Why did the Buddha have to take the circuitous route of three vehicles in order to lead beings to the One Vehicle? Tao-sheng offers as answer the inequality of innate intellectual faculties in individuals. The idea is Tao-sheng’s elaboration of what is loosely suggested in the sūtra. It is further reinforced by his notion of an innate triggering mechanism for the enlightenment process. This in turn gives rise to the concept of “expediency in means” (upāya), which receives Tao-sheng’s special attention and articulation with the help of the Chinese term “exigency” (ch’ūan): The limited capacities of sentient beings forced the Buddha to invent a device that would tempt them on to the path to enlightenment; hence, the figurative nature of the multiple vehicles as opposed to the literality of the One Vehicle.

How the three vehicles are related to the One Vehicle, however, is a complicated matter. Although Tao-sheng relates essentially what is stated or suggested in the sūtra, he sounds somewhat ambivalent with respect to whether the vehicles have a negative or positive value. Three vehicles, being of exigent and temporary value, are identified as false, whereas the One is identified with what is real. Nonetheless, whereas the three or two are false, and thus antithetical to the One or Greater Vehicle, they are ultimately subsumed by the One and cannot properly be thought of apart from this synthesis with the One. One thus may call it a dialectical relationship. The process is best expressed in the word miao (“mysterious” or “wondrous”).

This interpretation has the mark of Tao-sheng’s own philosophical speculation. The sūtra has this to say: “the Buddhas, by resort to the power of expedient devices, divide the One Buddha Vehicle and speak of three.” It thus seems to view the three vehicles positively. This is, however, a liberal rendering by Kumārajīva of the original text, which has no word for three. The sūtra does not mention falsehood, as it only refers to the way the Buddha guides beings through the enlightenment process rather than to the device actually used. As the Buddha states in Chapter 3: “Śāriputra, just as that great man, first having enticed his children with three carriages and then having given them only one great carriage . . . is yet not guilty of falsehood, though he first preached the three vehicles in order to entice beings, then conveyed them to deliverance by resort to only the One Great Vehicle.”

Let us first review the main theme of the sūtra itself: The three vehicles do not exist; in reality there is only One Vehicle, meaning that “there is only one form of Buddhism.” Hurvitz nonetheless draws out two component points. One is that “there is only one Path to salvation, not three.” The other is that “the Buddha is not to be delimited in time or space, or indeed in any finite terms.” The first point portrays the three vehicles as a device to attract beings to Buddhist practice. In the sūtra, this first theme is dominant and has more significance, being illustrated by four parables (Chapters 3, 4, 7, 8). The second theme is confined to only two chapters (16 and 17; in the [Tao-sheng’s commentary], 15 and 16) and is supported by one parable (Chapter 16)

In the [Tao-sheng’s commentary], no theme is more pronounced than the three-One relationship. It is certainly the central leitmotif of the text. This is evident from the start. Every component of the title of the sūtra is explained by Tao-sheng in terms of the proposition that the three unreal vehicles eventually give way to the real One Vehicle. Three of his four Dharma wheels are based on this idea.

How this theme is immersed in the individual chapters can be seen in the first paragraph of each chapter, which serves as its synopsis. Even earlier, however, we find in the beginning of Tao-sheng’s introductory chapter a tripartite breakdown of the sūtra according to this theme of three vehicles. In his analysis, the first thirteen chapters of the sūtra show that the cause of the three vehicles is really the cause of the One. The next eight chapters indicate that the effect of the three is to be identified with the effect of the One. The remaining six chapters are concerned with believers of the three in the process of becoming adherents of the One.

Tao-sheng’s connection with the T’ien-t’ai School can be viewed in terms of, among others, the two scriptures, the Nirvāṇa Sūtra and the Lotus Sūtra. It may be suggested that the importance placed on them by Tao-sheng prior to any other masters was faithfully relayed to the T’ien-t’ai tradition. The two scriptures are lumped together in the T’ien-t’ai schema of classification of teachings (p’an-chiao): in the category of the Five Periods the Nirvāṇa and the Lotus belong to the ‘final’ period. There is a subtle distinction between the two, of course: for the T’ien-t’ai School, the Lotus represents the ultimate (“round”) doctrine of the Buddha’s teaching career; whereas the Nirvāṇa, taught simultaneously, represents a résumé of all other teachings expounded before, thereby taking a somewhat penultimate position, supplementary and subsidiary to the Lotus.

In addition to his exegesis of the scriptures, Tao-sheng contributed to the development of the T’ien-t’ai School in two other ways. First, he is credited with the invention of one of the two earliest prototypes of the p’an-chiao system itself. In the [Commentary on the Lotus Sūtra], Tao-sheng puts forward a scheme of four Dharma wheels, representing the Buddha’s teaching career: the good-and-pure, the expedient, the true, and the residueless. Although Tao-sheng does not explicitly match any of the sūtras with these stages, the last two seem to suggest the Lotus and the Nirvāṇa, in that order. Being the case, this is in contrast with the p’an chiao system of the T’ien-t’ai, in which, as said before, the two sūtras are both classified as of the final period, with the Lotus accorded the more significant role. Yet, the T’ien-t’ai schema, along with a similar schema in the Hua-yen school, represents an upshot of the development started by Tao-sheng.

The second way Tao-sheng contributed to the development of
T’ien-t’ai has to do with its Eight Doctrines, consisting of one set of four “transforming methods” and a set of four doctrines. The first two, gradual and sudden teachings, probably had their origin in Tao-sheng’s theory of enlightenment, as did the later tendency to view the problem of sudden versus gradual syncretically, whereby the two were accommodated without contradiction. The germ of this perspective can be seen even in Tao-sheng and his gradualist opponent and contemporary, Hui-kuan. Gradualism can be found throughout Tao-sheng’s commentary—his division of the Buddha’s teachings itself implies nothing less than a gradual learning process. Similarly, behind Hui-kuan’s theory is a clear tolerance toward Tao-sheng’s theory. Hui-kuan in fact came up with a p’an-chiao scheme a little closer to the T’ien-t’ai and Hua-yen models than Tao-sheng’s. The two main branches of Hui-kuan’s scheme are “gradual teaching” and “sudden teaching.” Sudden refers to the Huayen Sūtra whereas gradual encompasses other sūtras and doctrines, including the Nirvāṇa and Lotus.

There are still other points of connection. For example, Tao-sheng speaks of “to converge and return” (hui-kuei) with implicit reference to the theme of the Lotus Sūtra that the three vehicles as provisional devices give way to the One Vehicle as the true goal. Tao-sheng interprets this as a dialectical process, with an overtone of “returning,” a notion harking back to the Taoist idea of “returning to the origin” (fan-pen). In T’ien-t’ai, it is paraphrased as “the three being converged to return to the One” (or “unity of three in One”) (hui-san kuei-i). The description of the “three” as “provisional” (ch’ūan) and the “One” as real (shih), encapsulated in the T’ien-t’ai phrase, “to lay the exigency [of three] open and manifest the real” (k’ai-ch’ūan hsien-shih) was originally coined by Tao-sheng. Tao-sheng is cited frequently by Chih-i (538-597), the actual systematizer of the school, throughout his various commentaries on the Lotus.

In the midst of continuing interest among clergy and nobility in Tao-sheng’s doctrine of sudden enlightenment, Tao-sheng’s thought was re-embodied in the lay scholar Liu-ch’iu (436-495). Although chronologically far removed from Tao-sheng, Liu-ch’iu’s works were remarkably similar in subject matter and methodology to Tao-sheng’s. He “expounded the meaning of [the premises] that good does not entail reward and that one achieves Buddhahood through sudden enlightenment, wrote commentaries to the Saddharmapuṇḍarika and others, and lectured on the Nirvāṇa, the large and small (Prajñāpāramitā) Sūtras, and so on,” all of which are now lost. He discussed the issue of enlightenment from the subitist perspective in his preface to the Wu-liang i Ching (“The Sūtra of Immeasurable Meaning”). The Sūtra itself is a peculiar product, believed to be a counterfeit made during the Liu Sung period (420-479), influenced by both the Lotus Sūtra and Tao-sheng’s theory of enlightenment. (The reason for its connection with the latter is that its theme is the fast attainment of Buddhahood). Here we see yet another mark of Tao-sheng’s impact throughout the fifth century. Tao-sheng’s influence may be detected not only in individual thinkers but also in several schools.

li symbolizes the object of enlightenment, constituting “truth” and what is real. Truth requires empirical verification and investigation of the real. As Tao-sheng puts it, “li should be verified and realized. This is thus called ‘truth.’ ‘Truth’ denotes investigating what is real. Hence it is called real.” This again is illustrated in a quotation of Tao-sheng by Chūn-cheng (of T’ang):

The Dharma-Master Chu Tao-sheng says: Things are necessarily caused and conditioned, without self-nature (svabhāva). Hence they are not existent. They arise in accordance with cause and conditions. Hence they are not nonexistent. Being not existent and not nonexistent both show the Dharma to be real. Being real, it is referred to as “true” (or supreme). No error, hence it is called “truth.” Contradicting what is “true,” it is called “conventional.” Not “true,” hence it is not “truth.” Therefore what is unreal and what is real are relative to each other, and the designations of “true (supreme)” and “conventional” [truths] are produced.

Here, Tao-sheng seems to suggest that the conventional as such does not constitute “truth,” but the latter is qualified by the former to compose conventional truth as one term; whereas in the case of the real (or supreme) truth, the two words match naturally with each other in their true senses.

The supremacy of the absolute domain over the relative, nonetheless, does not abrogate the value of worldly truth for the enlightened. That is so, not only because li as the symbol of the final reality unites the two domains, but also because it represents an expedient means for helping unenlightened beings. As Sangharakshita aptly puts it, “only by means of the conventional truth could the absolute truth be realized; the one was the stepping-stone to the other.” As cited previously, Taosheng clarifies: “Mahāyānistic enlightenment consists originally in not discarding what is near, the realm of birth-and-death (saṃsāra), to seek it in the far.” That nirvāṇa is not to be sought apart from saṃsāra is a Mahāyāna principle: the Mādhyamika Buddhists arrive at identification of the two by way of the principle of “emptiness.” In light of this and the fact that Tao-sheng does not depart from the Nirvāṇa Sūtra in this, it may be concluded that, as far as the notion of two truths is concerned, Tao-sheng remains a Mahāyānist, though the metaphysical structure behind the argument is shared, and probably reinforced, by neo-Taoist philosophy.

Taoism treats language as a tool somewhat deficient in unfolding ultimate reality to the full extent, as epitomized by the adage in the Lao-tzu: “Those who know do not speak; those who speak do not know” (Chapter 56). Also the Hsi-tz’u ch’uan (“Commentary on the Appended Judgements” of the I Ching), which is a text of Wang Pi’s commentary, quotes Confucius as stating: “Writing does not do full justice to words, which in turn do not do full justice to ideas” (11-12). The ineptness of words can be seen in the ineffable nature of li. Kuo Hsiang echoes this point: “The ultimate li is not something to be spoken of … li is not that which can be verbalized.”

Tao-sheng is in agreement with the Taoists on the limits of language. Various adjectival modifiers descriptive of li, such as deep, profound, wide, mysterious, far-off, and dark, all clearly identifiable in the Taoist literature, express the unspeakable nature of li. At best the role of language is to circumscribe li through approximation. He pointedly declares: “li is transcendent of words.”

Implicit in the limitation of words, on the other hand, is their intermediary value. Language belongs to the category of exigency (ch’ūan) or expediency (fang-pien, upāya). Tao-sheng declares: “li by nature is unspeakable, and yet we speak of it by resort to words in their temporary and false role, which we call expedient means.” Words as a medium or “ferry” are indispensable, especially to those who have not “witnessed” li in the course of their self-realization. In this respect, language can be best described as a catalyst in the realization of li. In Buddhist terms, it can be counted among the supporting causes (pratyaya), whereas the primary cause (hetu) making realization possible lies in the original capacity innate in human nature. …

Nevertheless, language, especially in connection with the Sage, is sometimes credited with more than a catalytic role. Here, Tao-sheng also finds common ground with the neo-Taoists. The words of the Sage, who has had an experiential encounter with li, are an authentic testimonial, a right source of mystical knowledge. Language here does not remain merely descriptive but becomes prescriptive. Therefore, in the adulation of the sūtra, repeatedly urged by the sūtra itself, there may not be anything unacceptable to Tao-sheng, whose approach in the commentary otherwise reflects a rationalist frame of mind.

A typical course for a would-be Buddhist was to study Confucianism first, switching later to Taoism, and finally settling in Buddhism. This pattern is a process of spiritual evolution typically found in the careers of Chinese Buddhists throughout all eras. Tao-sheng was no exception; he, too, passed through the secular stages of training (though they were relatively brief in his case) to arrive at Buddhism. …

As religious practices became more diversified with the introduction of Buddhism, it became an accepted idea that the way (Tao), which is one by nature, can be arrived at via different paths. This view became a fundamental proposition for Tao-sheng’s contemporaries, repeated in their writings as it had been formulated earlier in the I Ching: “[In the world] there are many different roads but the destination is the same.”

Tao-sheng’s life (ca. 360-434) lies mainly within the period of Eastern Chin (317-419), extending a little further to that of the Sung Dynasty (House of Liu) (420-477). The Chin era witnessed the development of “gentry Buddhism,” a product of interchanges between monks and intellectuals who fled from the north after its conquest and helped found a new dynasty in the south. Gentry Buddhism thus refers to the class of people involved and their tendency to focus on philosophical rather than religious issues. Tao-sheng was first initiated into this form of Chinese Buddhism.

The introduction of Buddhism to China had taken place about three centuries earlier, generally believed to have occurred around the time of the Christian era. In spite of this great length of time, Buddhism had not really taken root in Chinese soil. Only since the middle of the second century, with the influx of missionaries from the Indian subcontinent and its perimeter (including An Shih-kao, from Parthia, the first missionary ever recorded), could tangible signs of development be found. The influx of missionaries led to the introduction and translation of āgamas, sūtras, and expositions, activities that had increased greatly by the time of Tao-sheng, due mainly to the missionary zeal of Kumārajīva, with whom the former studied for some time. These thinkers were to encounter and challenge the presuppositions of the existing traditions and face a number of new hermeneutical and exegetical problems.

[Tao-sheng’s commentary] has extraordinary historical value. As the first commentary ever written on the Lotus, a work that itself was to become an increasingly important scripture in East Asia, it set many patterns for later commentators as well as founders of the Chinese Buddhist schools. Most likely, [this commentary] is the first exegetical commentary in a full-fledged form in Chinese Buddhism. In that respect, it is probable that the work had a far-reaching impact beyond the area circumscribed by the Lotus, whether individual writers realized or acknowledged it.

The [commentary] naturally had a considerable effect on the interpretation of the Lotus. The fact that Tao-sheng attached such importance to the scripture by writing a commentary foreshadows the rise of the Lotus as a basic text in the Chinese Buddhist tradition. The Lotus emerged as one of the most influential of the scriptures of Mahāyāna Buddhism.

Tao-sheng’s attempt at schematization and rationalization of the Buddha’s diverse, if not contradictory, doctrines under a single teaching program in four units long prefigures the p’an-chiao systems of the T’ien-t’ai and Hua-yen doctrines. This rationalization is linked closely with the motif of diversity in unity, which was to be stressed especially by the T’ien-t’ai syncretists. As for the p’an-chaio [ the Chinese systems of doctrinal classification], the T’ien-t’ai and the Hua-yen Buddhists owed Tao-sheng more than the general idea of it. In their p’an-chiao schemas are found the two components, sudden and gradual teachings, for whose conception, as fully seen in the [commentary], Tao-sheng was primarily responsible. Thus one may say that the essence of Tao-sheng’s understanding regarding the Lotus found its way into some of the more important theoretical works in Chinese Buddhism.

The only credible information about how Tao-sheng came to take an interest in the Lotus is his own statement found in the preface to the commentary itself. He writes that earlier, “when young,” he happened to attend a series of lectures on the Lotus, which were “rich in literary content and meaning” and “deep in reflection in the explanatory medium (shih) and underlying principle (li).” The notes he jotted down then, he goes on to say, became the basis of the present commentary compiled toward the end of his life in 432. The lecturer is not specified. Possibly, it could have been either Chu Fa-t’ai (320-387) or Kumārajīva (344-413). The expression “when I was young” makes Chu sound like the more plausible author, because Tao-sheng was presumably with Chu between ages eleven (ca. 371) and twenty-seven (ca. 387), whereas he studied under Kumārajīva in his late forties, between 405 and 408.

However, no other evidence supports the theory of the earlier master. Furthermore, the commentary is based on the text of Kumārajīva, not on any other translation, though it is not categorically impossible that he initially attended the lecture based on another version and later used the new translation. The oldest of the three extant translations is the one by Dharmarakshita (translated in 286). Tao-sheng may have studied it at some point in the thirty years following his conversion to Buddhism. Yet, the study of the Prajñāpāramitā Sūtras (especially in the circle of Chu Fa-t’ai as in the circle of the latter’s colleague Tao-an) dominated and overshadowed the study of other scriptures.

As a matter of fact, Tao-sheng was in Ch’ang-an when Kumārajīva translated the Lotus. The translation was not limited to rendering the Sanskrit text into the Chinese language but involved the master’s interpretation of the text, eliciting lively discussions among students concerning the most appropriate translations of the original Sanskrit terms. It may be pointed out here that in his colophon to the Lotus, Seng-chao recognized Tao-sheng’s presence in the translation, also stating that “the letters and meanings (as suggested by Kumārajīva) were both penetrative,” resembling Tao-sheng’s description cited earlier. In any event, a long gap of at least twenty-seven years lies between Tao-sheng’s introduction to the Lotus and the compilation of his commentary. During this period Tao-sheng was occupied with many subjects and sūtras, covering practically all of his theories and writings. The commentary thus marks the culmination of his scholarship.

The commentary was completed in 432 while Tao-sheng was at Lu-shan after being excommunicated in 430 because of the icchantika issue. Tao-sheng apparently took up the Lotus as a medium to voice his thoughts and feelings about the Buddhist study and practice of his time. This is expressed in the first passage of the commentary, as he laments: “those who seriously tackle and grasp [the subtle words] are few while those who superficially touch and sneer at them are many.” In fact the doctrine of universal Buddhahood is manifestly embodied in the text.