大乘起信論 大乘起信論序

Five words stand at the end of the title to this preface: composed by Zhikai, a monk of Yangzhou.

And when the preface itself records the division of labor in the translation assembly, it says: “Zhikai and others took up the brush.”

The person who wrote the preface was the person holding the brush in that assembly.

This is not the account of a bystander. He was inside it.

He Begins by Saying What He Missed

“Though I lament that I did not see the sages, I rejoice that I encountered this hidden purport.”

A person born too late. Too late for the Buddha’s age, too late for Aśvaghoṣa, and even too late for a peaceful year.

But he was present for one thing: this book was written in Chinese through his hand.

The Impediments He Records

The preface devotes more than half its length to telling how the treatise arrived, and nearly everything it records is an impediment:

“From ages past it had long remained hidden in the Western Regions and had not reached the lands of the east.”

“Truly, the proclamation and translation of the teaching had their proper season.” The time had not yet come.

The king consented to send the master, but the master “declined bitterly and could not be excused.” He boarded the ship because he could not decline.

Less than ten days after he came ashore, “he met with the upheaval of Hou Jing’s invasion.”

And so “his outstanding gifts were dammed and could not flow forth, like a pearl held in the mouth before it could be released; the sunlight of wisdom paused, and he wished to return.” A mouth full of jewels, obstructed by disorder before even one could be brought forth. He wanted to leave.

The Book Was Translated amid Those Conditions

Those who persuaded the master to stay were several monks of the capital and one man holding military authority.

“On the tenth day of the ninth month, in the third year of Chengsheng under the Great Liang, at Jianxing Monastery in Shixing Commandery, Hengzhou, they reverently invited the master to expound the Great Vehicle.”

The preface names the five monks one by one: Huixian, Zhishao, Zhikai, Tanzhen, and Huimin.

The third was the preface writer himself.

Then comes the division of labor: “Yuezhi Shouna and others from India transmitted the words; Zhikai and others took up the brush. From beginning to end, the work took two years.”

Two years.

He Uses the Weightiest Words for the Book

Utterly supreme. Most profound. Secret scripture. Root of all dharmas.

“Its purport is deep and vast, quiescent and without mark; its function is broad, expansive, and without boundary; ordinary beings and sages alike depend upon it, and it is the root of all dharmas.”

When he comes to himself, only this remains: “without measuring my own strength, and though lacking in learning.”

The same hand that wrote utterly supreme for the book kept nothing of that vocabulary for its own signature.

His Final Sentence

“Should I happen to meet a wise person, may he deign to grant corrections.”

At the end of the preface to a book meant to awaken faith, the person holding the brush placed himself where he could be corrected.

The “Preface to the Awakening of Faith in the Great Vehicle” was composed by Zhikai, a monk of Yangzhou. Taishō T32n1666, from the title of the preface at the head of the scroll through “Should I happen to meet a wise person, may he deign to grant corrections.” The figures in parentheses at the head of each segment give the Taishō page, register, and line.

〔1 · Title and author of the preface〕（0575a03）Preface to The Awakening of Faith in the Great Vehicle.（0575a05）Composed by Zhikai, a monk of Yangzhou.

〔2 · What this treatise is〕（0575a06）As for the Awakening of Faith, it is the utterly supreme Great Vehicle, a most profound secret scripture, disclosing the meaning of dependent origination in accord with principle. Its purport is deep and vast, quiescent and without any mark that can be pointed to; its function is broad and expansive, immense and without any boundary that can be measured. Ordinary beings and sages alike depend upon it, and all dharmas take it as their root.（0575a08）Yet its words are deep and its purport far-reaching, and those able to place their faith in it are exceedingly few.

〔3 · Why Aśvaghoṣa composed the treatise〕（0575a09）Thus, more than six hundred years after the Tathāgata’s nirvāṇa, divergent paths arose one after another, deviant forces competed in fanning the flames, and slander of the Buddha’s true Dharma did not cease.（0575a10）At that time there was a śramaṇa of eminent virtue named Aśvaghoṣa. He had penetrated the Great Vehicle deeply and fathomed Dharma-nature to its utmost; great compassion suffused his heart, and he manifested in response to the capacities of sentient beings.（0575a12）Grieving that beings had long been lost, he composed this treatise—to cause the Three Treasures to flourish and the sun of the Buddha to shine once more. Once faith arose, before long the deviant turned back toward the true: the authoritative teaching of the Great Vehicle again appeared in that age, and the profound principle of dependent origination shone still more clearly for later generations.（0575a15）Those lost among the crowd and those holding divergent views relinquished their attachments and took refuge; those whose minds were dark and whose feelings were partial likewise released what they clung to and gathered near.

〔4 · How the treatise came east〕（0575a16）From ages past this treatise had long remained hidden in the Western Regions and had not reached the lands of the east.（0575a17）This was truly because the proclamation and translation of the teaching had to await their proper causes and season. Earlier, Emperor Wu of the Liang had sent envoys to Magadha in central India to obtain scriptures and invite Dharma masters.（0575a18）There they encountered the Tripiṭaka master Julan Nantuo—his name rendered into Chinese as Paramārtha.（0575a19）From youth this master had drawn widely upon many books and ranged throughout the scriptures, while his penetration of the Great Vehicle in particular was deep and far-reaching.（0575a20）The king of that land immediately consented to send him. The master repeatedly declined but could not be excused, and so boarded a ship. Together with Qutan and a company of attendants, he came bearing a Buddha image made of storax resin as tribute.（0575a22）Yet less than ten days after coming ashore, he met with the upheaval of Hou Jing’s invasion. His outstanding gifts were dammed and could not flow forth, like a pearl held in the mouth before it could be released; the sunlight of wisdom was forced to pause, and he wished to return west.

〔5 · The translation assembly and the works translated〕（0575a23）He then entrusted himself to, and found fellowship with, the eminent men of the capital—Huixian, Zhishao, Zhikai, Tanzhen, and Huimin, together with Duke Xiao Bo, General-in-Chief Invested with the Yellow Battle-Ax and Grand Guardian.（0575a25）On the tenth day of the ninth month, in the third year of Chengsheng under the Great Liang, the year guiyou, they reverently invited the master, at Jianxing Monastery in Shixing Commandery, Hengzhou, to expound the Great Vehicle, unfold the secret scripture, and reveal and guide the way for those who had lost it.（0575a28）Thereupon this treatise was translated in one scroll to illuminate its purport. Also translated were twenty scrolls of Profound Texts, four scrolls of Profound Texts on the Great Perfection of Wisdom, two scrolls of the Sūtra on the Twelve Links of Dependent Origination, and two scrolls of Chapters on the Meaning of the Nine Consciousnesses.（0575b01）Yuezhi Shouna and others from India transmitted the words; Zhikai and others took up the brush. From beginning to end, the work took two years to complete.（0575b02）Aśvaghoṣa’s deep and far-reaching purport thus shone anew in that age, and those holding deviant views were subdued and followed the true transformation.

〔6 · The preface writer speaks for himself〕（0575b03）Though I lament that I was born too late to see the sages, I rejoice that I have encountered this hidden and profound purport. I praise its deep essential meaning and admire it without end.（0575b04）Without measuring my own strength, and though lacking in learning, I have tentatively set down these few words.（0575b05）Should I happen to meet a wise person, may he deign to grant corrections.

A preface generally tells us three things: what sort of book this is, where it came from, and why the writer has set down these words. This preface does all three. But its order is unusual. The preface writer does not begin with the book; he begins with the age: more than six hundred years after the Tathāgata’s nirvāṇa, divergent paths arose one after another, deviant forces fanned the flames, and slander of the Buddha’s true Dharma did not cease. Only after that setting is complete does Aśvaghoṣa appear, and only then is the treatise composed.

The opening of the preface thus settles one thing at once: the Awakening of Faith was not written to complete a system of learning. It was written to rescue the faith of an age.

The author is clearly named at the head of the scroll: “Composed by Zhikai, a monk of Yangzhou.” He is neither the author of the treatise nor its translator. He is one of the people who took up the brush in the translation assembly. Near the end of the preface he says of himself, “Though I lament that I did not see the sages, I rejoice that I encountered this hidden purport.” A person born too late, unable to reach the age of the sages, nevertheless lived to encounter this book. That sentence is the key to the whole preface.

Function Before Substance

The preface describes the treatise in only three sentences: it is the utterly supreme Great Vehicle and a most profound secret scripture, disclosing dependent origination in accord with principle; its purport is deep and vast, quiescent and without mark, while its function is broad, expansive, and without limit; ordinary beings and sages alike depend upon it, and it is the root of all dharmas.

The order of those sentences deserves attention. The first says what the treatise is—a secret scripture whose disclosure is “dependent origination in accord with principle.” The second presents two sides: its purport is quiescent and without mark; its function is vast and without boundary. The third comes down to the most concrete point: “ordinary beings and sages alike depend upon it, and it is the root of all dharmas.” Ordinary beings depend upon it; sages depend upon it; all dharmas take it as their root.

This already sketches the frame that the Awakening of Faith will unfold: one mind, two aspects; on one side quiescent and without mark, on the other able to give rise to all dharmas. Before the treatise itself has spoken, the preface writer has drawn its shape.

There is a small point that is easy to pass over, yet it shows the boundary between preface and treatise with unusual clarity. The phrase dependent origination in accord with principle belongs to the preface writer, not to the treatise. Throughout the body of the work, even the expression dependent origination never occurs. The preface writer takes up the treatise in the language current in his own age; the treatise has another vocabulary—mind of sentient beings, suchness, arising and ceasing. The preface is the doorway; the treatise is the house. Words spoken at the doorway need not be the language used within. If you carry only the vocabulary of the preface into the treatise, you may find that it no longer opens the door.

“Those Who Believe Are Exceedingly Few”—The Pivot of the Whole Preface

Immediately after its three sentences of praise, the preface turns: “Because its words are deep and its purport far-reaching, those who believe are exceedingly few.”

Its words are deep, its purport far-reaching, and therefore very few can place their faith in it. This sentence is the pivot of the whole preface. Precisely because so few believe, there has to be a treatise called the Awakening of Faith; precisely because the Dharma itself is lofty and far-reaching, there has to be a way by which people can enter it.

The title of the treatise says “awakening faith,” not “understanding the meaning.” The preface writer grasps that word from the start. He does not say that Aśvaghoṣa wrote the treatise in order to defeat non-Buddhist paths and establish a doctrine—though the treatise does indeed have a part on countering deviant attachments. He says instead that Aśvaghoṣa “grieved that beings had long been lost, and therefore composed this treatise.” The motive for composing it is placed in compassion, not controversy.

He then describes the treatise’s effect with very concrete verbs: those who had gone astray “relinquished their attachments and took refuge”; those darkened and partial in feeling “released what they clung to and gathered near.” Release and relinquish; only then take refuge and draw near. One first loosens what the hand is gripping, and only then can one approach. The preface writer’s understanding of faith is disclosed here: faith is not the addition of one more view, but the first unclenching of what one already holds.

The preface writer says that “those who believe are exceedingly few,” while the treatise itself addresses faith at different depths. Of the eight occasions for composing the work, two concern faith directly. One is “to enable sentient beings whose wholesome roots have matured to be capable of non-retrogression in their faith in the Mahāyāna”; the other is “to enable sentient beings whose wholesome roots are slight to cultivate the mind of faith.” Those who already have roots need non-retrogression; those whose roots remain slight need to become able to practice at all. The same treatise speaks to both. The phrase “those who believe are exceedingly few” is therefore not merely a lament. It is a measure of care: the text does not assume that its reader already believes, and it does not refuse to speak because the reader does not yet believe.

Later, the treatise presents the same sequence in another form. In the part on practicing the mind of faith, the four kinds of faith and the five gates of practice also place calming before contemplation: first come to rest, and only then see. Standing at the doorway, the preface writer has already given the cadence of the path.

How Long Does It Take a Book to Cross the Sea

Almost the whole latter half of the preface tells one story: how this treatise traveled from the Western Regions to the lands of the east.

First comes the reason it had not arrived before: “From ages past it had long remained hidden in the Western Regions and had not been transmitted to the east. Truly, the proclamation and translation of the teaching had their proper season.” It was not that the book did not exist; its time had not come. Only then does the preface tell how Emperor Wu of the Liang sent envoys to Magadha in central India to obtain scriptures and invite Dharma masters, and how they encountered the Tripiṭaka master Julan Nantuo, whose name was rendered into Chinese as Paramārtha. From youth he had drawn widely upon many books and ranged throughout the scriptures, and “his penetration of the Great Vehicle in particular was deep and far-reaching.”

What follows is remarkably unpropitious, and remarkably candid. The king agreed at once to send the master, but the master “declined bitterly and could not be excused”—he boarded the ship only because his refusal was not accepted. Less than ten days after he came ashore, the upheaval of Hou Jing began. Here the preface writer gives a figure: “his outstanding gifts were dammed and could not flow forth, like a pearl held in the mouth before it could be released.” A mouth full of jewels, blocked by disorder before a single one could be brought forth. The sunlight of wisdom paused, and the master wished to leave.

The treatise’s arrival is thus written as a succession of impediments: the season had not come, the master could not avoid the journey, warfare broke out almost as soon as he landed, and the translator wished to return. It was amid these conditions that several monks of the capital—Huixian, Zhishao, Zhikai, Tanzhen, and Huimin—together with Xiao Bo, a man holding military authority, kept the master from leaving. At Jianxing Monastery in Shixing Commandery, Hengzhou, they invited him to expound the Great Vehicle and unfold the secret scripture. The work began on the tenth day of the ninth month in the third year of Chengsheng and “took two years from beginning to end.”

The preface records the division of labor in the assembly: Yuezhi Shouna and others from India transmitted the words; Zhikai and others held the brush. The person who wrote this preface, then, was the person holding that brush. He was not standing beside the event and recording an edifying story. He was inside it.

When we read a translated treatise today, we usually see a clean text; we do not see what its arrival looked like. This preface leaves that scene intact: a reluctant voyage, an outbreak of war, several monks who persuaded the master to stay, and two years of work. The preface writer does not turn it into legend. He simply sets it down in order, then gives the entire matter back to one sentence: “Truly, the proclamation and translation of the teaching had their proper season.”

The Last Sentence Is a Posture

The final four clauses of the preface are brief and low in tone: “Without measuring my own strength, and though lacking in learning, I have tentatively set down these words. Should I happen to meet a wise person, may he deign to grant corrections.”

He lacks learning; he has ventured only to write these few words; if a wise person appears, he asks to be corrected.

This is not mere courtesy. At the end of the preface to a treatise meant to awaken faith, its writer places himself where he can be corrected. Earlier he used the weightiest words for the treatise—utterly supreme, most profound, secret scripture, root of all dharmas. When he comes to himself, only “without measuring my own strength, and though lacking in learning” remains. The height accorded to the Dharma and the lowness accorded to oneself inhabit the same page. This is where the gravity of the preface lies.

For that reason the preface became a primary record for understanding the history of the treatise. Its dates, places, and names have been checked again and again by later readers. That checking has indeed disclosed discrepancies. Those belong to the apparatus and are not adjudicated here.

The Preface Walks the Road Ahead

Taken apart, the order of this preface corresponds closely to the order of the treatise.

It first explains why the treatise had to exist: the age had gone awry, few still believed, and Aśvaghoṣa composed the work out of compassion. The treatise’s first part is precisely the part on the occasion. It opens with the question, “On what occasion was this treatise composed?” and answers with eight occasions, the first being “to enable sentient beings to leave all suffering and attain ultimate bliss.” The preface speaks of the same matter, but at the doorway.

It then says in three sentences what the treatise is: its purport is quiescent and without mark, its function vast and without boundary, and ordinary beings and sages rely upon it as the root of all dharmas. The treatise’s second part, the part on setting up the meaning, says just this: one dharma and three meanings. The dharma is “the mind of sentient beings”; the meanings are substance, mark, and function. Each of the preface writer’s sentences faces one side of that structure.

The preface next tells how the treatise reaches a person: those who are lost relinquish their attachments and take refuge; those who are darkened release what they cling to and gather near. The fourth part of the treatise, on practicing the mind of faith, presents the four kinds of faith and the five gates of practice. It too speaks of where practice begins.

This preface, then, is not a ceremonial foreword. It is a map folded small. Read it once before the treatise and you will discover that it has already walked, in a little more than four hundred characters, the road the treatise is about to take. Read the whole treatise and then return, and those four hundred characters suddenly carry more weight. This is why the preface stands at the beginning.

Of the treatise’s parts, the one the preface does not develop is the countering of deviant attachments. It gathers that work into a single line: “those holding deviant views were subdued and followed the true transformation,” leaving the breaking of attachments to the treatise itself. The final part, exhorting to practice and its benefit, also has its correspondence in the preface. The treatise exhorts “any sentient being who wishes to give rise to true faith in the Tathāgata’s most profound realm”; the preface speaks of causing “the authoritative teaching of the Great Vehicle to appear again in that age, and the profound principle of dependent origination to shine still more clearly for later generations.” One speaks to the person before it; the other to generations yet to come. Both urge the same turning.

Carrying Forward—A Preface Left without Line-by-Line Commentary

The foregoing is the meaning of the preface itself. What follows lets the commentators’ eyes shine on it from the side—a commentary is not the preface, only the same matter viewed from another position.

What is striking is that the ancient line-by-line commentators did not comment upon this preface at all. Before explaining the text, Fazang’s Record of the Meaning of the Awakening of Faith in the Great Vehicle opens ten approaches: the cause for the teaching’s arising; the collections in which it is included; the scope of the teaching; the capacities addressed; the substance of the teaching that expresses; the purport expressed; the title of the treatise; the time of its composition; the date of its translation; and, only as the tenth, explanation following the text. Of these, the eighth, “the time of composition,” and the ninth, “the date of translation,” stand nearest to this preface. There he recounts the translation on his own terms rather than annotating the preface. When he reaches the tenth approach and begins line-by-line explanation, what he calls the “preface” is the three homage stanzas at the beginning of the treatise—“the three stanzas at the beginning pay homage and request aid”—not this composition. Wonhyo’s Commentary on the Awakening of Faith likewise divides the treatise into three: the opening three lines of verse, the body from “the treatise says” onward, and the final stanza. For both commentators, the body of the treatise begins with the homage stanzas. This preface stands outside the door.

Yet the commentators did not ignore what the preface records. In his introductory discussion Fazang gives a separate account of Paramārtha, the imperial order to translate scriptures, the translation at Jianxing Monastery in Hengzhou, and “the śramaṇa Zhikai took down the text with his brush.” He records the same event as the preface, but the wording differs: the sexagenary designation of the year, the form of the interpreter’s name, and the fullness of the place-name are not the same. Both records remain. Neither has been altered to conform to the other.

There is one colder fact still: this preface is absent from the Korean edition. The Taishō follows the Ming edition and collates it against the Song, Yuan, and Kunaichō editions. A preface repeatedly cited by later generations does not exist in one of the most important witnesses.

Its position is thus clear. It does not belong to the body of the treatise, and the commentators do not annotate it. Its transmission is not uniform. Yet for fifteen hundred years, anyone asking where this treatise came from has had to begin here. And the preface writer’s sentence remains where it was placed: “Truly, the proclamation and translation of the teaching had their proper season.” Whether a book comes or does not come, he assigns neither outcome to human achievement. He returns it to the season.