The Four Marks, and the Buddha's Boundless Manifestations

The Buddha said further to Kāśyapa: "Good son, a bodhisattva-mahāsattva who would distinguish and expound this great parinirvāṇa to others must have four marks. What are these four? First, self-correction; second, correcting others; third, being able to answer whatever is asked; and fourth, understanding well the meaning of causes and conditions. What is self-correction? When the Buddha, the Tathāgata, sees a particular cause and condition and speaks accordingly — it is like a monk who, seeing a great blazing fire, says to himself: 'I would sooner embrace this raging fire than ever dare to slander the twelvefold scriptures and secret treasury the Tathāgata has taught, saying they were spoken by Pāpīyas, or saying that the Tathāgata, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha are impermanent — for to speak this way is to injure and deceive oneself, and to deceive others as well. I would sooner cut out my own tongue with a sharp knife than ever say that the Tathāgata, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha are impermanent. And should I hear another say such a thing, I would not believe or accept it, but would instead give rise to compassion for the one who says it — for the Tathāgata, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha are beyond conceptual thought.' One should hold to this resolve, regarding one's own self as though it stood before that very fire — this is called self-correction."

"What is correcting others? While the Buddha was teaching the Dharma, a woman nursing an infant came to where the Buddha was, bowed her head to the Buddha's feet, and, with some concern on her mind, sat quietly to one side, absorbed in her own thoughts. The World-Honored One, knowing her thought, asked her anyway: "Out of fondness for your child, have you fed him too much ghee, without judging whether he could digest it?" The woman then said to the Buddha: "How wondrous, World-Honored One! You know exactly what is on my mind. I beg only that the Tathāgata teach me the proper measure. World-Honored One, this morning I gave my child a great deal of ghee, and I fear he may not be able to digest it — could this shorten his life? I beg only that the Tathāgata explain this to me." The Buddha said: "What your child has eaten will digest completely, and will lengthen his life." Hearing this, the woman was filled with great joy, and said further: "Because the Tathāgata has spoken the truth, I now rejoice."

"The World-Honored One acts in just this way: in order to tame and guide beings, he skillfully distinguishes what can be digested from what cannot. He also teaches that all dharmas are without self and impermanent — for if the Buddha, the World-Honored One, were to teach permanence first, those still being taught would say this teaching is no different from the heterodox schools, and would simply leave."

He said further to the woman: "Once your child has grown, and can walk and move about on his own, able to digest even what is hard to digest, the ghee you once gave him will no longer be sufficient. My own śrāvaka disciples are just the same: like your infant, unable to digest this permanent Dharma, and so I first teach suffering and impermanence. But once my śrāvaka disciples have completed their virtues, and are able to bear the cultivation of the Great Vehicle's own scriptures, I then teach them, within this very scripture, the six flavors. What are these six flavors? Suffering, like a sour taste; impermanence, like a salty taste; no-self, like a bitter taste; bliss, like a sweet taste; self, like a pungent taste; permanence, like a bland taste. Within the ordinary world there are only three of these flavors — namely impermanence, no-self, and the absence of bliss. Affliction becomes the firewood, and wisdom the fire, and through this very cause and condition the meal of nirvāṇa is prepared — namely permanence, bliss, and self — and every disciple comes to relish it."

He said further to the woman: "Should you have some errand that takes you elsewhere, you would drive your wayward son out of the house, and entrust your treasury entirely to your worthy son." The woman said to the Buddha: "It is truly as your holy teaching says — a treasury of jewels should be shown to a worthy son, not to a wayward one."

"Sister, I am just the same. At my parinirvāṇa, the Tathāgata's subtle and secret, peerless treasury of the Dharma is not given to the śrāvaka disciples — just as your treasure is not shown to your wayward son — but must instead be entrusted to the bodhisattvas, just as your treasure is entrusted to your worthy son. Why is this? Because the śrāvaka disciples give rise to the notion of change, thinking that the Tathāgata has truly and utterly passed away — when in truth I have not passed away at all. It is like when you go on a long journey and have not yet returned: your wayward son says you have died, though you have in truth not died. The bodhisattvas, however, say that the Tathāgata is permanent and unchanging — like your worthy son, who does not say you have died. For this reason, I entrust the peerless secret treasury to the bodhisattvas."

"Good son, if there are beings who understand that the Buddha abides permanently, without change, know that in that household there is truly a buddha — this is called correcting others."

"What is being able to answer whatever is asked? If someone comes to ask the Buddha, the World-Honored One: 'How can I become a great donor without giving away my own wealth?' the Buddha answers: 'If there are śramaṇas or brāhmaṇas of few desires and easy satisfaction, who neither accept nor keep impure possessions, one should give such people servants and attendants. To those who practice pure conduct, give women in marriage instead. To those who abstain from wine and meat, offer wine and meat. To those who do not eat past noon, offer food eaten past noon. To those who do not wear flowers or perfume, offer flowers and perfume.' Giving in this way, one's generosity becomes known and spreads to every land, without the true cost of one's wealth being diminished by so much as a hair's breadth.' This is what is called being able to answer whatever is asked."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa then said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, one should not give meat to a meat-eater. Why is this? Because I have seen that those who do not eat meat possess great merit."

The Buddha praised Kāśyapa: "Excellent, excellent! You have now grasped my own intent well — a bodhisattva who protects the Dharma should be just like this. Good son, from this day forward, I do not permit my śrāvaka disciples to eat meat at all; whenever they receive food offered in faith by a donor, they should regard that food as though it were the flesh of their own child."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said again to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, why does the Tathāgata not permit the eating of meat?" "Good son, whoever eats meat cuts off the seed of great loving-kindness."

Kāśyapa said further: "Then why did the Tathāgata previously permit monks to eat the three kinds of pure meat?" "Kāśyapa, these three kinds of pure meat were permitted as a gradual restriction, suited to the circumstances of the time."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said again to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, for what reason are the ten kinds of impure meat, and even the nine kinds of pure meat, now also forbidden?" The Buddha said to Kāśyapa: "This too was restricted gradually according to circumstance — understand that it points toward the eventual complete prohibition of meat."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said again to the Buddha: "Then why has the Tathāgata praised fish and meat as fine food?" "Good son, I have never said that fish or meat are fine food. I have said that sugarcane, rice, rock sugar, every kind of grain and wheat, dark rock candy, curds, and ghee are fine foods. And though I have said monks may keep various kinds of robes, what may be kept must be of a subdued, undyed color — how much less, then, should one covet the taste of fish or meat?"

Kāśyapa said further: "If the Tathāgata now forbids the eating of meat, then should not the five flavors — milk, whey, fresh butter, clarified butter, and sesame oil — and also silk garments, shells, leather, and vessels of gold and silver, likewise not be accepted?"

"Good son, one should not adopt the view of the Nirgrantha ascetics on this matter. Every precept the Tathāgata has set has its own distinct intent behind it. It was with one intent that I permitted the three kinds of pure meat; with a different intent that I then forbade the ten kinds of meat; and with yet another intent that I now forbid all meat entirely, including that from an animal already dead of natural causes. Kāśyapa, from this day I forbid my disciples to eat any meat whatsoever. Kāśyapa, whoever eats meat — whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down — will cause every being who catches the scent of that meat on him to be filled with fear, just as when someone who has been near a lion passes by, and people, catching the lion's scent on him, are filled with fear as well."

"Good son, it is like a person who has eaten garlic — the smell is foul and repugnant, and others, catching that smell, avoid him and turn away; even seen from a distance, one has no wish to look at him, let alone draw near. Those who eat meat are just the same: every being who catches the scent of meat on them is filled with fear, giving rise to the thought of death — every living creature of water, land, and air flees from them, saying: 'This person is our enemy.' For this reason, a bodhisattva does not practice eating meat; when he does appear to eat it, for the sake of bringing beings across, though he appears to eat it, he does not, in truth, eat it at all. Good son, if a bodhisattva does not even eat food that is genuinely pure in this way, how much less would he eat meat?"

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said again to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, monks, nuns, upāsakas, and upāsikās depend on others for their food. If, while begging for alms, they receive food mixed with meat, how can they eat in accordance with the pure Dharma?" The Buddha said: "Kāśyapa, one should wash it with water, separating the meat from the rest, and only then eat it. If the vessel itself has been tainted by meat, so long as no flavor of it remains, one may use it without fault. But if one sees that the food contains a great deal of meat, one should not accept it at all. No meat that is plainly visible as such should ever be eaten; whoever eats it incurs a fault. I have now proclaimed this prohibition of meat; were I to explain it fully, it could not be exhausted. The time of my parinirvāṇa has come, and so I speak of it only briefly. This is what is called being able to answer whatever is asked."

"Kāśyapa, what is understanding well the meaning of causes and conditions? Suppose the fourfold assembly comes to ask me: 'World-Honored One, regarding this very teaching — why, when the Tathāgata first appeared, did he not immediately teach King Prasenajit this profound and subtle meaning? Why is it sometimes taught deeply, and sometimes only shallowly? Why is something at one time called an offense, and at another time not an offense? What does it mean to "fall"? What is meant by the Vinaya? What is meant by the prātimokṣa?' The Buddha answers: 'The prātimokṣa means knowing contentment; being complete in one's bearing and keeping nothing improper; it is also called pure livelihood. To "fall" means falling into the four evil destinies… The Vinaya is that which accords with the precepts and proper bearing, and with the profound and excellent meaning of the scriptures, forbidding the acceptance of every impure object and every impure circumstance, and forbidding as well the four grave offenses, the thirteen saṅghāvaśeṣa offenses, the two indeterminate offenses, the thirty offenses requiring forfeiture, the ninety-one offenses requiring confession, the four offenses requiring acknowledgment, the many rules of training, and the seven ways of settling disputes. There are some who break every one of these precepts entirely — what is meant by "every one"? The four grave offenses, down through the seven ways of settling disputes. And there are some who slander the profound scriptures of the true Dharma, becoming icchantikas, fully embodying the view that every mark whatsoever arises without any cause or condition at all. Such people, calling themselves clever and sharp-witted, conceal every offense, whether light or grave, hiding their every evil deed the way a tortoise draws in its six limbs; such offenses, through a long night of never being confessed, only grow and multiply day and night. These monks, never bringing their own many transgressions into the open, allow what they have transgressed to spread and proliferate further still. This is why the Tathāgata, knowing all this, set the precepts gradually, one by one, rather than all at once.'"

At that time a certain good son and good daughter said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, since the Tathāgata has long known of these things, why did he not set out the precepts beforehand? Could it be that the World-Honored One actually wishes beings to fall into the Avīci hell? It is like a great crowd of people traveling toward some other place, who lose the true road and follow instead a false path, not realizing they have gone astray, each supposing this false path to be the right one, with no one else in sight to ask whether it is right or wrong. Beings are just the same, lost within the Buddha-dharma, unable to see what is true and correct — the Tathāgata should have taught the true path first, instructing the monks in advance: 'This is a transgression of the precepts, this is keeping them,' setting out the rule beforehand. Why is this? Because the Tathāgata, the Perfectly Awakened One, alone knows and sees the true path as it really is; only the Tathāgata, a god among gods, is able to teach the ten wholesome deeds and their surpassing virtue, along with their true meaning — and this is why we now ask that the precepts should have been set beforehand."

The Buddha said: "Good son, if it is said that the Tathāgata is able to proclaim to beings the ten wholesome deeds and their surpassing virtue, then the Tathāgata already regards every being as he regards Rāhula — how, then, can it be objected that the World-Honored One might actually wish beings to fall into hell? Seeing even a single person with the cause and condition for falling into the Avīci hell, I would remain in the world for that person's sake for a whole kalpa, or at least for less than a kalpa. I hold great compassion for beings — for what reason would I ever deceive those I regard as my own children, and lead them into hell? Good son, it is like a tailor in a king's own realm, who mends a garment only once he sees where it has a hole. The Tathāgata is just the same: on seeing that beings have the cause and condition for falling into the Avīci hell, he then mends that very fault with the good of the precepts. Good son, it is like a wheel-turning sage-king who first teaches beings the ten wholesome deeds; only afterward, as some gradually begin to do evil, does the king, according to each circumstance, gradually forbid it, and only once every evil has been forbidden does he himself then practice the sage-king's own Dharma. Good son, I am just the same: though I have already taught much, I could not set out every precept beforehand — it was only as the monks gradually engaged in improper conduct that I then set out each precept according to the circumstance. Beings who delight in the Dharma, practicing in accordance with this teaching, are the ones who are able to see the Tathāgata's own Dharma-body." Just as the wheel-treasure possessed by a wheel-turning king is beyond conceptual thought, the Tathāgata is likewise beyond conceptual thought; the two treasures of the Dharma and the Saṅgha are likewise beyond conceptual thought; both the one who teaches the Dharma and the one who hears it are beyond conceptual thought — this is what is called understanding well the meaning of causes and conditions. A bodhisattva who can distinguish and expound these four marks in this way is said to have understood the meaning of causes and conditions within the Great Vehicle's own great parinirvāṇa."

"Furthermore, self-correction means attaining this great parinirvāṇa itself. Correcting others means my own teaching to the monks that the Tathāgata abides permanently, without change. Answering whatever is asked means, Kāśyapa, that because of your own questions, I have been able to expound this profound and subtle meaning at length for the sake of the bodhisattva-mahāsattvas, the monks, the nuns, the upāsakas, and the upāsikās. Understanding the meaning of causes and conditions means this: the śrāvakas and pratyekabuddhas do not understand this profound meaning, because they have not heard how the three dots of the letter i come to form liberation, nirvāṇa, and the great prajñā into a single secret treasury. I now set this forth and distinguish it here, opening the eye of wisdom for these śrāvakas. Suppose someone were to say: 'How can these four different matters be called one single thing? Is this not a false claim?' One should answer by turning the question back: 'Open space has no substance at all, is unmoving and unobstructed. In what way, then, do these four descriptions of space differ from one another — could such a claim ever be called false?' 'No, World-Honored One — all these descriptions are of a single meaning, namely the meaning of emptiness itself.' Self-correction, correcting others, answering whatever is asked, and understanding the meaning of causes and conditions are just the same: they are this very great parinirvāṇa, and are in no way different from it."

The Buddha said to Kāśyapa: "Suppose a good son or good daughter says: 'The Tathāgata is impermanent. How can this be known? For the Buddha has himself said: "The extinguishing of every affliction is called nirvāṇa, just as when a fire goes out, nothing at all remains — the extinguishing of every affliction is just the same, and this is why it is called nirvāṇa." How, then, can the Tathāgata be the permanently abiding, unchanging Dharma?… As the Buddha has also said: "It is like a piece of heated iron, struck so that sparks fly out — once scattered, they vanish at once, and no one knows where they have gone. True liberation is just the same: having crossed beyond the mire of lust and every state of existence, one attains the unmoving place, and no one knows where one has gone." How, then, can the Tathāgata be the permanently abiding, unchanging Dharma?' Kāśyapa, whoever raises such an objection is raising a false objection. Kāśyapa, you too should not imagine that the Tathāgata's own nature is utter extinction. Kāśyapa, the extinguishing of affliction is not itself a thing at all. Why is this? Because it is ultimate and final — this is precisely why it is called permanent; this very phrase means stillness, and has nothing higher than it. The extinguishing of every mark, leaving nothing whatsoever behind, is a phrase meaning purity itself, permanently abiding and never regressing. This is why nirvāṇa is called permanent abiding, and the Tathāgata is just the same, permanently abiding, without change. The 'flying sparks' spoken of here refer to affliction. 'Once scattered, they vanish at once, and no one knows where they have gone' means that once every buddha's affliction is extinguished, it no longer exists within any of the five destinies. This is why the Tathāgata is the permanently abiding Dharma, without any change. Furthermore, Kāśyapa, that which every buddha takes as teacher is the Dharma itself; this is why the Tathāgata reveres and honors it — and because the Dharma is permanent, every buddha is likewise permanent."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said again to the Buddha: "If the fire of affliction is extinguished, and the Tathāgata is likewise extinguished, then the Tathāgata has no place of permanent abiding at all — just like that scattered iron, whose red glow, once extinguished, goes no one knows where. The Tathāgata's own affliction would be just the same, extinguished and going nowhere at all. And just as that iron's heat and red glow, once extinguished, no longer exist, the Tathāgata would be just the same: once extinguished, he becomes impermanent — extinguishing the fire of affliction, he simply enters nirvāṇa. One should therefore understand the Tathāgata to be impermanent." "Good son, the iron spoken of here stands for ordinary beings. Though an ordinary person may extinguish affliction, once extinguished it arises again in him — this is why he is called impermanent. The Tathāgata is not like this: once extinguished, it never arises again in him — this is why he is called permanent."

Kāśyapa said further: "But once iron's red glow is extinguished, if it is placed back into the fire, that red glow arises again. If the Tathāgata is like this, his own afflictions should likewise arise again — and if they arise again, this is precisely impermanence." The Buddha said: "Kāśyapa, you should not now speak this way, that the Tathāgata is impermanent. Why is this? Because the Tathāgata is permanent. Good son, it is like burning a piece of wood: once it is consumed, ash remains. Once affliction is extinguished, nirvāṇa comes to be. The similes of the torn garment, the severed head, and the shattered vessel are all just the same — each of these things, once it happens, is given its own name: a torn garment, a severed head, a shattered vessel. Kāśyapa, iron, once cooled, can be made hot again — but the Tathāgata is not like this: having cut off affliction, he is forever, finally cool, and the blazing fire of affliction never arises in him again. Kāśyapa, you should know that countless beings are like that iron, and it is with the blazing fire of undefiled wisdom that I burn away the knots of affliction in those beings."

Kāśyapa said further: "Excellent, excellent! I now truly understand what the Tathāgata has taught — that every buddha is permanent." The Buddha said: "Kāśyapa, it is like a sage-king who ordinarily dwells within his inner palace, but at times goes out to wander in his rear garden; though the king is then not among his court ladies, one still cannot say that the sage-king has died. Good son, the Tathāgata is just the same: though he does not appear within the land of Jambudvīpa, entering instead into nirvāṇa, he should not be called impermanent for this. The Tathāgata, having emerged from immeasurable affliction, enters the place of ease and bliss that is nirvāṇa, wandering among flowers of awakening, delighting in joy."

Kāśyapa asked again: "The Buddha has said that he crossed beyond the great ocean of affliction long ago. But if the Buddha had already crossed beyond the ocean of affliction, why did he then still father Rāhula with Yaśodharā? By this very fact, one should conclude that the Tathāgata has not, after all, crossed beyond that great ocean of every afflictive fetter. I beg only that the Tathāgata explain the reason for this."

The Buddha said to Kāśyapa: "You should not say that, since the Tathāgata crossed beyond the great ocean of affliction long ago, his fathering Rāhula with Yaśodharā proves he has not, in fact, crossed beyond that great ocean of every afflictive fetter. Good son, this great nirvāṇa is able to establish great and wondrous functions; you should now listen closely with your whole heart, and expound this widely for others, without giving rise to alarm or doubt. If a bodhisattva-mahāsattva abides in this great nirvāṇa, he is able to take Mount Sumeru, king of mountains, tall and vast as it is, and fit it entirely within a single mustard seed's husk, without the beings who dwell upon Sumeru feeling any confinement, or any sense of having moved at all — everything remaining exactly as it was before; only those beings ready to be brought across by this bodhisattva perceive him placing Sumeru within a mustard-seed husk, and then setting it back again in its original place. Good son, there is likewise a bodhisattva-mahāsattva who abides in this great nirvāṇa and is able to place the whole trichiliocosm within a mustard-seed husk, without the beings within it feeling any confinement or sense of having moved at all, everything remaining exactly as before… Good son, there is likewise a bodhisattva-mahāsattva who abides in this great nirvāṇa and is able to sever and lift up every buddha-world of the trichiliocosm throughout the ten directions, setting them all upon the point of a needle as one might string dates on a leaf, and cast them into some other, different buddha-world entirely — with every being in them never once noticing that they have gone anywhere at all; only those beings ready to be brought across can perceive this, and the same is true when he restores them to their original place. Good son, there is likewise a bodhisattva-mahāsattva who abides in this great nirvāṇa and is able to sever and lift up every buddha-world of the trichiliocosm throughout the ten directions, resting them upon his own right palm as a potter's wheel rests upon its axle, and casting them into another world as numerous as motes of dust, with not a single being sensing that they have moved at all; only those beings ready to be brought across can perceive it, and the same is true when he restores them again. Good son, there is likewise a bodhisattva-mahāsattva who abides in this great nirvāṇa and is able to sever and lift up every immeasurable buddha-world throughout all ten directions, drawing them entirely within his own body, without the beings inside feeling any confinement, or any sense of having moved or of dwelling anywhere different at all; only those ready to be brought across can perceive it, and the same is true when he restores them again… A bodhisattva-mahāsattva who abides in this great nirvāṇa is thus able to manifest every kind of immeasurable spiritual transformation — this is why it is called the great parinirvāṇa. No being at all is able to measure such immeasurable spiritual transformations as these bodhisattva-mahāsattvas can manifest — how, then, could you presume to know that the Tathāgata engaged in sexual desire, and thereby fathered Rāhula?"

"Good son, I have long abided in this great nirvāṇa, manifesting every kind of spiritual transformation, appearing in every kind of way throughout the hundred million suns and moons and the hundred million continents of Jambudvīpa within this trichiliocosm, exactly as is expounded at length in the Śūraṅgama Sūtra. In this trichiliocosm, or within a single Jambudvīpa, I manifest the appearance of parinirvāṇa, and yet I do not, in any final sense, actually enter it. Within a Jambudvīpa I manifest entering my mother's womb, causing my parents to think of me as their own son — yet this body of mine was, in the final sense, never born from the union of desire at all. I have already, for immeasurable kalpas, been free of sexual desire; this body of mine now is itself the Dharma-body, and only accords with the ways of the world in manifesting the appearance of entering the womb. Good son, in this Jambudvīpa's Lumbinī Garden, I manifest being born from my mother Māyā, and, once born, take seven steps to the east and proclaim: 'Among gods, humans, and asuras, I am the most honored and supreme' — … yet this body of mine has, for immeasurable kalpas, long been free of any such thing as birth. The Tathāgata's own body is itself the Dharma-body, not something constituted from flesh, blood, sinew, or marrow; it is only in according with the ways of worldly beings that it manifests as an infant…"

"Seven days after being born in Jambudvīpa, I further manifest having my head shaved, and everyone supposes that I, an infant, am having my hair cut for the very first time… yet I have, for immeasurable kalpas, already shaved away hair and beard — it is only in order to accord with the ways of the world that I manifest this shaving now… I manifest entering school, studying reading and writing, and yet I have, for immeasurable kalpas, already accomplished this fully; surveying every being throughout the three realms, there is not one fit to be my own teacher — it is only in order to accord with the ways of the world that I manifest entering school, and this is precisely why I am called Tathāgata, the Worthy One, the Perfectly Awakened One… Within Jambudvīpa I further manifest as a crown prince, and beings all see me delighting in the pleasures of the five desires — yet I have, for immeasurable kalpas, already relinquished such pleasures of the five desires; it is only in order to accord with the ways of the world that I manifest this appearance… Within Jambudvīpa I manifest leaving behind the pleasures of the harem's five desires, and, having seen old age, sickness, death, and a renunciant, go forth to cultivate the path — everyone supposes this is Prince Siddhārtha's first going-forth; yet I have, for immeasurable kalpas, already gone forth to cultivate the path — it is only in according with worldly custom that I manifest this now. Within Jambudvīpa I manifest going forth, receiving the full precepts, diligently cultivating the path, and attaining the fruits of stream-entry, once-returning, non-returning, and arhatship, and everyone supposes that the fruit of arhatship is easily attained, without difficulty — yet I have, for immeasurable kalpas, already accomplished the fruit of arhatship. In order to bring beings to liberation, I sit beneath the Bodhi tree at the seat of enlightenment, upon a seat of grass, subduing every māra, and everyone supposes this is the first time I have subdued the hosts of māra beneath the Bodhi tree — yet I subdued them long ago, throughout immeasurable kalpas, and manifest this transformation now only in order to subdue beings whose minds are hard and unyielding… Everyone supposes that Rāhula is my own son, that King Śuddhodana is my own father, that Lady Māyā is my own mother, that I dwelt in the world enjoying every pleasure, and then left all this behind to go forth and cultivate the path. People say further: 'This is the crown prince Gautama, of a great clan, who has left worldly pleasure far behind to seek the Dharma that transcends the world.' Yet I have long been free of worldly desire — every one of these things is itself a skillful manifestation. Every being takes me to be a person just as they themselves are; but in truth I am not."

"Good son, though I appear, again and again, within this Jambudvīpa, to enter parinirvāṇa, I do not, in the final sense, ever truly enter it at all — yet every being supposes the Tathāgata to have genuinely and utterly passed away, when in truth the Tathāgata's own nature is never truly extinguished. This is why you should understand it to be the permanently abiding Dharma, the unchanging Dharma. Good son, this great nirvāṇa is itself the Dharma-realm of every buddha, every Tathāgata. I further manifest appearing in the world within Jambudvīpa, and every being supposes that I have only just become a buddha there — yet I completed this task long ago, throughout immeasurable kalpas, and, in according with worldly custom, manifest again my first appearance and attainment of buddhahood within Jambudvīpa. I further manifest, within Jambudvīpa, failing to keep the precepts and committing one of the four grave offenses, and everyone who sees this supposes I have truly transgressed — yet I have, throughout immeasurable kalpas, firmly upheld the precepts without a single lapse. I further manifest, within Jambudvīpa, as an icchantika, and everyone who sees this supposes I am truly an icchantika — yet I am in truth no icchantika at all; how could an icchantika ever attain unsurpassed, complete awakening? I further manifest, within Jambudvīpa, breaking apart the harmony of the saṅgha, and beings all suppose I am one who has broken the saṅgha — yet, surveying gods and humans, I find no one at all who is truly able to break the saṅgha's harmony. I further manifest, within Jambudvīpa, protecting and upholding the true Dharma, and everyone supposes I am a protector of the Dharma, and is filled with astonishment — yet this is simply how it is for every buddha, and no astonishment is called for. I further manifest, within Jambudvīpa, as Māra Pāpīyas, and everyone supposes I am truly Pāpīyas — yet I have, throughout immeasurable kalpas, long been free of any deed of Māra, pure and unstained, like a lotus flower. I further manifest, within Jambudvīpa, attaining buddhahood in a woman's body, and everyone says: 'How wondrous — a woman has attained unsurpassed, complete awakening.' Yet the Tathāgata, in the final sense, never takes on a woman's body at all; it is only in order to tame and guide countless beings that I manifest a woman's form, and, out of compassion for every being, manifest every kind of form besides. I further manifest, within Jambudvīpa, being born into one of the four evil destinies — yet I have long ago cut off every cause for such destinies; I am born within them, through the workings of karmic cause, only for the sake of bringing beings across… I further manifest, within Jambudvīpa, entering the house of a courtesan — yet I hold, in truth, not the slightest thought of lust, pure and unstained, like a lotus flower; it is for the sake of beings who are attached to lust and beauty that I proclaim the wondrous Dharma at the busy crossroads, and though I hold, in truth, no defiled desire whatsoever, people suppose I am there to watch over the women… The Tathāgata, the Perfectly Awakened One, abides in this great nirvāṇa in just this way, and this is why he is called permanently abiding, without change. Just as it is in Jambudvīpa, so it is in Pūrvavideha to the east, Aparagodānīya to the west, and Uttarakuru to the north; just as it is throughout these four continents, so it is throughout the whole trichiliocosm. The twenty-five states of existence are expounded at length in the Śūraṅgama Sūtra — this is why it is called the great parinirvāṇa. Whoever is a bodhisattva-mahāsattva abiding in this great parinirvāṇa is able to manifest spiritual transformations such as these, entirely without fear."

"Kāśyapa, for this very reason, you should not say that Rāhula is truly the Buddha's own son. Why is this? Because I have already, throughout immeasurable kalpas in ages past, been free of desire and of existence itself — this is why the Tathāgata is called permanently abiding, without any change."

Kāśyapa said further: "How, then, can the Tathāgata be called permanently abiding? For the Buddha has said: 'Just as a lamp, once extinguished, has no place it has gone to, the Tathāgata is just the same — once he has entered parinirvāṇa, he too has no place he has gone to.'"

The Buddha said to Kāśyapa: "Good son, you should not now say: 'Just as a lamp, once utterly extinguished, has no place it has gone to, the Tathāgata is just the same — once he has entered parinirvāṇa, he has no place he has gone to.' Good son, it is like a man or woman lighting a lamp: the lamp's vessel, whether large or small, is filled entirely with oil, and as long as any oil remains, its light continues to burn; but once the oil is exhausted, the light goes out along with it. That going-out of the light is a likeness for the extinguishing of affliction — the light may be entirely extinguished, but the lamp's own vessel still remains. The Tathāgata is just the same: though affliction is extinguished, the Dharma-body remains, permanently. Good son, what do you think — do the light and the lamp's vessel go out together, or not?" Kāśyapa answered: "No, World-Honored One. Though they do not go out together, the vessel is still impermanent. If the Dharma-body is likened to the lamp's vessel, then, since the lamp's vessel is impermanent, the Dharma-body should likewise be impermanent."

"Good son, you should not raise this objection. Just as one speaks of an ordinary 'vessel' in the world, the Tathāgata, the World-Honored One, is a peerless vessel of the Dharma — but it is the vessel that is impermanent, not the Tathāgata himself. Among all dharmas, nirvāṇa alone is permanent, and it is because the Tathāgata embodies it that he is called permanent. Furthermore, good son, when I spoke of the lamp going out, I meant the nirvāṇa realized by an arhat, likened to a lamp going out because craving and every affliction have been extinguished in him. A non-returner (anāgāmin), however, is said still to have some trace of craving remaining, and so cannot properly be said to be like a lamp going out. This is why, in the past, I spoke only obliquely, using the likeness of a lamp going out — it was never the great nirvāṇa itself that I meant to liken to a lamp going out. A non-returner is one who no longer returns again and again to the desire realm, and does not return to any of the twenty-five states of existence, no longer taking on a foul body, a worm-ridden body, a body that eats, or a poisoned body — this is what is called a non-returner. Whoever takes on a body again is called a 'returner'; whoever does not take on a body again is called a 'non-returner'; whoever still goes and comes is called a 'returner'; whoever no longer goes or comes is called a 'non-returner.'"