Being Provided with the Conditions

Root Text: Now, for one who has given rise to the resolve to act, and wishes to cultivate calming and insight, five outward conditions must first be in place. The first is purity of precept-observance. As a sūtra says: "It is by relying on this precept-observance that one is able to give rise to every dhyāna-concentration, and to the wisdom that extinguishes suffering." This is why a monk should keep the precepts purely.

Commentary: Calming and insight is divided into ten major chapters; this is the first of the ten, called "being provided with the conditions." To cultivate calming and insight, one must first have five conditions in place before one can actually make progress: first, purity of precept-observance; second, sufficiency of clothing and food; third, a quiet dwelling place; fourth, setting worldly affairs aside; fifth, staying close to a good spiritual friend.

Anyone who wishes to give rise to the resolve to put real effort into calming and insight must first have these five outward conditions in place, and only then take up the practice, so that it can actually bear fruit. It is like building a house: the foundation must first be made solid, and only then can one, one story after another, build up to two, seven, nine, or as many stories as one likes.

As the sūtra says, it is by relying on precept-observance that concentration and wisdom are able to arise. If one's precept-observance is not pure, no dhyāna-concentration has any way to arise. This is what is meant by saying that once precepts are pure, concentration arises; once concentration arises, wisdom is brought forth — concentration arises because of precepts, and wisdom is brought forth because of concentration. A sūtra says: "When śīla is not pure, samādhi does not appear; the unobstructed, pure wisdom all arises from dhyāna-concentration." Once the light of wisdom shines forth in full, it is able to extinguish every kind of suffering — the three sufferings, the eight sufferings, every measureless kind of suffering, all are extinguished through the power of this very wisdom. This is why the text says "and the wisdom that extinguishes suffering." The four kinds of pure, clear instruction that the Śūraṅgama Sūtra so emphasizes are precisely this same precept-observance.

If one does not keep the precepts, then no matter how much learning or dhyāna-concentration one has, all of it is Māra's own karma, and one ends up, in the end, as a demon-king oneself — like steaming sand and expecting it to become rice: sand was never rice's own basis to begin with. This is why a monk should keep the precepts purely. And though calming and insight is here addressed to monks specifically, it is spoken for all four assemblies — the remaining three are included as well. In any single Dharma assembly, all four kinds of disciples are present together; naming one already implies the other three, and since monks stand foremost among the four assemblies, addressing monks already covers the rest.

Root Text: Yet there are three kinds of practitioners, differing in how they hold the precepts. The first: someone who, even before becoming a disciple of the Buddha, committed none of the five heinous offenses, and who afterward meets a good teacher and is taught to take the three refuges and the five precepts, becoming a disciple of the Buddha. If they go on to leave the household life, receiving the ten novice precepts and then the full precepts, becoming a monk or a nun — and from the moment of receiving these precepts onward, keeps them purely, with nothing broken or violated — this is called a person of upper-grade precept-observance. Know that such a person, cultivating calming and insight, will certainly realize the Buddhadharma — just as a clean garment readily takes a dye.

Commentary: The first two sentences state the general heading. "Yet" signals a shift. Precept-observance divides into upper, middle, and lower grades. The first names the person of upper-grade observance: a practitioner who, even before ever setting their mind on learning the Buddhadharma, before becoming a disciple of the Buddha at all, already conducted themselves within bounds and committed none of the five heinous offenses. The five heinous offenses are: killing one's father, killing one's mother, killing an arhat, drawing a buddha's blood, and causing a schism in the harmonious saṅgha — committing any of these five wounds the Dharma-body, destroys the life of wisdom, runs against the ocean of nirvāṇa and with the stream of birth-and-death, and brings one down into hell to suffer severe retribution.

This practitioner, able to have committed none of the five, is already a good person by the world's own standard. And beyond this, they later meet a good teacher, a good spiritual friend, who teaches them to take the three refuges — taking refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha — and then to go further and receive the five precepts: not killing, not stealing, no sexual misconduct, no false speech, and no intoxicants. Having received the refuges and precepts, they keep them purely, without violation, and thereafter become a genuine disciple of the Buddha. Leaving the household life, they become a novice and receive the ten novice precepts... these ten are what a novice ought to uphold. Next, they go on to receive the two hundred and fifty precepts of a full monk... A practitioner who is able to uphold every one of these precepts, major and minor alike, purely, without the slightest violation, is what is called a person of upper-grade precept-observance.

Know that a person who keeps the precepts as purely as this will, in cultivating calming and insight, certainly realize the Buddhadharma. Holding the precepts purely is like guarding a bright pearl; beginning practice from pure precepts makes realizing the Buddhadharma easy — just as a clean white garment readily takes a dye, since white is the basis of every color and so readily takes on whatever is applied to it. This is why a person of upper-grade precept-observance finds calming and insight easy to cultivate.

Root Text: The second: someone who, having received the precepts, has not broken any of the major ones, yet has damaged many of the minor precepts through various lapses. For the sake of cultivating concentration, they are able to repent in accordance with the Dharma — this too is called purity of precept-observance, and is able to give rise to concentration and wisdom. It is like a garment that once had grease-stains on it: if it can be properly washed clean, it too can take a dye.

Commentary: This explains the second kind, the person of middle-grade precept-observance. Once a person has received the precepts and actually obtained the precept-substance through that reception — the moment of ordination itself matters enormously: it is exactly upon ascending the ordination platform, at the fourfold karman act, that the "non-active precept-substance" is obtained. Having obtained this precept-substance, one who keeps it purely gains merit equal to the whole of empty space. But if, having obtained the precepts, one goes on to violate them, this is offense heaped upon offense.

The "major precepts" here refer to the four root pārājika offenses; this person, though committing none of these major offenses, has damaged many of the minor precepts through repeated lapses — the minor precepts being those such as the niḥsargika and pāyattika categories. Knowing one's own fault and being able to correct it, one thereupon confesses and repents openly — "confession" (懺) addresses the fault already committed, "repentance" (悔) addresses not repeating it going forward. Knowing one has an offense, one ought to repent it; repenting brings peace of mind, while failing to repent only lets the offense grow deeper — hence one repents with utterly sincere, earnest intent.

The method of repentance has both a ritual-form aspect and a principle aspect... Among the various forms of repentance, this repentance through principle has the greatest power. An ancient worthy said: "A grave offense is like frost and dew — the sun of wisdom can dissolve it away." One who wishes to repent this way sits upright and contemplates true reality itself; a practitioner who knows their own offense to be grave, repenting in this manner in accordance with the Dharma, is likewise called pure in precept-observance — this is the person of middle-grade precept-observance.

Anyone who is able to recognize the need to repent is already a rare person. Why is this? As the ancients said: "No one but a sage is without fault; to know one's fault and correct it — nothing is more excellent than this!" Being able to repent, one gives rise to concentration and wisdom, just as a garment with grease-stains, once properly washed clean, can still take a dye. The garment is like the precept-substance; the grease-stain is like the violation; the washing is like the repentance.

Root Text: The third: someone who, having received the precepts, is unable to hold to them with a firm mind, and violates many precepts, both major and minor. According to Hīnayāna teaching, there is no method of repentance for the four major offenses at all; but according to Mahāyāna teaching, they can still be dissolved and removed. Hence a sūtra says: "In the Buddhadharma there are two kinds of vigorous person: one who commits no evil at all, and one who, having committed it, is able to repent."

Commentary: This is the third kind, the person of lower-grade precept-observance. Having received the precepts, they are unable to hold to any of them with a firm mind, and violate many, whether major or minor — like someone whose head has already been cut off, with no hope left of coming back to life. According to Hīnayāna teaching, there is no method for repenting away a grave offense at all — it is said that even were a thousand buddhas to appear in the world, such an offense would still admit no repentance. But according to Mahāyāna teaching, this is not so — there is indeed a method for dissolving even a grave offense, which is enough to show how inconceivable the Mahāyāna's own gate of teaching truly is.

The sūtra says there are two kinds of vigorous, healthy person in the Buddhadharma. The first commits no evil at all — living out their days without pretense, guileless by nature, simply a good person in the world's own eyes, who does nothing evil whatsoever; this is the first kind of vigorous person. The second, having committed evil, is able to repent it — though they may formerly have done evil, they are later able to regret it, blame themselves, and confess and repent it openly, discarding the old and never committing it again; this too deserves to be called a vigorous person. Because both of these have keen, vigorous wholesome roots and strong power of wisdom, both are able to transcend birth-and-death and realize bodhi — hence both are called the Buddhadharma's own two kinds of vigorous person.

Root Text: Now, one who wishes to repent must have ten methods in place, to help bring the repentance to completion: first, clearly believing in cause and effect; second, giving rise to profound dread; third, giving rise to deep shame; fourth, seeking a method for extinguishing the offense — that is, the practices set out in Mahāyāna sūtras, which should be carried out as the Dharma prescribes; fifth, confessing the past offense openly; sixth, cutting off the mind that would continue it; seventh, giving rise to a mind that protects the Dharma; eighth, giving rise to the great vow to bring sentient beings across; ninth, constantly being mindful of the buddhas of the ten directions; and tenth, contemplating that the very nature of the offense is unborn.

Commentary: "Now" opens the passage. If one wishes to repent whatever evil one has done, one must have all ten methods in place to help bring one's repentance to completion.

First, clearly understanding cause and effect above all — that retribution never fails by the slightest degree: an evil cause draws an evil result, a wholesome cause draws a wholesome result, exactly as sowing melon yields melon and sowing beans yields beans.

Second, giving rise to profound dread — knowing that an evil cause must draw an evil result, that one will fall into hell and suffer severe pain, one gives rise to great dread, hair standing on end, trembling as though standing at the edge of an abyss or walking on thin ice: the evil cause is truly to be feared, truly to be dreaded.

Third, giving rise to deep shame — 慚 is shame before oneself, 愧 is shame before others: ashamed of one's own inferior conduct in breaking the precepts, and ashamed before the transcendent purity of the worthy ones — asking oneself, how did Śākyamuni come to attain buddhahood, while I remain, for so long, an ordinary being? — having a mind that, on seeing the worthy, wishes to become their equal, one gives rise to great shame and thoroughly corrects one's past faults.

Fourth, seeking a method for extinguishing the offense — one must constantly seek out a method for extinguishing one's own karmic offense, constantly searching for whatever method is able to remove this obstruction of offense.

Fifth, confessing the past offense openly — whatever evil has already been done, whether known to oneself or not, whether done intentionally or not, one discloses it with utter sincerity before the Three Jewels, or before a good spiritual friend, and begs for compassionate forgiveness through repentance. If one is able to repent in this way, the offense is thereby dissolved; but if one refuses to disclose it, hiding it away in the mind instead, then as months and years pass, the root of the offense only knots itself deeper, and repentance becomes far harder.

Sixth, cutting off the mind that would continue the offense — even if one knows one has an offense and has already repented it before the Three Jewels, if the mind that continues the pattern is not itself cut off, and one goes on committing the same evil, then the prior repentance, however sincerely performed, brings no benefit. One must sever this continuing mind that gives rise to evil outright — resolving old karma as conditions allow, and never again creating new misfortune — hence the mind that would continue it must be cut off.

Seventh, giving rise to a mind that protects the Dharma — giving rise to a mind that guards and protects the Buddhadharma: if one upholds the Buddhadharma oneself, one is thereby already protecting it; and if another person reveres and upholds it, that person too is protecting it. Whether it concerns oneself or another, both should be safeguarded — this can bring merit and dissolve offense, hence the mind that protects the Dharma must be raised.

Eighth, giving rise to the great vow — that is, giving rise to the mind of the four universal vows: sentient beings are numberless, I vow to bring them across; afflictions are endless, I vow to sever them; dharma-gates are measureless, I vow to study them; the buddha-path is unsurpassed, I vow to accomplish it. This is giving rise to the mind that benefits both self and other, seeking above and transforming below, bringing every sentient being across without distinguishing self from other, this person from that. Their suffering is my own suffering, so I hasten to relieve it; their happiness is my own happiness, so I hasten to give it — relieving their suffering is relieving my own, giving them happiness is giving myself happiness, and suffering and happiness are just the same in this regard. What is called a "vow" is this: an oath binds the mind to it, and a vow spurs the body to act on it, unwavering — and giving rise to a vast vow of this kind can also dissolve offense.

Ninth, constantly being mindful of the buddhas of the ten directions — being mindful of a buddha, one is able to become a buddha; being mindful of sentient beings, one becomes a sentient being. Since we are already children of the Buddha, we must learn a buddha's own conduct, hence we must be mindful of a buddha. But the buddhas of the ten directions are measureless, and their names likewise measureless; taking the simplest and most readily beneficial among them, none surpasses the name of Amitābha — as it is said, "of all the buddhas of the ten directions and three times, Amitābha is foremost." Holding this one buddha's name in mind is, at the same time, holding in mind the sacred names of every buddha of the ten directions. A single recitation of Amitābha's name is able to extinguish the grave offenses of birth-and-death accumulated across eighty koṭis of kalpas — which is to say, it is itself a repentance of every obstruction of offense.

Tenth, contemplating that the very nature of the offense is unborn — "contemplating" here means observing that whatever offense has been committed arises entirely from the mind; since every offense arises from the mind, one should, accordingly, repent by means of the mind itself. Examine closely: from where does this mark of an offense actually arise? Search for the offense, and it can nowhere be found — for it does not arise of itself, does not arise from another, does not arise from both together, and does not arise without any cause at all. Investigated through these four possibilities, its very substance is, throughout, unborn. This is what is meant by saying the offense's own nature is fundamentally empty.

It is like the story of the Fourth Patriarch going before the Third Patriarch, begging in anguish for his own offenses to be repented. The master said: "Bring me the offense, and I will repent it for you." The Fourth Patriarch turned to look within his own mind, and found nothing at all to be gotten — he answered: "Searching for the offense, it cannot be found." The Third Patriarch said: "Then I have already repented it for you." This one method is repentance through principle; the nine that came before are all repentance through ritual form. From this we know that this repentance through principle has the very greatest power — contemplating that the nature of every offense is, throughout its substance, unborn, so that when the mind is extinguished the offense is empty: this is called true repentance. Yet it must also be understood that repentance through ritual form must itself already contain repentance through principle, and repentance through principle must in turn rely on repentance through ritual form — the two, form and principle, perfectly interfused, is what is truly meant by genuine repentance.

Root Text: If one is able to accomplish all ten of these methods, adorning a place of practice, washing oneself clean, wearing clean garments, burning incense and scattering flowers before the Three Jewels, and practicing as the Dharma prescribes for a week, three weeks, a month, three months, or even a full year — repenting one-pointedly whatever grave offense has been committed, not stopping until it is extinguished — how does one know the sign that a grave offense has been extinguished? If, repenting this earnestly, the practitioner spontaneously feels body and mind grow light and at ease, and has auspicious dreams; or witnesses various numinous, extraordinary signs; or feels a wholesome mind opening up; or, while seated, feels the body as insubstantial as cloud or shadow, and through this gradually attains states of dhyāna; or a sudden understanding arises, recognizing the marks of dharmas clearly, so that whatever sūtra one hears, its meaning is at once grasped, bringing joy in the Dharma with no more anxiety or regret — all such causes and conditions as these are the sign that the offense obstructing the path through breaking the precepts has been extinguished. From this point on, holding firmly to the precepts is likewise called purity of śīla, and one may cultivate dhyāna-concentration — just as a torn, grease-stained garment, once mended and washed clean, can still take a dye.

Commentary: If one can bring together all ten of the repentance methods laid out above, one adorns a place of practice for repentance, bathes the body clean and washes one's outer robe clean, so that both body and clothing are pure, and then enters the repentance hall, burning every kind of fine incense — aloeswood, sandalwood, powdered incense, and the rest — and offering exquisite jeweled flowers, and before the Three Jewels, following the ten methods, bows with utmost sincerity and begs for compassionate forgiveness through repentance. Practicing this way as the Dharma prescribes, if one week brings no benefit, one continues to three weeks; if that still brings no benefit, then one month, two months, three, four, five months, even a full year, single-mindedly repenting the grave offense committed in the past — regardless of how much time it takes, one does not stop until the offense is extinguished.

If the practitioner repents this sincerely and earnestly, one-pointedly, they will spontaneously feel body and mind manifest a mark of lightness, ease, and swiftness; at night they will have auspicious, good dreams — perhaps seeing buddhas emit light, or seeing a buddha come and place a hand on their crown... or feeling a wholesome mind opening up, or, while seated, feeling the body as insubstantial as cloud or shadow — this is precisely the mark of desire-realm concentration, from which one may gradually go on to attain the various states of dhyāna... or a sudden understanding may arise, clearly recognizing the names and marks of every dharma, thoroughly penetrating, understanding spontaneously arising... at the same time, a particular kind of excellent, wondrous comprehension arises, so that whatever buddha-sūtra one happens to hear, its deep and subtle principle, and the meaning it ultimately points toward, are at once grasped — hearing one point, one knows ten; hearing ten, one knows a hundred. Through this, one is filled with joy in the Dharma, and having attained this joy, the mind itself has nothing more to be anxious or regretful about... Know that repentance of this kind is the one and only method for extinguishing offense and removing obstruction.

From this point of repentance onward, one is able, with a firm mind, to hold precisely to every precept the buddhas have set down, without the slightest violation — this too may be called purity of śīla. In Sanskrit, śīla; in Chinese, "precept-observance." It is like a torn, grease-stained garment: if it can be mended and washed clean, it can still take a dye — what was torn can be mended, what was stained can be washed, and what was ruined, once fully repaired, and what was soiled, once washed clean, becomes useful again out of what was useless. Hence it is said that it can still take a dye.

Root Text: If someone has already broken a grave prohibition and fears it will obstruct dhyāna-concentration, even without following the ritual practices set out in the various sūtras, they need only give rise to profound shame, disclose the past offense before the Three Jewels, cut off the mind that would continue it, sit upright at length with body composed, contemplate that the very nature of the offense is empty, and be mindful of the buddhas of the ten directions. On rising from meditation, they should, with utmost sincerity, burn incense, bow, repent and recite the precepts, and recite Mahāyāna sūtras — and the grave offense obstructing the path will, of itself, gradually be dissolved; through this, śīla becomes pure, and dhyāna-concentration opens up. Hence the Sūtra of Wondrously Excellent Concentration says: "If someone has already committed a grave offense, and dread arises in the mind, wishing to seek its removal — apart from dhyāna-concentration, nothing else can remove it. Such a person should, in a quiet, secluded place, gather the mind and sit at length, and recite Mahāyāna sūtras; every grave offense will thereby be entirely dissolved, and the various dhyānas and samādhis will naturally manifest."

Commentary: The passage above concerns Mahāyāna repentance through ritual form, which likewise already contains repentance through principle — as in the tenth method, contemplating that the offense's nature is unborn. This passage concerns Mahāyāna signless repentance through principle, which likewise already contains repentance through ritual form — as in burning incense and bowing, reciting the precepts and sūtras, upon rising from meditation.

If someone has already broken a grave precept and fears it will obstruct dhyāna-concentration, understanding that when śīla is impure, samādhi does not appear, yet is unable to follow the ritual practices set out in the various sūtras, they need only give rise to profound shame, and before the Buddha, Dharma, and Saṅgha, openly disclose whatever grave offense was previously committed, repenting it with utmost sincerity, and cut off the mind that would continue it. Then, gathering body and mind together, sitting upright and still, constantly turning to examine the offense's own nature in return, investigating it minutely and closely, one comes to know that karmic offense has no fixed nature at all — its substance is, from the start, empty. And being mindful of the buddhas of the ten directions in order to repent the offense, holding this mindfulness continuously, one either recites the ten-thousand-virtued great names of all the buddhas, or simply recites the sacred name of Amitābha alone. When meditation ends and one rises, one should, with utmost sincerity, burn incense, bow, and repent, reciting the Brahma Net Sūtra's bodhisattva precepts, and reciting the Lotus Sūtra, the Śūraṅgama Sūtra, and other Mahāyāna sūtras — earnestly seeking to repent whatever grave offense obstructs the path. In this way it will, of itself, gradually be dissolved, the offense extinguished and the evil severed, and the precept-substance of śīla will thereby become pure and unblemished once more, so that dhyāna-wisdom opens up. This too is a simple method for repenting away karmic offense.

Here the text cites a sūtra as proof. The Sūtra of Wondrously Excellent Concentration is a sūtra devoted entirely to expounding dhyāna-concentration; the word "wondrously excellent" reveals precisely that dhyāna-concentration is most excellent, most subtle — hence it is called "wondrously excellent concentration." This sūtra says: if someone has already committed a grave offense, and dread and terror arise in the mind, wishing to seek its removal, then apart from cultivating dhyāna-concentration to extinguish the offense, nothing else is able to extinguish it. Such a person should, in a quiet, secluded place — an araṇya dwelling — gather the mind and sit at length, and recite Mahāyāna vaipulya sūtras; every grave offense will be entirely dissolved, and the various dhyānas and samādhis will naturally manifest.

In Sanskrit, samādhi; in Chinese, "correct concentration," also called "correct reception," also called "the concentration that straightens what is crooked." For we sentient beings, from morning to night, our idle thoughts fly about in confusion, grasping and clinging to dusty objects, twisting this way and that, never becoming straight — like muddy water in a jar that has not settled clear. But if one cultivates dhyāna-concentration, then the mind is naturally able to return of itself to the correct path, straightened as a matter of course — just as a snake's path is bent and crooked, yet once it enters a bamboo tube, it becomes straight of itself, without seeking straightness at all.

Whether listening to a sūtra, reciting a sūtra, reciting the Buddha's name, or cultivating contemplation — all require purity of precept-observance as the very first thing. This chapter forms the first of the Tiantai school's own twenty-five preliminary expedients, which is enough to show that purity of precept-observance is the single most essential preliminary expedient for practicing calming and insight.

Root Text: The second condition is sufficiency of clothing and food. As for clothing, there are three grades. The first: like the Great Snow-Mountain Ascetic, content with whatever single garment covers the body, since he did not travel among people, and his own power of endurance was already accomplished. The second: like Kāśyapa, who constantly practiced the dhutaṅga observances, keeping only three robes made of discarded rags, and nothing more besides. The third: for lands with much cold, and for those whose own power of endurance is not yet accomplished, the Tathāgata also permits, beyond the three robes, keeping up to a hundred and one further items — but these must be formally consecrated as offered to the community, and one must know moderation and be content. Excessive craving and accumulation only disturbs the mind and obstructs the path.

Commentary: The passage above explained the first condition, precept-observance — for precepts are the very basis of bodhi, and one who wishes to cultivate calming and insight must, above all, keep the precepts purely. The second condition is sufficiency of clothing and food: clothing and food are the provisions that aid the path. If clothing and food are insufficient, one is left bare and hungry, unable to settle — how then could one cultivate practice at all? As it is said, when the body is at ease, the path flourishes; and again, before the wheel of Dharma turns, the wheel of food must turn first. From this we know that clothing and food are what aid practice along the path. Yet clothing and food should never be sought in excess or luxury — luxury only increases desire, and becomes, on the contrary, a cause obstructing the path. Clothing and food each have three grades, dividing practitioners into three levels of capacity.

First, the three grades of clothing. The first is like the Great Snow-Mountain Ascetic — that is, Śākyamuni Buddha himself, who, for the sake of saving beings, practiced austerities in the Snow Mountains for six years... When the Great Snow-Mountain Ascetic practiced austerities, whatever single garment he happened to obtain, sufficient to cover the body, was enough for him... entirely through the power of his own endurance that this was accomplished. One who wears clothing in this manner is called of upper capacity.

The second is like Kāśyapa, who constantly practiced the dhutaṅga observances... the Venerable Kāśyapa... The dhutaṅga practices number twelve in all... There are two kinds of robe: the first, the so-called "discarded-rag robe"... the second, simply the three robes... The Venerable Kāśyapa kept only these three robes, and was able to practice the path on this alone — this is the clothing worn by the second, middle-capacity practitioner.

The third concerns lands with much cold... China, situated in a cold region... the Tathāgata specially opened this expedient, permitting, beyond the three robes, up to a hundred and one further items to be kept... but these must be formally consecrated as offered to the community. This method of consecration... means offering the item to the assembly of the Three Jewels, requesting that it be compassionately received; having already made the resolve to offer it to the assembly, it becomes something bestowed by the assembly, no longer one's own personal possession — this is what is meant by "consecrated." Without doing so, it remains one's own, and is thereby called impure. And one must, moreover, know moderation and be content — even a single needle or blade of grass did not come easily, and one ought to be moderate and content, never seeking to excess; otherwise, accumulating without letting go, the mind becomes confused and disturbed, obstructing one's practice along the path — hence one cannot be too careful about this.

Root Text: As for food, there are four kinds. The first: for a person of superior capacity, a great being, who dwells deep in the mountains, cut off from the world, sustaining the body on whatever wild grasses and fruit happen to be at hand. The second: constantly practicing the dhutaṅga observance of accepting alms-food. This method of alms-begging is able to break the four kinds of wrong livelihood, sustaining life instead through right livelihood, which is able to give rise to the noble path. The four kinds of wrong livelihood are: mouth facing down, mouth facing up, mouth facing every direction, and mouth facing the four quarters. The marks of wrong livelihood are as Śāriputra explained them to the woman Qingmu. The third: dwelling in an araṇya, receiving food sent by a donor. The fourth: taking clean food within the community of monks. Having these conditions of food in place is called sufficiency of clothing and food. Why is this? Without these conditions, the mind has no peace or stability, and this becomes an obstruction to the path.

Commentary: The passage above concerned clothing, which has three differing grades. Next, food, which has four distinct kinds.

The first is food for one of upper capacity — a person of sharp faculties and superior capacity is called a "superior person," or, if a bodhisattva, a "great being," who has no wish to dwell among others, preferring instead to live in mountain caves or by streams and forests, hence "dwelling deep in the mountains, cut off from the world," and does not prepare food at all... A person of this upper capacity subsists instead on wild grasses, fruit, and pine needles — just as the World-Honored One, during his own austerities, prepared no food at all, sustaining his body each day on a single hemp seed and grain of wheat. This is the upper-capacity person's own "superior food."

The second is constantly practicing the dhutaṅga observance of accepting alms-food... Alms-begging is able to break the four kinds of wrong livelihood... The kinds of wrong livelihood are: (1) mouth facing down — facing the mouth downward, as in farming the fields to make a living, called wrong livelihood by "mouth facing down." (2) Mouth facing up — gazing upward at the stars, speaking authoritatively of astronomy... (3) Mouth facing every direction — scheming in every possible way to maintain a livelihood, whether by cultivating connections with the wealthy and powerful or traveling the four directions seeking a living wherever it can be found, hence "mouth facing every direction." (4) Mouth facing the four quarters — wandering the four quarters, telling fortunes, practicing medicine, or reading physiognomy, all called "mouth facing the four quarters." A monk's own responsibility is to spread the Buddhadharma and teach sentient beings — that is one's proper vocation. As it is said, spreading the Dharma is one's household duty, and saving beings is one's true occupation; the food of wrong livelihood must be cast far away.

The third is dwelling in an araṇya... The two kinds above are food for the upper and middle capacities; this third is dwelling in a pure araṇya, preparing no food oneself, receiving only what a donor sends... this is lower-grade food. The fourth is taking clean food within the community of monks — that is, within the great assembly of a monastic community, food solemnly offered according to the proper method, called "clean food": this single bowl of rice is offered to the Three Jewels of the ten directions, and even given to the great garuḍa bird and to the spirits of the wilderness, and only afterward is this rice itself eaten — already something left over from an offering, no longer one's own possession, and so there is, in this, no mark of self at all; hence it is called clean food, the lowest of the lower grades. Dwelling within such a community, as it is said, "ten fingers never touch water, a hundred concerns never trouble the mind" — the chopsticks come to the hand, the food comes to the mouth.

Having these conditions of food in place is called sufficiency of clothing and food. Why is this — the text now asks, taking up the question itself. Without these conditions of food in place, the mind cannot be at peace and settled, and one is thereby unable to cultivate the path, an obstruction arising for one's own practice along it. As it is said, when the body is at ease, the path flourishes — hence sufficiency of clothing and food matters more than almost anything else.

Root Text: The third condition is obtaining a quiet, secluded dwelling place. "Secluded" means engaging in no worldly affairs; "quiet" means free of clamor and disturbance. There are three kinds of place suited to cultivating dhyāna-concentration. The first: deep in the mountains, cut off from all people. The second: a dhutaṅga-style araṇya, kept at the very least three or four li from any settlement, so that the sounds of herding and grazing cannot reach it, and it is free of every disturbance. The third: at a remove from where lay people dwell, within a pure monastic community — this too is called a quiet, secluded dwelling place.

Commentary: Having now finished the two conditions of clothing and food among the five, we turn to the place of quiet dwelling. A quiet, secluded dwelling place is precisely an araṇya — beside a stream, beneath a forest, in a mountain cave, practicing alone, since an empty surroundings make an empty mind easier to attain. "Secluded" means unoccupied, that is, not engaged with any conditioned worldly affair at all. "Free of clamor" means far removed from every kind of dusty toil and affliction — this is called a place of stillness. There are, roughly, three such places suited to cultivating dhyāna-concentration.

The first, deep in the mountains, cut off from all people. It is one-pointedness of mind, undistracted, that makes concentration — if one sits in an araṇya with a mind like a monkey or a galloping horse, then even sitting deep in the mountains is no different from sitting in the middle of a city. And it is precisely because a beginning practitioner benefits so much more easily by leaving behind a clamorous environment that a practitioner must go to a quiet, unoccupied place. One dwells far off, deep within forest and high mountain, seeking neither clothing nor food from others, with no clamor at all... as when the World-Honored One practiced austerities in the Snow Mountains — this too was a place cut off from people. This is the quiet dwelling place for one of upper capacity.

The second, a dhutaṅga-style araṇya: the dhutaṅga practices number twelve, as already explained above; an araṇya is precisely a place of quiet leisure, removed from any village or settlement — at the very least three or four li away, or as much as ten or twenty li, not fixed — so that the sounds of cattle-herding cannot be heard there, and even shepherd children cannot easily reach it, unreachable by herd-boy or woodcutter, with the crowing of roosters and barking of dogs entirely out of earshot — hence it is said to be free of every disturbance. This is the quiet dwelling place for one of middle capacity.

Long ago, in the Buddha's own time, there were five monks who dwelt on a mountain to practice; at each mealtime they would take their alms-bowls to the village to beg for food, but the round trip was a hundred li, and the entire day was spent doing nothing but walking. Practicing this way for over ten years, they made no progress whatsoever, and grew deeply ashamed. The World-Honored One, moved by compassion for them, transformed himself into a wandering teacher who brought them offerings, and told them: "That you have persevered so diligently without pause is truly rare and admirable — but with the village so far removed by road, and time so limited, you will succeed far sooner if you choose a place neither too near nor too far, and dwell there instead — you can then put your effort to use, and be spared this wasted, fruitless toil."

The third, at a remove from where lay people dwell: the third kind is dwelling within a monastic community, following the assembly's own daily rhythm — this too accords well enough with practice, but one must still keep a remove from lay people. "Lay people" is the general term for householders; what the saṅgha wears is the black robe, distinct from ordinary lay dress. Within a pure monastic community, "saṃghārāma" being the Sanskrit term abbreviated, in full saṃghārāma, meaning "the harmonious assembly," the place where the great assembly gathers together — within such a pure monastic community, too, is called a quiet, secluded dwelling place. Fishing for a pearl requires calm waves; only when the water is clear does the pearl appear — this is simply how it is. If one is, day after day, stirred by the winds of dusty toil and affliction, wishing for the jewel of one's own true, pure, real nature to appear before one is, in that condition, simply impossible.

Root Text: The fourth condition is setting all worldly affairs aside. This has four aspects. First, setting aside affairs of livelihood — not taking up any conditioned worldly occupation. Second, setting aside affairs of ordinary human relations — not pursuing friendships, relatives, or acquaintances among lay people, cutting off social exchange with them. Third, setting aside affairs of craft and skill — not taking up worldly trades, crafts, medicine, incantations, fortune-telling, physiognomy, writing, or calculation. Fourth, setting aside affairs of scholarship — reading, reciting, and studying are all likewise set aside entirely. This is what is meant by setting all worldly affairs aside. Why is this necessary? Because if one is burdened with many such affairs, one's practice along the path is neglected, and the mind, thrown into confusion, becomes difficult to gather in.

Commentary: With the three conditions above now in place, the fourth requires setting worldly affairs aside entirely, so that one's practice can actually move forward. If, though physically dwelling in a thatched hut, one is still managing a household or handling business, one remains just as busy and occupied as ever — what is called "a name without the substance," of no real benefit. Even the mansions on the Peak in Hong Kong might look, on the surface, exactly like an araṇya, yet if their occupants spend their days doing business, endlessly busy, whether driven by the pressure of livelihood or entangled in affairs, this is "a city amid the mountains and forest." Conversely, if one can set worldly affairs aside even in the midst of a crowded city, this is "mountain and forest amid the city."

Setting worldly affairs aside has four aspects. First, setting aside affairs of livelihood — not taking up any conditioned occupation, such as scholar, farmer, artisan, or merchant, every such thing being called an affair of livelihood, all belonging to conditioned, effortful occupation. One who cultivates calming and insight should keep far from such conditioned occupations, and set aside altogether any affair of livelihood.

Second, setting aside affairs of ordinary human relations — the first concerned oneself, this one concerns others. "Not pursuing" means not going back and forth chasing after them. Making friends and visiting relatives is, ordinarily, inseparable from worldly life, but for a practitioner it is not so: understanding that human affairs are fundamentally empty, and that the great matter of birth-and-death presses, social exchange and obligation all become causes obstructing the path, and so must be firmly declined and cut off.

Third, setting aside affairs of craft and skill — that is, not taking up worldly trades and crafts, whether martial arts, mechanical study, or anything else called a "skill"; or acting as a physician, treating illness and prescribing remedies; or reciting incantations to heal others' sickness — these being deviant spells, not the true mantras of Buddhism; or fortune-telling, physiognomy, calligraphy, or arithmetic — all such things are capable of obstructing one's practice along the path. A lay person may reasonably take these up for the sake of a livelihood, but for one who studies the Buddhadharma, they are absolutely not to be undertaken; taking up affairs of this kind scatters the mind, making singleness of purpose extremely difficult to achieve. This is why one who wishes to cultivate calming and insight must set worldly affairs aside — as the ancients said, letting go of even one single thing dissolves that much idle thought; and again, dissolving one portion of idle thought gains one portion of one's own fundamental wisdom, removing one portion of the worldly realm one clings to realizes one portion of the Dharma-body — for where brightness arises, darkness is dispelled, and where darkness arises, brightness is dispelled; brightness and darkness cannot coincide, any more than water and fire can mix — hence such affairs must be kept at a distance.

Fourth, setting aside affairs of scholarship — scholarship is, in itself, meant to expand knowledge and broaden what one has seen and heard, and there is nothing that does not come from scholarship in some form. Yet having already taken up the study of the Buddhadharma, one sets worldly scholarship far aside — abandoning poetry, belles-lettres, the various worldly sciences and philosophies, casting them all away entirely. And beyond even this, one should set aside even transmundane scriptures — meaning that whatever sūtras and treatises one reads, recites, or has studied by hearing them taught, all of these too are set aside. Worldly scholarship is a conditioned, outflow-bound dharma, and so is naturally to be set aside — but transmundane scholarship is itself an unconditioned, outflow-free dharma, expounding the ultimate principle: why, then, should this too be disregarded?

Because the present concern is specifically cultivating calming and insight, not accumulating what has been seen and heard, and so it too must be set aside. But before one's own understanding is yet clear, one must still listen to sūtras and clarify their principle — as it is said, once understanding opens up, practice becomes easy, sparing one the regret of straying onto a wrong path; and once understanding has opened up, one then sets every last view aside, and from there takes up genuine effort in practice — this spares one the reproach of merely describing food, or counting another's treasure. But should one instead cling single-mindedly to literary phrases and conceptual distinctions, unwilling to take up genuine effort in practice, one can hardly avoid the mockery of counting grains of sand in the ocean — a painted cake, after all, does the hungry stomach no good. This is why, during a Chan meditation retreat, no sūtras are recited and no prostrations performed — only watching the meditation topic itself, going straight in with a single blade — precisely to be spared the trouble of too many such affairs.

"Why is this necessary?" is a question raised to introduce the reason: if one is burdened with many such affairs, the mind becomes entangled by them, and one's practice along the path is neglected — for the more one has to work out, the more scattered the mind becomes, and it grows difficult to gather back in. One should know, however, that what was said above — setting aside reading, reciting, listening to, and studying sūtras — must not be misunderstood: for although the gates into the path number eighty-four thousand, each one has its own primary practice and its own supporting practices. If one reads and recites the Lotus Sūtra, this too can be called cultivating calming and insight — in that case, the Lotus Sūtra itself is the primary practice, and everything else becomes supporting practice. Here, since calming and insight is already taken as the primary practice, every other dharma becomes, accordingly, a supporting practice — but singleness of purpose, without mixture, is what matters most; one must, above all, never chop and change between old and new. This is the essential point.

Root Text: The fifth condition is staying close to a good spiritual friend. Good spiritual friends are of three kinds. The first is the protecting friend, who manages and provides material support, skillfully looking after the practitioner without causing any disturbance. The second is the fellow-practitioner, who cultivates the same path together with one, mutually encouraging and inspiring one another, without disturbing one another. The third is the teaching friend, who instructs one in the inward and outward expedient means of the gate of dhyāna-concentration, showing, teaching, benefiting, and delighting one. This concludes the brief explanation of the five conditions.

Commentary: The four conditions above now complete, this is the fifth condition, staying close to a good spiritual friend. The Buddha said that a good spiritual friend is the whole cause and condition for attaining the path. What is called "knowing" (知識) here means skillfully knowing every sentient being's own sickness, and skillfully knowing the medicine for it — knowing the sickness, recognizing the medicine, prescribing according to the sickness. Just as King Ajātaśatru, meeting the good spiritual friend Jīvaka, was urged to take refuge in the Buddha and thereby freed from his own suffering — as an infant depends utterly on its mother's side — so too a good spiritual friend cannot be left, even for a moment.

Good spiritual friends are of three kinds. The first, the protecting friend, means one who is skillfully able to protect and support the practitioner from without, bringing their practice to completion — as in Chan tradition's own external protectors, who look after clothing and food and the like. "Protecting from without" means one who has already put in the effort of practice themselves, and so is able to guard the practitioner wholeheartedly, leaving nothing lacking, cherishing them as a tiger cherishes its cub, and providing every kind of support — hence "managing" — and, skillfully caring for and cherishing them, ensures the practitioner is disturbed neither by themselves nor by others — hence "without causing any disturbance." This explains the protecting friend.

Next, the fellow-practitioner: one who studies and practices together at the same time, sharing the same effort, cultivating the same path together, jointly cultivating calming and insight, mutually helping and inspiring one another, mutually honing and encouraging, mutually admonishing and exhorting one another — as it is said, "as if cut, as if filed, as if carved, as if polished," sharing the same boat to cross the same river together. As the ancients said, "seeking a teacher is not as good as seeking a friend" — truly so.

Third, the teaching friend: "teach" means to instruct, "instructing" means to give — this is the good spiritual friend who instructs and transmits, using skillful means to teach one how to regulate body and mind, inward and outward alike, and the gate of dhyāna-concentration itself, showing, teaching, and admonishing, so that the practitioner attains great benefit — breaking through the five aggregates, transcending the five turbidities, and every demonic state, all thoroughly understood in full. Just as Zhiyi, having wondrously awakened to the Lotus Sūtra, was told by Master Nanyue, "None but you could have realized it; none but I could have recognized it" — this is precisely the benefit of a good spiritual friend. As it is said, if you wish to know the road down the mountain, you must ask someone who has already walked it.

One should know: if one does not cultivate calming and insight at all, this is one matter — but if one does cultivate it, a good spiritual friend is the single most essential thing of all. This concludes the brief explanation of the five conditions.