My Record of “Labor Reform” at Longquan Monastery

(Part One)

June 25, 2015

Longquan Monastery, in the Fenghuangling (Phoenix Ridge) scenic area of Haidian District, Beijing, is the temple where I once took refuge. After taking refuge, although I was not entirely satisfied with many things at the temple, I still liked this place built by my reflection master, Venerable Xuecheng—probably the most open Buddhist center in China today. The believers who come here for refuge have all sorts of views, and the “Dharma” they believe in is actually just as various. I believe that of the more than twenty thousand refugees here, each has a different standard of Dharma in his heart; there are no two identical leaves in the world, and there will not be two people with identical beliefs. Yet everyone unites under the four characters “the Buddha’s teaching” and lives in harmony.

At first I took part in some activities of the Cultivation-and-Study Office and the Publicity Group at Longquan. But after contact with the fellow practitioners there, I found it hard to accept what they were propagating; this is probably what is called “dharma-attachment.” I do not intend to remove this dharma-attachment, because as someone who has practiced medicine and treated patients, I have felt deeply on the medical front line that certain Buddhist views have added injury to the unfortunate, even endangering the lives of individual patients.

Having seen so much life and death, I also find the explanations some Buddhists give for what people do near death rather absurd. The phenomenon they mention of some eminent monks “knowing their time” is, to a doctor, quite ordinary; many patients sense their end is near before death, which relates to the fact that organ failure is already being perceived. As for the claim by some Buddhists that the calm state of certain Buddhists at death is the Buddha’s miraculous reception, I cannot agree. In clinical practice we see that a considerable proportion of non-Buddhists can die this way too.

Both my mother and my father-in-law, near death, were detached and calm. They were not Buddhists; my father-in-law, two years before he died, already knew his end was near because of his condition and entrusted his affairs to me. At the moment of death he even passed away with a smile, leaving with the utmost ease. He had never believed in Buddhism in his life, but he was an extraordinarily open-minded person who had long held life and death lightly. I personally think the Buddhist community’s mythologizing of certain phenomena at Buddhists’ deathbeds is pure artistic embellishment that does not reflect fact. The embellishment itself is not objectionable, but using it to prove the doctrine of three times and six realms of rebirth is quite weak.

If it did no harm to some people, I would personally maintain a tolerant and indifferent attitude toward all sorts of views and not care much whether they exist. But some views, such as the doctrine of three times and six realms of rebirth, have actually caused people real harm. I think this is worth the Buddhist community examining and reflecting on; if it remains indifferent and evasive, or even finds all sorts of excuses to justify itself, that is truly against humanitarianism and against the Buddhist spirit of compassion, and easily creates opposition between secular society and the Buddhist community.

What I find hardest to accept is that some devout believers spread everywhere as truth the various ghost-and-god doctrines they have not proved, regardless of the harm their ideas do to others. Some of the patients I have treated, especially terminally ill ones, have been deeply harmed by these strange tales. They have either delayed treatment through superstition, or suffered discrimination because of the widespread belief in karmic retribution in China—some Schadenfreude types mock them as being punished for their sins.

On this question, Buddhists who devoutly believe in Buddhist doctrine do not act with right principle toward others, and show no reason or compassion, contradicting the spirit of reflection and compassion they have always prized.

From age seven, at my grandmother’s request, I taught her to recite the sutras word by word from pinyin; she was illiterate but devout. I have now been in contact with Buddhism for thirty years. But to be factual, so far I have not found a Buddhist master whose breadth and depth of mind, bearing, and insight reach the level of the anthropologist and sociologist Fei Xiaotong. This is probably because religion is always only a branch of human society; a religious person can hardly view all things in the world as broadly and factually as a sociologist.

So I think I should still read more anthropology and sociology books to broaden my mind; the sutras can be set aside for now and occasionally picked up on a whim. Although I myself have benefited greatly from Buddhism—received good religious training, learned the etiquette of the order, self-discipline, timely reflection and repentance, learned to correct faults at once, and become more diligent and resilient—I intend to keep up this training for a while, until I am satisfied, but by no means to pursue the states described by some Buddhist masters. I do not intend to take as truth things that have not passed through rational thinking and practical verification, let alone use them to fool others. I may be ignorant, but I do not like to deceive myself.

Therefore I left the Publicity Group and the Cultivation-and-Study Office; I do not intend to accept, let alone propagate, the doctrine of three times and six realms of rebirth, and I disagree with the Buddhist theory of merit—which are precisely what the core leadership of Longquan still propagates. Some masters use the merit theory as a tool to keep amassing wealth, encouraging people to support Buddhism to the point of ruin; all this grieves me. Of course, my reflection master, Venerable Xuecheng, is not that kind of person; if he were, I would not have taken refuge under him.

Someone like me will be criticized in the Buddhist community as having “dharma-attachment,” as belonging to those whose wisdom is not yet perfect; some devout Buddhists do not even acknowledge me as a Buddhist. But I do not intend to change. Calling someone “dharma-attached” easily becomes a tool of sophistry and partisanship, used to cover up all sorts of improper purposes—or purposes that are proper but that actually cause others physical and mental harm. I once wrote to my reflection master, Venerable Xuecheng, calling on him to face some of Buddhism’s problems; I do not know whether he saw the letter, or whether he was offended by it.

To avoid falling into dispute, I left the sutra-study groups, where theoretical exploration is thick, and came to the construction sites at Longquan, put on a hard hat, and became a laborer. Together with the fellow practitioners on the site, I absorbed the monastic ethos Longquan has inherited from the Nanshan Vinaya school, silently correcting my bad habits and forming the good habit of cutting off my own afflictions. I jokingly call this behavior “labor reform”—that is, reforming oneself through labor, the same treatment as reform-through-labor inmates, so the term fits.

In Buddhism, this kind of physical labor is called “putting to the yoke” (chupu). Before each outing, one recites the “chupu verse,” led by a senior respected monk among those going out; everyone forms a circle with palms together and recites: “From early dawn until dusk, may all beings protect themselves; if underfoot one injures a being, may you at once be born in the Pure Land. Om, yi di li ni suo he.” The verse is spoken and the mind is at once taught: going to the yoke is to cultivate blessing, directly pointing to the great compassionate mind. At the end of work one also recites the dedication verse: “May this excellent merit be dedicated to all sentient beings of the dharma-dhatu; may all karmic obstructions be eliminated and all together attain supreme bodhi.”

Longquan puts the monks to the yoke twice a day. The morning outing begins at 8:15 and ends around 11:00. The afternoon begins at 2:00 and ends at 4:00 or 4:30. Sometimes the temple provides an evening meal; by Buddhist rules one should not eat after noon, but sometimes physical exertion is so great that skipping dinner is unbearable, so there is a modified supper called “yaoshi” (medicinal food).

Many of the monks going to the yoke are observing the vow of silence. Buddhism holds that a practitioner whose cultivation is not yet perfect, because of inner greed, anger, delusion, conceit, and doubt, easily creates verbal karma in dealing with others—that is, double-tongue, harsh speech, lying, and frivolous talk. From my own life experience, this is very true. So some fellow practitioners whose concentration is not yet sufficient observe silence to avoid creating verbal karma. When I was going to the yoke and spoke with certain monks who were observing silence, it would have been impolite for them not to answer, so they adapted by writing on my arm with a finger instead of speaking; the situation was quite interesting.

Around 2009 I once observed silence for a long stretch and became much more taciturn. But now that I work and support a family, observing silence is impossible; a large part of the work I do is communication, so speaking is even more unavoidable. I can only remind myself now and then not to hurt others with words, not to exaggerate, and not to deceive myself. Dealing with others in a sincere, respectful, and humble manner minimizes verbal karma and wins everyone’s understanding.

Besides the monks and lay practitioners going to the yoke, there are many professional construction workers on Longquan’s sites; the two groups labor separately. The construction workers do specialized trades, while Buddhists do rough odd jobs. Of course some monks also take part in specialized construction—there is a monk at the temple who can operate an excavator himself. Seeing a monk in yellow robes sitting in the cab operating an excavator is a curious sight. But most monks and lay practitioners can only do heavy rough work, so separate organization is necessary.

The monks and volunteers working together form an atmosphere of self-restraint that looks unremarkable but is actually very evident. Everyone tries to observe in speech and deed the precepts Buddhists should keep. This atmosphere is very suitable for discovering and correcting some of the faults in one’s subconscious; I have gained a great deal on this site.

Longquan’s construction site is a good place to “see the worthy and think of equaling him; see the unworthy and examine yourself inwardly.” The monks and volunteers who come to work on Longquan’s sites all follow the precepts of the Han-transmission Nanshan Vinaya school, which was revived by the Republican-era master Hongyi. Longquan’s abbot, Venerable Xuecheng, is a direct descendant of Master Hongyi, so Longquan’s monastic ethos comes from the Vinaya school, which is the school of Han Buddhism I like best.

I have grown tired of theoretical arguments with people and value the cultivation of personal conduct more. The principle my master Xuecheng advocates—not observing the faults of others, only observing one’s own—is followed to the greatest extent here. So everyone on the site gets along very amicably, with excellent teamwork.

After I began going to the yoke at Longquan, when I returned to work with others or live with my family, I became much gentler than before; I no longer casually criticize others, lose my temper, or swear. When I need to offer suggestions on others’ work, I first show respect and apologize, and seek their understanding and cooperation. I no longer dare to be condescending and order people about; when I need to communicate, I always try to bow first as a sign of respect. This has made my work go much more smoothly than before and my family relations much more harmonious. This monastic ethos cannot be put into words, nor can it really be learned by reading and reflecting; it can only be internalized as one of one’s own excellent qualities through group influence.

Buddhism attaches special importance to repentance and self-reflection. Those who come to study at Longquan, especially those willing to work on the construction sites, have mostly received this religious training in repentance and self-reflection. So everyone is tolerant and kind to others, but very strict with themselves, truly putting into every word and deed the spirit of “be strict with oneself and generous toward others” and “do not do to others what you would not have done to you,” earnestly following the Buddhist spirit of treating people with goodness.

My first time going to the yoke at Longquan was helping level and harden the ground in front of the guest hall. When I returned to Longquan after a while and saw the place I had worked on so transformed, I felt pleased and close. After all, this is one of my spiritual homes; thinking that I too had contributed here, coming back gives me the feeling of returning home. I would especially like to thank my refuge master, Longquan abbot Venerable Xuecheng, for his spirit of tolerance. Although my understanding of Buddhism differs from his, and I have even publicly called on him to reform some of Buddhism’s abuses—some of which must have hurt his dignity—Longquan still takes a tolerant attitude toward a dissenter like me. This itself is well worth learning from.

My later outings were all on the construction site of the ordination platform that Longquan is building, doing rough and dirty work. I am a farmer’s son of humble origin; I used to be a very hard worker, but after years of living in comfort I gradually became lazy. After several outings at Longquan, I felt as if I had returned to my old self, working diligently and hard. The monastic community at Longquan is probably the hardest-working group of Buddhists I have ever seen. They rise before four every morning for morning chanting and walking meditation; after breakfast they go to the yoke, take a short noon rest, then continue, and study in the evening. Monks not on yoke duty each have their own tasks; seven days a week, running without a break, almost no one is idle.

When I read Master Hongyi on Buddhism, I saw an essay in which Master Hongyi especially mentioned that Buddhists must overcome the fault of laziness. Longquan has truly put Master Hongyi’s spirit of diligence and frugality into practice. Longquan is almost harsh in its demand for thrift: even the water used to wash hands in the restrooms is collected in a large barrel to flush the toilets. The monastics cannot waste a single grain of rice when eating at the temple. If visitors eat at Longquan and leave food, someone from the temple will eat it. Master Hongyi himself was deeply influenced by Master Yinguang’s “cherish blessings” thought, so the monastic style he founded does not permit any waste.

I do not even dare casually go to the Longquan dining hall to eat; even though I have donated money and goods to Longquan, I do not eat there casually. Because there are so many resident monastics and long-term lay practitioners—hundreds—the expenses are large. I have my own means of support and do not want to occupy any of the resources of these ascetic monastics. So when I go to the yoke at Longquan, I have lunch at a restaurant outside the temple and go home for dinner.

At noon I did not go to the guest hall to rest; I have never lodged at Longquan. Although several of the monks I worked with invited me to lodge there, I still tried to avoid it. Perhaps in future I will lodge there once or twice to experience spending the night in the temple. But generally I try to occupy as few of the temple’s resources as possible, because compared with those famous large temples, Longquan’s financial resources are not abundant, and I sympathize with the ascetic life of its monastics. Around Longquan there are some stone benches or stools; at noon I would find a stone bench or stool in the shade of a tree and lie down for a nap, experiencing the life the Buddha advocated of “one night under a tree.”

(Part Two)

June 27, 2015

Recently, almost every week I go to the Longquan construction site for a day of “labor reform,” without any communications device, carrying only my refuge card and a few dozen yuan and a transit card, leaving the whole world behind, single-mindedly doing all sorts of dirty, tiring work on the ordination platform site Longquan is building.

Many people study the Dharma at Longquan, but few volunteer for the yoke. On the ordination-platform site, the volunteers who come of their own accord are few on most days; when there is too much work, the monks have to find volunteers, and some older women believers even stop people on the roadside and persuade them to come help. Once, when I came to the yoke, I was the only volunteer; everyone else was a temple monk. I worked with the temple monks, carrying all sorts of heavy building materials.

After a day’s work I was filthy, looking exactly like a migrant worker. The temple has various study classes, and organizers take the students out to the yoke for a taste of temple life, usually for only a few tens of minutes to an hour; when time is up they stop work and go to class. I now take part in no temple study organization; when I arrive at Longquan I have only one thing to do: find work on the site. So sometimes one sees wave after wave of students coming and going on the site.

At Longquan, what I fear most is meeting acquaintances, and fellow practitioners who earnestly want to persuade me to join the sutra-study group and accept the doctrine of six realms of rebirth. With most of these fellow practitioners I just smile and say nothing, quietly listening to their constant lecturing; some take me to task. Sometimes, with fellow practitioners with whom I share a little common language, I will discuss things, but when the discussion turns into them lecturing me, I yield, smiling and listening, answering in silence. Of those who study Buddhism at Longquan, the vast majority believe in the six realms of rebirth.

At Longquan, on the Internet, and elsewhere, it is all the same: there are plenty of people who like to lecture others. By comparison, the construction site is the quietest place; whether monks or volunteers, people there do not talk much and work silently with heads down. On the site I am an active worker; if my body allows, I work a full day. As a man, I consciously look for the dirtiest and heaviest work and say not a word more than necessary, because here a wrong word could offend others’ beliefs.

Once, while building a shed, I was steadying a ladder for another volunteer; he had climbed onto the roof but one foot was still on the ladder. I became distracted and was about to move the ladder away. A long-term lay practitioner from Fujian immediately rebuked me angrily; I was quite startled and frightened by my own rash act. If that short-tempered lay practitioner had not rebuked me in time, the volunteer on the roof might have fallen. So I am very grateful to that lay practitioner who criticized me. At my age, I very much want someone to point out my mistakes while working together, regardless of how sharp the method.

Longquan is a relatively open Buddhist community; almost anyone can take part in the temple’s various construction projects. Even much of Longquan’s external propaganda is produced by volunteers. I think it is a bit like open-source software: everyone works together within one framework to develop the open-source project, and each person’s ideas can be added, provided they do not contradict Longquan’s purpose. Venerable Xuecheng’s wish seems not to stop at spreading Buddhism; he also tries to build Longquan into a center for transmitting traditional Chinese culture, including Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism. Personally, I hope Longquan will also incorporate some Western humanistic thought.

Among the refugees at Longquan there are some foreigners, who bring their own native cultural ideas into Longquan. So no one, not even Venerable Xuecheng himself, may be able to predict what Longquan will become. I think the master’s broad-mindedness is good; only when cultures collide can they strike sparks. I personally strongly support the development of a temple like Longquan, because in future it may become one of Beijing’s humanistic centers. The capital of a country needs some humanistic centers to cultivate talent with a spirit of humanistic care.

Nowadays publishing and the Internet are highly developed, and it is far easier than in the past to encounter ideas from all fields of the humanities. But there is a problem: reading can let a person know something and even think through its principles, but it is hard to make him put the ideas he accepts into practice. Longquan is like a field internship base for humanistic thought. We have studied traditional Chinese culture but have not put it into concrete action; after coming into contact with the monastic and lay community here, one finds that there are people in this world who have put thought into practice. This sight has at least had some effect on me; motivated by the desire to equal the worthy, I learned from them and overcame some of my own shortcomings in the details.

Although I have taken refuge under Venerable Xuecheng, until now I have never had the opportunity to meet my own refuge master in person; the refuge ceremony was presided over on his behalf by Venerable Chanxing of Longquan. The only way I can communicate with Venerable Xuecheng is through Weibo, but I have no wish to bother him excessively. My heart has been still as still water for many years; although there are various things I want to do, none of them is enough to trouble me.

(Part Three)

June 30, 2015

Is Longquan Monastery only good, with no bad side? Not necessarily. During my “labor reform” there, I also saw many unsatisfactory aspects, which I record here as a warning to myself not to fall into these faults.

First, although the Buddhists I saw at Longquan are outwardly humble, inwardly they have a kind of religiously induced belief-arrogance. Because Longquan is close to the universities in Haidian District and enjoys the geographic advantage, some top students from famous Beijing universities such as Peking and Tsinghua have chosen to leave home at Longquan. Longquan’s abbot, Venerable Xuecheng, also holds a high position in the Buddhist community, so many of Longquan’s refugees have an inner sense of pride that has even developed into overbearing arrogance. The refugees at the temple readily call themselves disciples of the true Dharma and then doubt that others’ faith is the true Dharma. They even take it for granted that, because they have taken refuge at such a temple, with such fellow disciples and such a master, their own insight is superior to others, and they always put on a condescending air. Some refugees have shallow cultivation but great posture. Not to mention that some use the connection to climb the social ladder. This arrogance is obvious to onlookers, but they themselves are immersed in it and do not notice.

My village is close to the Four-Patriarch Temple of Chan; Chan Patriarch Daoxin was even from our area. The Buddhist believers in my area, including my family, have absorbed the monastic ethos created by the two former abbots of the Four-Patriarch Temple, the contemporary Chan elders Benhuan and Jinghui. More than ten years ago I studied Buddhism under Elder Jinghui. The standing of these two elders in the Buddhist community is probably no lower than that of Venerable Xuecheng. Sometimes, when refugees who took refuge at Longquan before me condescendingly question whether the Buddhists we associate with are disciples of the true Dharma, I stay silent. For if I were to invoke these two elders, that would itself be another kind of arrogance.

But why do I say this? Only to tell the lay refugees at Longquan that the world is vast and capable people emerge in every generation; do not sit in a well and look at the sky, and be too arrogant. When people at Longquan demand that I accept the doctrine of rebirth and the merit theory that I cannot accept, there is always someone who questions whether my family and I were first exposed to orthodox Buddhism. There is not a trace of humility. To question others without cause is itself a breach of the precepts, but they do not notice it at all. In Buddhist terms, the five poisons in the human heart are greed, anger, delusion, conceit, and doubt; among them, conceit is arrogance, and doubt includes groundless questioning.

Another arrogance of Longquan’s refugees is the belief that the Dharma is the greatest thing under heaven, and so they look down on all beings. Once, when I was returning from the yoke, I met a female Longquan lay practitioner on the road who had returned from studying in Germany. Seeing me with my refuge card and covered in dirt, she asked, “Elder brother, were you working on the temple grounds?” I said yes. She immediately expressed a little admiration, then struck up a conversation and asked me about studying Buddhism at Longquan. I could not deceive her, so I told her frankly that because I cannot accept the doctrine of rebirth, I have not joined a study group. Along the way she tried to wake me up and prove to me that rebirth is real. I listened with a smile while making clear that I would not change my atheist stance on Buddhism. The lay sister then became a bit emotional, so I changed the subject to reading. I mentioned some famous works of sociology and philosophy, and she said coldly: “Now that I have studied the Dharma, this wisdom that transcends humanity, why should I read those books?” She kept saying “beings below,” with a lofty air. I was struck dumb, so I had to talk with her about the Sutra of Forty-two Sections, the Yuanjue Jing, the Dhammapada, etc. The lay sister finally said politely that she would read them when she got back.

Actually, I hoped she would see the Twenty Difficult Things the Buddha speaks of in the Sutra of Forty-two Sections; among them, “the difficulty of practicing equality of mind and conduct” and “the difficulty of wide learning and deep study” both teach disciples to regard the Dharma with an ordinary mind and regard the world with an equal mind. In the Forty-two Sections the Buddha even says: “To feed three hundred million Buddhas of the three times is not as good as feeding one who is without thought, without abiding, without cultivation, and without realization.” This shows that the Buddha himself was a very humble person who deeply respected people who had not studied the Dharma but had perfected their character; he did not at all regard the Dharma as the supreme law in the world. Those who regard the Dharma as the supreme law are merely Buddhist believers.

I do not dare to criticize Longquan’s teaching content, but judging by the teaching results, the refugees who study Buddhism at Longquan are still far from the standard of human character the Buddha requires. Moreover, arrogance is a general phenomenon among Longquan’s refugees, not an isolated one. This restlessness probably relates to Longquan’s pursuit of rapid development in recent years and inadequate teaching management.

I have encountered this situation at Longquan several times. The last time I was with a male lay practitioner and two other female lay practitioners, they also asked about my belief and I told them frankly. We debated for a while; finally the male lay practitioner was furious, so I quickly found an excuse to leave them, because further debate could have led to a physical clash.

Longquan now has many refugees, but few who truly settle down to study Buddhism and work. Observing from the side, I see some inadequacies in Longquan’s management that produce a phenomenon of idle people and overblown words. I record them in the hope that Longquan’s management, if it has the karmic condition to see this, will understand my attitude of truthful record. I have no ill will toward Longquan; I only hope these records from an onlooker can help Longquan improve its teaching and management.

On Longquan’s sites, students from the temple often come to the yoke. Most are young, neatly dressed, and afraid of dirt and fatigue; some dodge the dirty and heavy work and leave the yoke without a spot on their clothes. The older students are generally more solid and not afraid of dirt or fatigue. The various Longquan study groups mostly come to the yoke to “experience life,” so their sense of responsibility is not very strong. For example, sometimes the work is not finished and there are still fine steel bars and wires on the ground, but when someone shouts “stop work,” everyone cheerfully forms a circle to recite the dedication verse and then disperses. Those steel bars and wires can easily pierce someone’s feet, but no one deals with them.

I alone have no class duty and did not go to recite the dedication verse; when the site was empty I stayed behind to clean up. But once some of the waste was too heavy for me to move alone, so I called out to an older male lay practitioner ahead to help; the two of us cleaned up the battlefield. While we were working, a worker came by and asked why we were not going to class. I said I had not joined a study group. The older male lay practitioner working with me then said he also disliked going to class, feeling it was hollow and one could really learn nothing. He told me that it seemed personal outings were not accepted, otherwise he would only work and not study. I said with a smile that I had always come as an individual; if he wanted to work, he should just come. We got to talking; he felt the same way I did: that the study activities Longquan now arranges are make-work, and in the end what is learned is only lip-service, not the true meaning of the Dharma taken into the blood.

Another lay practitioner I saw outside Longquan: he was holding his refuge card and entering the scenic area; I asked if he was going to the temple as a volunteer, and we walked up together. He said no, he was going hiking on the north trail of Phoenix Ridge. I said “oh.” Then he struck up a conversation, saying he had previously joined Longquan’s various volunteer and study organizations, but after studying for a while felt it was meaningless and left. Those who studied with him also drifted away, most giving up halfway. I think this is objective fact: Longquan’s refugees start studying Buddhism diligently, become lazy after a few sessions, and gradually relax; in the end the little Buddhist superficial knowledge they have learned mostly becomes capital for boasting and calling themselves disciples of the Buddha. This is probably why the Avatamsaka Sutra repeatedly emphasizes the importance of maintaining the “initial resolve.” To “never forget the original heart and only then complete the journey” has become an empty wind for most of Longquan’s refugees.

If one follows the Forty-two Sections Sutra (actually the Mahaparinirvana Sutra/Fo Yi Jiao Jing), the standard for a disciple of the Buddha is strict observance of the precepts; those who cannot keep the precepts are not regarded by the Buddha as disciples at all. So only those who can at least avoid killing, stealing, and sexual misconduct; avoid double-tongue, harsh speech, lying, and frivolous talk; and avoid envy, anger, and delusion are true disciples. The Buddha said: “A disciple who, though a thousand li from me, remembers my precepts will surely attain the fruit; one who is by my side and sees me constantly but does not follow my precepts will after all not attain the Way.” If judged strictly by the precepts in the Fo Yi Jiao Jing, few people in the world today deserve to be called disciples of the Buddha.

The following passage is excerpted from the Fo Yi Jiao Jing and can be found on Baidu.

“You bhikshus, after my extinction, should respect and cherish the Pratimoksha as if meeting light in darkness, or as a poor person finding a treasure. Know that this is your great teacher, no different from me while I abide in the world. Those who keep the pure precepts must not engage in buying or selling, trade, or the establishment of fields and houses, or keep people, slaves, or livestock. All planting and all wealth should be avoided as one avoids a pit of fire. They must not cut vegetation, till the soil, compound medicines, divine good or ill, observe the stars, or calculate the calendar; all this is improper. Moderate the body, eat at the proper time, and live purely. They must not interfere in worldly affairs or carry messages; incantations and elixirs, befriending the noble, and intimacy with the frivolous are all improper. They should straighten the mind and with right mindfulness seek liberation. They must not conceal faults or display marvels to confuse the crowd. Among the four kinds of offerings, know measure and be content; seek only what is needed and do not store up. This is a brief statement of the aspect of keeping the precepts. The precepts are the root of right and orderly liberation, hence called Pratimoksha. By relying on these precepts, the various concentrations and the wisdom that ends suffering arise. Therefore, bhikshus, keep the pure precepts and do not let them be broken. If one can keep the pure precepts, one can have good dharmas; without the pure precepts, all good merit cannot arise. So know that the precepts are the foremost abode of peaceful merit.”

By this passage, I do not know whether there is anyone in the world today qualified to be called a precept-receiving bhikshu, nor whether there is a temple today that can be called a temple of the true Dharma. A temple of the true Dharma may not own fields and houses, and a disciple of the true Dharma may not befriend the noble. When Master Hongyi studied Buddhism, he sighed that if one acted strictly according to the precepts, there had been no true Buddhist in China since the Song and Ming. With all the Buddha halls and fields and houses at Longquan, to speak frankly, if the Buddha’s precepts were strictly enforced, Longquan could not be called a center of the true Dharma either.

But I am not a perfectionist; if one demanded perfection, all Buddhists would mourn as dead, because the hope of becoming a Buddha is so remote that one does not know how long it would take to truly become a disciple of the true Dharma. If, in studying the Buddha’s teaching, we can improve our character and move forward a little at a time, that is already quite a gain. As for arrogantly calling oneself a disciple of the Buddha, no one else qualifies, and neither do we. Before one can do that, one still less has the right, because one believes in Buddhism, to look down on all beings and regard them as inferior—especially after studying Buddhism in a center of the Dharma built by the donations of all beings, to then look down on them is precisely the ingratitude of lifting the bowl to eat and putting down the chopsticks to curse one’s mother.

(Part Four)

July 6, 2015

On July 4, 2015, like the previous few Saturdays, I rose very early, took the first bus to the National Defence University, then took bus 346 to Phoenix Ridge, showed my refuge card to enter the scenic area, and went straight to the ordination-platform construction site—I did not even enter the mountain gate.

The previous Saturday I had made an agreement with a monk working on the site: I promised to bring some herbs to plant in the Longquan vegetable garden so that in future someone with a sore throat could use them. When I arrived at the site it was still early and the monks had not yet come to work; only a female lay practitioner at the tea shed was wiping the dust off the cabinet where workers’ cups were kept.

Before long, the temple monks arrived one after another at the tea shed, the gathering place for workers, where hard hats and gloves were kept for self-service. Several monks I saw often greeted me; the monk I had the agreement with was especially pleased. I held up the plastic bag in my hand and told him this was the family herbal remedy I had mentioned the week before for acute tonsillitis, epiglottitis, and other sore throats. The master was delighted I had kept my word and brought the herbs, and took me to the vegetable garden to find the woman in charge. She had met me the week before; seeing that I had really brought the herbs, she was very happy and listened carefully as I explained how to plant, maintain, and use them, and readily promised she would handle everything. We then returned to the site to work.

There were very few people working in the morning; besides me, a layman, everyone was a temple monk. The monks here were already used to working with me. Our first task of the morning was to dig a trench in one corner of the site, where the construction workers would place large stones for the foundation. This took about an hour, after which we carried the large stones for the foundation. This work required real strength; the less strong could not do it, so only a few of us stronger ones were working there.

When that was done, we went to the tea shed for water and watermelon; by then the other workers were arriving one after another, and the site gradually filled. After a short rest we went to the second-floor work face of the ordination platform to clear away construction waste. There was wood and steel pipe; the steel pipes just needed to be tidied and placed back on the second floor. But the wood had to be removed from the second-floor work face. This task was rather fun: we threw the wood from the second-floor work face like javelins onto the road opposite. It took arm strength. I had the best aim and threw with great delight. In the end a monk and I worked together: he carried the wood to me and I threw it. Another monk on the far side of the road gathered the wood. This was my favorite task of all the work I did at the Longquan site. As the wood whistled through the air, it felt like a wanderer of the rivers and lakes or a green-wood outlaw throwing a javelin-like weapon. The few of us worked in high spirits; this kind of odd-job work needs a few like-minded people to make it fun.

When this was done and we went to the tea shed for watermelon, the Longquan sutra-study group began pouring onto the site—visually over a hundred this time. One lay practitioner caught my eye: wearing woolen overcoat in the sweltering summer heat; I will mention him specifically below. The students in the study group were excited about the yoke, especially when it came to reciting the chupu verse. Actually, the monks had not recited the chupu verse on the site when they worked in the morning; perhaps they had recited it when leaving the mountain gate, but I did not see it. I most dread reciting this chupu verse: a long gurgling string I have never been able to remember; each time I recite, I just mumble incomprehensible words behind everyone else to make up the numbers.

With this new force we began clearing away construction waste. Since I had hung around the site long enough for the monks to recognize my face, the monk in charge of the site was kind to me, asking if I wanted to rest; if not, I should go to the west end and help carry waste. I had no need to rest; as a farmer’s son used to heavy work since childhood, I went with everyone to the first floor to clear waste.

Those going to the yoke were mostly women and delicate scholars; almost only a fixed few were willing to do heavy and dirty work, and those few were already filthy beyond description, obvious at a glance. The rest of the workers tried to keep their clothes clean and free of mud, which on a construction site is hard, and to do it they had to dodge the dirty work. The monks in charge could not force these students to do dirty work, because working on Longquan’s site is purely volunteer; besides watermelon and water, the temple at most provides lunch, and there is no pay. So although the site looked crowded, only a few were actually willing to take responsibility and avoid dirty, heavy work; almost every time the dirty heavy work was done by those few people, whom I could count. Anyone whose clothes were dirty after coming off the site had done responsible work; the rest mostly picked easy, clean tasks to go through the motions.

Venerable Xuecheng’s wish is to cultivate everyone’s sense of responsibility through this labor, but unfortunately this goal does not seem to be achieved; in the end this “labor reform” becomes formalism for most people. Some even come only to take cameras, put on hard hats and gloves, and stand excitedly on the site to take souvenir photos.

The afternoon task was carrying steel pipes, about ten meters long each, weighing several dozen jin apiece. I chose to carry one pipe per person; the other four split into two pairs, two people carrying two pipes at a time. After the pipes, we sent long planks up to the third-floor work face; after that, endless carrying and tidying of waste. We worked until almost 5:30 in the afternoon before stopping; by then only about ten people remained on the site, including the temple monks. We took off our hard hats and gloves, formed a circle, recited the closing verse, and filed out of the site.

Near the temple gate I saw a middle-aged couple in camouflage carrying a large alligator snapping turtle, asking 500 yuan for it. They probably thought the people at the temple gate were compassionate enough to buy the turtle for release. These sellers of large snapping turtles are found all over Beijing; I had not expected these two to come and do business at the gate of Longquan.

A crowd of Buddhist believers gathered around them, saying the turtle had grown so large it had spiritual energy, and telling the middle-aged couple not to sell it but to release it. The couple refused every way. A monk came over to chant sutras and give the turtle refuge, then urged the couple to release it; the couple still refused. A very righteous male lay practitioner nearly struck them, saying repeatedly that if they did not release it they would face retribution, and so would their children. Faced with this situation, I did not know what to do and could only choose silence. The snapping turtle is fierce and feeds on small fish and insects; does it not kill? If it lives on and kills more, is it accumulating karmic retribution? And this couple was only selling the turtle and did not seem to intend to kill it. Cursing the couple themselves is one thing, but a crime does not extend to wife and children; what have their children done to deserve a curse? Why must a person become like this after studying Buddhism?

Another matter has troubled me since I returned from Longquan. In the morning on the site, the lay practitioner in the woolen overcoat under the scorching summer sun had a dark, dull complexion; I saw at a glance that he was a patient indicated for Yanghe Tang, repeatedly misled by quack doctors. I went over and asked cautiously: “Elder brother, are you unwell? May I take a look?” The lay practitioner immediately became resistant and said angrily: “Leave me alone.” I know that many patients who come here to cultivate already believe their illness is caused by “karmic force,” do not trust doctors, and believe that cultivation can dissolve “karmic force” so that the illness will heal without treatment; I had to shut up.

Then he suddenly asked me: “Are you a TCM doctor?” I said yes. He was silent for a moment, probably embarrassed by his rudeness, and only said: “Let’s talk after work.” On the site, with different assignments, I went to heavy physical labor, while he, frail as he was, was gone in a little while. I looked around for him, because I had seen another similar patient delay treatment until the disease reached the marrow and he came to me skin and bones, by which time I was powerless. So I very much wanted to treat him while his illness was still shallow, and I asked everywhere where he had gone.

A monk I was friendly with came over and criticized me: “Why are you so attached? Should one not follow conditions in studying Buddhism? Healing also depends on medical affinity. By looking for him everywhere you are showing off; even if you cure him, there will be no merit or blessing in it.” He stopped me from asking further. Another lay practitioner knew where the sick lay practitioner was, but because of the monk’s words also fell silent. At Longquan, human ranks are clear: master Xuecheng is highest, then more than ten bhikshu monks, then the various sramaneras; we lay people must listen to their teaching.

In the afternoon, as I carried steel pipes under the banner reading “Stillness that ever illuminates; illumination that ever is still,” I knew that the monk who criticized me by Longquan’s temple rules might be right, but what of the spirit of compassion? Is “following conditions” following conditions in the fruit or in the cause? Why do the monks trained at Longquan value dogma and disregard life to this extent?

Before leaving, I looked at Longquan’s mountain gate and wondered: is it really right for master Xuecheng to govern the temple by authoritarianism? With this traditional teaching method that only demands obedience and acceptance and does not encourage disciples to think independently, how many people’s wisdom and true sense of responsibility and compassion can it actually awaken? With this regret I bade farewell to Longquan as dusk fell. On the way home I kept thinking: studying the Dharma like this, is it beneficial or harmful?

Longquan is recognized by the Chinese Buddhist community as one of the best temples, and Venerable Xuecheng is recognized as one of the best Buddhists in China; the Buddhist community chose him as the youngest president of the Buddhist Association of China since its founding because his personal conduct, diligence, and contributions to the Buddhist community are moving, not because he knows how to network.

He leads by example, doing both physical labor and traveling everywhere, expending his heart and blood, thinking of others in everything, letting others enjoy blessings first, and himself enduring hardship and helping others. Many people who enter Longquan have serious psychological problems; some have even been abandoned by their families and lack the ability to make a living, unable to stand in society, but Venerable Xuecheng takes them all in equally, solves their survival problems, and does his utmost to help them out of their spiritual difficulties. Gifts believers give to Venerable Xuecheng personally he gives to his disciples; he wears one piece of clothing for more than ten years without changing it. Having left home as a teenager, he has kept this up for decades. Although my understanding of rebirth and the merit theory is opposite to his, I deeply admire his character.

But most of the Buddhists Longquan trains go to one of two extremes: either the arrogant type who looks down on all beings, or the type destroyed by excessive repentance who self-harms and afflicts himself to punish himself. Master Xuecheng teaches everyone diligence, hardship, and goodness, but does not teach everyone to extinguish the various sufferings of the world and truly have joy in the heart. The practitioners here are themselves of excellent cultivation; their past faults mostly amount only to having hurt others verbally or made mistakes in sexual relations—behavior not worthy of death. But because of their faith, a considerable number of them cannot get out of self-punishment, feel they have no face to stand in society, and choose to abandon their families and leave home in repentance.

Venerable Xuecheng leads by example in diligence, but not in letting go. Before fifty he already looks old, and I deeply regret his state of health. The master’s great vow has turned him into an ascetic monk, undoubtedly a highly virtuous ascetic. But where is the Buddha’s spirit of ending suffering and of the middle way? If the master afflicts himself like this, how can he teach his disciples to truly walk out of their spiritual difficulties and reach a state free of worry and fear? Remember that the Buddha himself lived a long and happy life. Asceticism can only use exhaustion to forget afflictions; can it extinguish them?

At Longquan I learned the ascetic spirit, and I will probably keep it for the rest of my life—not lazy, not greedy, not pursuing material comfort, not coveting any vanity. This is only because this spirit already existed in my bones and was awakened and strengthened here. But I will use the ascetic spirit only to cut off afflictions, not to wreck body and mind. I will not, because of infatuation with becoming a Buddha, with escaping rebirth, or with others’ high praise, deliberately intensify this self-wreckage. In my humble view, everything should stop when enough is enough; one need not seek the extreme.

Over the past ten-plus years Venerable Xuecheng has aged greatly. It is said that in these ten-plus years he has often worked, read, and thought through the night for Buddhism, especially for Longquan’s development. At forty-nine he already looks old, utterly different from the elegant young man he was in his thirties. I am moved by his integrity and sense of responsibility, and by his spirit of leading by example, but I am also puzzled: a person who studies Buddhism should be open-minded, detached, calm, and free of worry; why does he age so fast?

His goal is to cultivate Buddhists with social responsibility, able both to bear hardship and to endure insult; over more than ten years he has produced only a dozen or so bhikshus, and the rest are only fit to be sramaneras. To be honest, these bhikshu monks are already excellent. For example, Venerable Chanxing, before leaving home, was an outstanding student in both character and scholarship, a top pick among ten thousand, who earned a doctorate. Venerable Xianwei has a doctorate from the Chinese Academy of Sciences. Venerable Xianzhao is a graduate student in the philosophy department of Peking University. Venerable Xianshu was already a well-known writer with strong social responsibility before leaving home. The foundational quality of these monks was not cultivated at Longquan.

More than twenty thousand people have studied Buddhism at Longquan, and the final result is this; moreover, several bhikshu monks show an aged look beyond their years. Of the monks I have met who received the bhikshu precepts, Venerable Xianshu and Venerable Chanxing both look far older than their actual age; judging by the stubble visible, if they grew their hair it would be white. These are all young and middle-aged people of around forty; logically, Buddhists who have left their afflictions should not look so old.

Most of the sramaneras on the site have almost no smiles on their faces; getting to know them deeply, one finds the long-term lay practitioners even more serious, with furrowed brows. Perhaps this is because many people enter the religion when they are spiritually exhausted, so the surface cheerfulness at Longquan cannot hide the deep pain in the practitioners’ hearts. According to an essay by Venerable Xianshu, in the deep of the night the meditation hall at Longquan is often filled with the sound of weeping from repentance, and Venerable Xuecheng himself sometimes sobs aloud.

Longquan has not a single fat monk. Nearly a hundred sramaneras work as laborers on the site seven days a week; when the schedule is urgent they start work at eight in the morning and stop at five or six in the evening, and the three meals are not always available, because by the Buddhist precepts one should not eat after noon, and many sramaneras would rather go hungry than eat dinner. Some monks who left home at Longquan could not bear it and returned to lay life. Of a thousand people, perhaps one can bear this kind of tempering of the will. The ascetic spirit is worth learning, but is it really appropriate to disregard natural laws and wreck one’s body? Taking joy in hardship is one thing, but is a furrowed brow joy? Moreover, the sense of responsibility and the spirit of bearing hardship were not cultivated; instead, everyone is one way on the surface and another in their hearts, working with no sense of responsibility at all. I do not know why this is so; I only feel that Venerable Xuecheng is lonely.

My cultivation here may end here, or I may come again; who can tell about the karmic conditions of life? After learning of Longquan in the news, I always hoped to join this community to cultivate. After I actually joined, I found that there is still a large distance between this place and the true, good, and beautiful Buddhism I believed in. This experience showed me that my own understanding of the world has been problematic and somewhat too idealistic.

I have no thought of blaming Longquan; I have respected my refuge master Venerable Xuecheng from first to last, and may in future still donate money and goods to support his cause, after all there are many people in that temple who need help. I have never thought of clashing with the master. Although I have offered him suggestions, I did so only in writing, and I know deeply that the difficulties he faces in developing Buddhism are enormous. The problems of a monk who lives only for his own liberation and those of the head of a Buddhist community are different.

But I have also come to realize that present-day Chinese Buddhism is not the place I truly want to take refuge in; building and developing Buddhism is not my life ideal. Buddhism carries too many negative labels, too many historical problems, and too little credibility in society; its decline is hard to avoid. There should emerge a new humanistic current that incorporates Buddhist wisdom and exerts some influence on society, completing its historical mission; ideas cannot escape the fate of serving their age.

Religion will eventually complete its historical mission and disappear; this is one of the laws of human social development. There is no need to grieve for it, nor to rejoice. Adjusting my understanding of this phenomenon is one of the greatest gains of my cultivation.