巳秋，予遊棲霞，始與法友晤，贈以偈云：「舉世不知真，吾獨不愛假。羨君坦夷性，堪入毘尼社。」法友領之。壬申春，遂入靈峰結夏，予為秉羯磨，授具戒，專精聽律，隨解隨行，不肯付諸空言。學侶競設問難，唯法友默訥如愚，真操實履，無外飾餘習。丙子，予病隱九華，法友居武水，遍閱律藏全書。丁丑，尋予九子別峰，商證《梵網》、《佛頂》要旨。予見其躬行有餘，慧解不足，設壇中十問拶之。廢寢忘餐，深思力索，經秋及冬，有省。乃知此事，甚大且遠，更自勵，韜光慎持。戊寅，予往溫陵，法友歸，遵《遺教》，依律藏住，依四念處行道，不以世法干懷。時同參者，以通方自負，每嗤之，夷然弗顧也。逮壬午，予從溫陵返，正擬與法友共建法幢，乃先一年辛巳，法友逝。嗟乎！三宗角立，法道陵遲，各騖名高，咸無下基。苟告以三學源委、佛世芳規，未有不掩鼻笑，返脣譏者。法友信我於舉世非毀之際，從我於九死一生之時。及戊寅一別，咻者眾楚，傳無一齊，而能孑爾自淑，至死弗移，凝神觀佛，正念以歸，直至身歿，緇素方追思而憶之，豈不卓哉。大報恩寺，神廟閒傑出二人，一為憨山大師，一為雪浪大師。印子初度，即志前徽，乃生年僅滿四十，法臘十夏猶虧。一時知嚮服者，鄭中丞，錢京兆，鄉達凌官球、陳旻昭，居士陳非白、張興公，數人之外無餘焉。予謂為二老不易，為印子更危，設無深慮遠識，誰肯捨舉世共趨之好徑，偏履草深一丈之甚夷耶？昔孟軻尚論古人，首陽殍，與商阿衡，魯士師同聖，誠不用世諦為品題也。予以憨、雪兩大士，與印子，並稱為報恩三傑，夫疇曰不宜也歟。

> Commentary by Master Fangwai said: "When the Dharma is flourishing, one person can ruin it without difficulty. But when it declines, even many together cannot restore it. Is it truly that demonic powers are stronger than the power of the Dharma? No—it is because habitual delusions shared by all beings make it easier to go along with the current and harder to swim against it. Yet if there is someone who can do what the world finds difficult, who prioritizes what the age neglects—even if their great aspirations remain unfulfilled and their influence doesn't shine widely—they still stand as a pillar in the midst of the stream, firm and worthy of being called a hero." My Dharma friend Zhaoyin was someone close to this ideal. His monastic name was Zhaoyin (照印), and he was from Jiangpu in Yingtian. His lay surname was Yao. At the age of twelve, he gave up meat and alcohol, and entered the Zhulang Hermitage of the Great Bao'en Monastery. His great-grandfather, Mr. Yuntai, had long practiced Chan meditation and recognized him as a vessel for the Dharma. Together with his grandfather, Mr. Xilun, they guided his education in understanding the meaning of characters, and he soon took delight in studying poetry and prose. Officials of the Ministry of Rites, Messrs. Liu and Tian, all held him in high regard. He became a tutor for novice boys, teaching with strict discipline and decorum. He served the elder monks with complete respect, and the entire monastery, both young and old, regarded him highly. At the age of twenty-three, he suddenly awakened the aspiration to transcend the world. He abandoned his scholarly pursuits and went to consult the Elder Yungu, seeking the essential Dharma. However, he was often ill; for a long time, skin ulcers had eroded his body, and he could not undertake distant travels. On New Year's Eve in 1627 at Qixia Monastery, while idly composing a verse, he wrote: "At this moment, what words can I say? How many sparks from the lamp?" Before he finished reciting, the lamplight suddenly dimmed. A moment later, the wick rekindled and shone bright again. Unconsciously, sweat drenched his body, and he was sharply awakened to the truth of impermanence. From then on, worldly affairs seemed to him like withered wood and cold ashes. In the autumn of 1629, I traveled to Qixia and met my Dharma friend for the first time. I gave him a verse as a gift: "The whole world knows not the real; I alone refuse to love the false. I admire your straightforward nature, fit to enter the Vinaya community." He accepted my words. In the spring of 1632, he came to Lingfeng to join the summer retreat. I presided over the ordination ceremony, administering the full precepts. He devoted himself single-mindedly to studying the Vinaya, understanding each principle and putting it into practice—nothing was mere empty words. Fellow students would vie to pose difficult questions, but my Dharma friend remained silent and seemed dull, like a fool. Yet his conduct was genuine, his practice solid, with no outer pretension or stale habits. In 1636, I fell ill and retreated to Jiuhua Mountain. My Dharma friend stayed at Wushui, where he read through the entire Vinaya canon. In 1637, he sought me out at a separate peak in Jiuhua, and together we discussed the essential meaning of the \*Brahma Net Sutra\* and the \*Shurangama Sutra\*. I saw that his practice was strong but his wisdom and understanding were lacking, so I set up ten questions in a Dharma hall to press him. He forgot to eat and sleep, thinking deeply and striving hard, from autumn into winter, until he finally attained insight. Then he realized how vast and profound this matter truly is. He redoubled his efforts, concealed his light, and maintained careful practice. In 1638, I set off for Wenling. My Dharma friend returned and, following the \*Teachings of the Buddha\*, lived according to the Vinaya, practiced in accordance with the Four Foundations of Mindfulness, and did not allow worldly concerns to disturb his mind. At that time, his fellow practitioners prided themselves on being broad-minded and versed in expedient means, often deriding him, but he remained untouched and unconcerned. No, in 1642, when I returned from Wenling, I had intended to build the Dharma banner together with my Dharma friend—but he had already passed away the year before, in 1641. Alas! When the three schools stand in sharp opposition, the Dharma path declines. Everyone races after fame and reputation, none having a true foundation. If you speak to them about the complete training in precepts, concentration, and wisdom, or about the noble rules of the Buddha's time, they will invariably cover their noses and laugh, or retort with sarcasm. My Dharma friend trusted me when the whole world was denouncing me, and followed me in times of dire peril. After we parted in 1638, many voices assailed him, and no one supported him—yet he alone remained true to himself, unwavering until death. He focused his mind on contemplating the Buddha, and with right mindfulness, he departed. Only after his death did monks and laypeople alike begin to remember and honor him. Was this not indeed extraordinary? In the Great Bao'en Monastery, during the Wanli era, there stood out two great figures: Master Hanshan and Master Xuelang. At his ordination, Zhaoyin had vowed to emulate these former luminaries. Yet he lived only forty years, and his Dharma age fell short of ten full summer retreats. Among those who truly knew and admired him were Grand Master Zheng, Metropolitan Governor Qian, local officials Ling Guanqiu and Chen Minzhao, and lay practitioners Chen Feibai and Zhang Xinggong—no others besides this handful. I would say that being like the two great masters was itself difficult, but being like Zhaoyin was even more perilous. Without profound foresight and penetrating vision, who would be willing to abandon the easy path that all the world rushes toward, and instead walk the dangerous narrow road overgrown with tall grass? In ancient times, Mencius evaluated the sages of old equally—the starving man of Shouyang, the prime minister of Shang, and the officer of Lu—all were considered sages, for he did not use worldly measures to rank them. Therefore, if I style Master Hanshan, Master Xuelang, and Zhaoyin as the "Three Heroes of Bao'en," who could say it is not fitting?