The Buddha and the Worldly Life

Yesterday I was in Baigou, Hebei, dealing with a pile of bags and suitcases. A patient I had treated for over a year—after switching to other doctors for more than half a year—developed severe ascites and sought help from every famous physician in Beijing, all of whom were helpless; his condition grew steadily worse. His son has always been close to me and begged for my help. Seeing how anxious he was, I felt deep sympathy, for I know this experience intimately. So I set down my work, returned to Beijing, and made a house call to his home.

I hurried home in the afternoon, then went to their house. His father, suffering from liver cancer, was already in extreme distress from ascites. The whole family was struggling in panic, grief, and despair. This family trusts me, because the patient first came to me for ascites caused by liver cancer, and I had cured the ascites.

Over the following year of treatment, the patient's quality of life was maintained well. Unfortunately, after learning his true condition, the patient lost faith in me for a time and hoped the famous physicians of Beijing's major hospitals could cure him. I understood, for I had no more confidence in myself; while my mother was alive, I was constantly searching for famous doctors for her.

After switching to several famous physicians, the medication did not alleviate but repeatedly worsened his condition. Helpless, the patient hoped I would treat him again. Having studied medicine and also believing in Buddhism, saving lives had become something I could not refuse. The patient's wife, an aunt already familiar to me, wept and told me that what she missed most was the period last year, when the patient could take the subway by himself to my neighborhood for consultations; she called that the happiest time, because the patient was then doing well.

After I wrote dietary-therapy and Chinese-herb prescriptions that afternoon, by evening the patient began to improve noticeably: urine output increased and his condition turned for the better. His family steadied from their panic; they were happy, and so was I. Although it is almost certain I cannot cure the patient's cancer, this result, first, eased his suffering and, second, brought hope to him and his family, so they need not face the present situation in such fear.

This morning I spent most of the day at home sorting out the bags brought back from Baigou. Through this period of exchanging ideas with fellow bag-sellers in Baigou, I have learned quite a few sales techniques. I plan to sell these bags through online sales, consignment to shops, and street stalls. The work is tiring; by the time I finished sorting, my back could barely straighten.

Such life is hard, but I love it. I love the Buddha, yet I do not like the way of life the Buddha promoted—especially the lifestyle of today's distorted Buddhists. I no longer wish to "extinguish" my own mind. Recently, after being around too many Buddhist practitioners bent on extinguishing their minds, I was cured of years of laziness and depression.

This looks comical: away from Buddhist life, I longed for the life of believers; having entered their life, I thoroughly understood that such a Buddhist life is not what I want, and I firmly and consciously turned away from it, bidding farewell to years of feeble spiritual longing. Because among this group I saw things that struck me as incredible.

For instance, a group of Buddhists chanting sutras, then dedicating the merit of the chanting to a fellow practitioner who is ill or to their family members. These believers believe this helps ease the patient's suffering and soon free him from the sea of misery. As someone who has studied and practiced medicine, I was dumbfounded. I earnestly wrote to the masters I respect, suggesting they stop this practice; there was no reply. When I tried to talk with the believers who do this, hoping they would separate medicine from the Dharma, I saw looks of hatred directed at me. Just as I tried to change their views, they were trying hard to change mine.

They even hoped that I, as a Buddhist who has taken refuge, would join their group and spread the Buddhist doctrines of karma and rebirth to the world; I politely declined. If rebirth exists, I would never, life after life, admit that my mother—kind and charitable her whole life—had suffered cancer in this life because of evil karma in a past life. The fellow practitioners earnestly and tirelessly tried to persuade me to accept this view, which made me realize that being with them is a painful thing for me.

I love the good side of human nature that shines in them, but I cannot accept the karma-and-rebirth doctrine they so fervently hold. I can of course understand and tolerate them, but I dislike wasting time listening to their hopeless brainwashing. I had meant to urge people not to be superstitious, but when I Baidu'd "do you believe in ghosts and gods?" I found that 62% chose belief and only 38% chose disbelief. I suddenly realized I should shut up. I myself am the minority; what is there left to say?

Because they firmly believe in rebirth, they urged me to accumulate merit and participate in life-release and other activities. I felt both puzzled and ashamed: once, when I lived in Wuta Temple Village across from the National Library, fish that kind believers had released upstream were caught downstream by me, and I ate a few. I really cannot transform into such a devout Buddhist; their piety even makes me doubt whether my own resolve not to eat meat was made in a clear-headed state.

I likewise cannot accept the view that one does good deeds to accumulate merit for oneself, in exchange for blessings after death or in the next life. I simply feel that compassion is innate in everyone; a person who wants to help others should do so purely out of sympathy. If one must trade that sympathy for something, does that not sully one's original heart?

The Buddha himself left no writings, which poses a great problem for Buddhist faith: every believer interprets the faith with his own ideas, so that in the end people appear to worship the Buddha while in truth each worships himself. Of course, the widely propagated ideas of rebirth, karma, and cause and effect are largely the same.

For this reason, the great majority of today's Buddhists seem to be making deals with the Buddha. They support the Buddha's disciples—the sangha—and take part in various Buddhist activities, in order to accumulate "merit"; they believe that when "merit" reaches a certain level, they will have a happy next life or become Buddhas themselves.

The so-called higher-level Buddhists like to discuss the Dharma. But apart from the few senior monks who rigorously uphold the precepts, most of those who talk grandly about the Dharma present an air of arrogance, ever ready to deny others, lecture others, and affirm themselves. Toward others' "slandering the Buddha," most respond with curses and abuse. I believe that one day, when their minds mature, they will, like me, regret having caught these repulsive vices. For these are wholly opposed to the tolerance, compassion, and humility the Buddha advocated; at best they prove that we ourselves are nothing but empty talkers.

Other Buddhists worry about the worldly realm, feeling that the world of the Dharma-ending Age is simply hell on earth, populated by people sunk in ignorance waiting for them to "save." They grieve before the world grieves, and are not happy even when the world is happy, their faces full of worry. Their bodhisattva-heartedness is truly admirable, but being covered in negative energy makes others afraid to approach.

I have gradually come to appreciate the deep life wisdom in what Mr. Qian Zhongshu wrote in Guan Zhui Bian: "able to enter, able to go everywhere, able to penetrate; going everywhere means no one-sidedness, penetrating means no obstruction, entering yet able to exit—thus one is spared being blinded by what one sees." Whether the Buddhist world is bitter or sweet, a few more tastes will tell.

Compared with the world of Buddhist disciples, I prefer the worldly life; ordinary people are more lovable than most Buddhists. Though among Buddhists there are indeed admirable senior masters, and I myself am learning from them the wisdom and principles of conduct, a busy and concrete life suits me better than Dharma ceremonies, sutra chanting, prostrations, and life-release.

On the road, talking with the son of the patient I treated yesterday, one of his words suddenly hit me like a flash of enlightenment. He said that although I am now doing practical things, my state of mind is that of someone who has left the world. Such a state is indeed far removed from this world, and in the end makes one rather uncomfortable.

It is indeed so. I have wanted to flee this world for over ten years. After encountering a great many real Buddhist practitioners, I realized that the ideal "renounced-world" life and the actual "renounced-world" life differ enormously; the renounced life is simply not what I want. That being so, I might as well enter the world and do something more meaningful. Relieving a patient's physical and psychological suffering, or solving the food-and-livelihood problems of some people, means more than chanting sutras and Buddha's name.

As for the Dharma, keeping it in the heart to temper our craving for gain and correct our frantic behavior is enough. If in this whole life I only go on repeating those few lines of Dharma—lines that, in the Buddhist world, are disputed until hardly anyone acknowledges anyone else as right—would that not be rather monotonous?

By chance I learned that Mingzhuang, once a famous disciple of Master Jinghui, has left the monastic life to sell beef noodles because a biological child suddenly appeared; the former master no longer has to keep the precepts against lust and killing. Seeing many people hold him in contempt, I especially want to raise a cup with him in all sincerity, congratulating him on finally returning to the worldly life, which is more like the Pure Land than the Pure Land itself.

Life needs a sense of humor; so does cultivating the Dharma.

Originally written on May 19, 2015