Okay, here is the translation following your instructions: -> Buddha Buddha Tao Tao

Author: Chen Pingyuan
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2005-05-01
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First, to discuss the religious consciousness of the Chinese people, it is naturally necessary to mention both Buddhism and Taoism. Interestingly, in the 20th century China, there were many essays and short pieces on Buddhism, while those on Taoism were extremely scarce. Even when broadening the scope, very few were found. Not to mention those who propagated the faith, even those who wrote about religious followers had several good articles about the Eight-Fingered Monk, Master Manchu, and Master Hongyi, while the latter remained empty. The 20th-century Chinese literati were so partial to Buddhism and so indifferent to Taoism!
Perhaps this can be traced back to the revival of Buddhist studies in the late Qing Dynasty. What truly influenced the entire intellectual and cultural circles were not the preaching of Buddhist scholars like Yang Wenhui, but the "advancement or retreat of Buddhism based on personal interpretation" by politicians such as Kang Youwei, Liang Qichao, Tan Sitong, and Zhang Taiyan. Promoting Buddhism was to "remove the fear of death," "remove the gold-digging mentality," create a "self-sacrificing, vigorous, and fierce new citizenry," and seek self-liberation, achieving great liberation, absolute freedom, and fearlessness. In Zhang Taiyan's words, it was: "To use religion to inspire faith and enhance the moral standards of the nation." The Buddhist theory of saving the nation had a great influence on the May Fourth writers. Lu Xun, Zhou Zuoren, and others criticized Confucianism and Taoism, but they did not criticize Buddhism, and even had a fondness for reading Buddhist scriptures. On one hand, it was to use Buddhism to counter the orthodox, and on the other hand, to understand Western thought (such as freedom, equality, and fraternity) through Buddhism. Although many politicians and writers later claimed to have found new and more effective ideological weapons, they still had a deep affection for Buddhism.
In contrast, the fate of Taoism was much worse. In the intellectual and cultural circles of 20th-century China, Taoism never really made a name for itself. In the 1920s and 1930s, Lu Xun, Xu Deshan, and Zhou Zuoren separately argued from the perspectives of intellectual history, religious history, and literary history that Taoism had a profound influence on the character of the Chinese people and the developmental trends of Chinese culture, but their attitude was critical. Lu Xun's passage in "Small Miscellaneous Thoughts" is often quoted by researchers: "People often resent monks, nuns, Muslim followers, and Christian followers, but they do not resent Taoist followers. Those who understand this understand half of China." As to why the Chinese do not resent Taoist followers but resent other religious followers, Lu Xun did not elaborate, but from the scattered remarks of writers in the 1920s and 1930s, one can roughly guess the mystery. First, Taoism is truly a native Chinese product, and its influence on the common people is far greater than that of Buddhism. Ordinary people often do not distinguish between Buddhism and Taoism, interpreting Taoism through Buddhism, and many folk gods, taboos, and customs are related to Taoism. Second, both Buddhism and Christianity have relatively complete and rigorous theoretical systems, while the theory of Taoism appears fragmented and incomplete, with more elements of superstition. Third, Buddhist followers emphasize fasting, asceticism, and abstinence from women, while Taoist followers, while also advocating emptiness and tranquility, emphasize collecting yin essence to nourish yang and achieving immortality. Such a theory that does not emphasize asceticism is naturally more appealing to the general Chinese populace. Finally, Buddhism emphasizes giving up one's body to seek enlightenment and saving all sentient beings, while Taoism emphasizes flying to the heavens during the day and pursuing personal immortality, which seems to place more emphasis on practical benefits. Such a distinction between Buddhism and Taoism may not be precise, but for writers of this generation who exposed the of the Chinese people and sought to transform their souls, focusing on Taoism was indeed a deliberate and thoughtful approach.
As a result, Taoism was largely absent from the prose and short pieces of 20th-century China, which was a pity. In the 1920s and 1930s, there were formal academic papers on Taoism, as well as satirical and mocking short writings, but there was a lack of elegant and effortless prose. After the 1950s, religion became a "plague," and writers avoided it at all costs. How could they have the leisure to discuss Buddhism and Taoism? Strangely, in recent years, as academia has "rehabilitated" religion, writers still tend to focus more on Buddhism than on Taoism. Perhaps with the resurgence of qigong, Taoism will return to the literary stage, but in this selected collection, Taoism is clearly at a disadvantage.
Second, the perspective of literati studying Buddhism differs from that of monks. They do not blindly follow "understanding leads to action, misunderstanding also leads to action," but rather prefer to dig deep and verify the truth. Simply mocking monks for not adhering to rules and acting foolishly does not reveal any significant issues. Regardless of when, where, or which sect, there are always "frauds" who claim to be religious followers, not just in Buddhism. Moreover, Buddhists are quite aware of this, as the "Sutra of the Lapis Lazuli Net" states: "Like a worm in a lion's body devouring the lion's flesh, it is not an external worm. Similarly, Buddhist followers break the Dharma, not external devils or demons who can destroy it." Buddhist followers vary in quality, but this does not hinder the Dharma from shining like the sun, illuminating the world. Since the Tang and Song dynasties, there have been many works in fiction and opera mocking monks, but the enthusiasm of literati for reading Buddhist scriptures has not faded, the reason being "believing in Buddhism but not believing in monks." This is not to criticize all monks, but to emphasize the independent value of Buddhism as a theoretical system. Only in this way can one see the greatness of Buddhism.
Xu Deshan expressed the fundamental spirit of Buddhism—compassion—in poetic language: "May you be like an endless jeweled canopy, able to shade all living beings in the world" ("May You"). Feng Zikai clearly expressed his disdain for those who did business with Buddha and relied on praying for personal happiness through. The reason is that "truly believing in Buddhism should understand the meaning of the Four Noble Truths being empty and eliminate personal gain; should understand the oneness of self and others, and the vast compassion of Buddha, and protect and love all living beings" ("Buddhism Has No Soul"). The "Great Wisdom Treatise" states: "Great compassion brings joy to all living beings, and great mercy alleviates the suffering of all living beings." This true spirit of Buddhism is not accepted by all learners, at least those who criticize Buddhism as and escapist do not see it this way. In the eyes of Master Hongyi, Buddhism "is not only not, but the most active of the active," because all Mahayana Buddhist teachings emphasize both emptiness and non-emptiness. "Non-emptiness" is for saving the world, while "emptiness" is for forgetting oneself ("Brief Explanation of Ten Treatises on the Dharma"). Master Manchu's "Declaration Against Yuan Shikai," published in 1913 to support the second revolution, and Master Hongyi's slogan during the War of Resistance Against Japan—"Praying to Buddha must save the country, and saving the country must not forget praying to Buddha"—can serve as examples of the "non-emptiness" of Buddhist followers. You may doubt the actual effect of "praying to Buddha to save the country," but you should not criticize its " and escapist" nature. Of course, what Buddhist followers pursue is a spiritual value, and most of it is just to save the world today. It is unlikely to have any immediate practical effect.
Among the common people, the most knowledgeable about Buddhist scriptures is Zhou Zuoren. This is not just due to his knowledge and insight, but more importantly, his tolerant attitude and desire for understanding. In the eyes of ordinary people, Buddhist precepts are undoubtedly cumbersome and tedious, with detailed rules even for urination, defecation, and spitting; but Zhou Zuoren saw the great spirit of Buddhism in them: all the rules are in line with human nature and the laws of nature. The most illustrative of this is the six characters: "Do not let others be troubled" ("Reading Precepts"). As for the easily misunderstood practice of fasting, Zhou Zuoren also drew inspiration from the "Sutra of the Lapis Lazuli Net": "I believe that vegetarianism is to avoid eating meat, and not eating meat is to avoid killing living beings, which is correct. But why not avoid killing living beings? Then this explanation is still appropriate, as I think it is more fitting to say that it is to preserve the seed of great compassion and Buddha-nature, rather than to say it is fragmented" ("Eating Vegetables"). This view is very close to Feng Zikai's, although Feng himself was a layman who had written "The Collection of Protecting Life," and ate vegetarianism due to physiological reasons. "My purpose in protecting life is to protect the heart. Not killing ants is not because I cherish the lives of ants, but because I want to protect my own heart from becoming cruel" ("Buddhism Has No Soul"). As long as one truly protects the heart, whether eating meat or vegetables is a small matter. If one goes to extremes and only eats eggs without rooster insemination or keeps cats that do not eat mice, not only will it be pedantic and laughable, but it will also lose the essence of Buddhist studies. Moreover, if one carries this reasoning to its logical conclusion, one may starve to death, because plants also have life. Cheng Shanzhi, a writer in the early Republic of China, wrote a novel titled "Suicide," about a Buddhist follower who, after understanding that water is full of microorganisms, was forced to commit suicide to avoid killing living beings.
When it comes to Buddhism, one naturally thinks of ancient temples and the sound of bells. Compared to monks, the sound of ancient temple bells seems closer to the essence of Buddhism. While literati may mock the small monks who rely solely on the Buddha for their livelihood, they cannot help but feel respectful in the face of the sound of ancient temple bells that echoes for ten years and resonates throughout the world. Xu Zhimo was amazed: "What an extraordinary power! What profound revelations! It encompasses all conflicting phenomena, expands the vision in an instant, and this simple sound is a spiritual cleansing for me" ("Notes from Tianmu Mountain"). If you find Xu's sentiments too abstract, please read Wang Zengqi's "The Ghostly Bell of Chengtian Temple." The Ghostly Bell was struck specifically for women who died in childbirth or from hemorrhage, "The bell sound struck out a circle, a pale golden halo. The suffering ghosts in hell saw the light. Joy appeared on their faces." Not all bells are like the Ghostly Bell of Chengtian Temple, which is a "female bell" and a "mother's bell," but the bell sound seems to connect the human world with hell, reality with illusion, life with transcendence, and is more moving than written scriptures.
Third, monks vary in quality, some respectable and some not. The "monks who rely solely on the Buddha for their livelihood" who are criticized by the world are not that bad. It all depends on how you understand religious followers. Su Manshu's "neither monk nor layman, yet both monk and layman" is still admired by people, not just for his romantic nature and poetic talent, but also for his special understanding of religion. As for "Master Long," a "bald-headed layman" described by Lu Xun, he does not seem vulgar but rather endearing because of his human touch ("My Third Master"). When writing about monks without highlighting the concept of the emptiness of color and form, but focusing on their secular interests (first as a person, then as a religious follower), this creative tendency runs through a series of novels by Fei Ming, Lao She, and Wang Zengqi. The emergence of ordinary monks who are neither great monks nor bad monks has allowed 20th-century Chinese writers to gain a deeper understanding of human nature and the essence of religion. Unfortunately, many writers later turned to Freud and devoted themselves to uncovering the sexual abnormalities of monks, which was somewhat superficial.
Interestingly, around the great monk Master Hongyi, a group of excellent essays emerged. Generally, it is difficult to write about great monks, either because of excessive reverence that turns them into deities, or because of a lack of understanding that leads to scratching the itch in the wrong place. As a pioneer of modern theatrical movement and art education, Master Hongyi had many friends in the literary world before he shaved his head and entered the mountains, and the distance between his secular and sacred lives did not completely sever their connections. Master Hongyi can be said to be the most understood monk by 20th-century literati, which is why there have been countless commemorative articles about him over the past few decades, and many of them are quite readable.
Among the May Fourth New Literature writers, those with a "reclusive nature" were not just a handful of people like Fei Ming, Xu Deshan, Xia Mazu, and Feng Zikai. Zhou Zuoren's poem for his 50th birthday, which attracted a large number of "monks," was not just for the occasion. In Yu Pingbo's "Dream of an Ancient Locust Tree," there is a wonderful line: "One must have the desire to become a monk, but one must not actually become a monk." The attitude of being both in and out, both monk and layman, is both admired and mocked by Chinese literati—mocked for its obvious affectation. In 1936, Yu Dafu, after visiting Master Hongyi, wrote a poem expressing his conflicting feelings: "At middle age, I also have the desire to flee to a monastery, but I cannot cut off both paths." Compared to his novels, Yu Dafu was not lying. According to Feng Zikai, Xia Mazu greatly admired Li Shuchun (Master Hongyi) for his great man's actions, but because of various worldly ties, he could not follow in his footsteps, and his lifelong sorrow and distress stemmed from this ("In Memory of Mr. Xia Mazu"). In other words, Master Hongyi, with his consistent and resolute attitude, pushed the reclusive nature hidden in literati to the extreme, discarded the act of being neither monk nor layman, and completely severed worldly ties to embrace Buddhism. Just as Yu Pingbo said, "If one truly wants to become a monk, one must be even more of a monk than a monk" ("Dream of an Ancient Locust Tree"). This aspect shocked and ashamed the writers. Therefore, whether they believed in Buddhism or not, they respected and revered the enthusiasm and belief of Master Hongyi in learning Buddhism. Even Liu Yazi, a revolutionary poet who thought that "closing oneself off from the world and shutting out the net of dust" was "too," could not help but be moved by his "sacrificing himself for the cause and shedding blood."
It is unlikely that they truly understood the Buddhist attainments of Master Hongyi or believed in the value of his promotion of the precepts. They mainly regarded him as a "real person," a friend who studied Buddhism. The reason Master Hongyi is respected is not because he can alleviate suffering or help others, but because he found a way of life for himself and tasted a different kind of life. Xia Mazu opposed the idea that Master Hongyi suffered for a noble purpose. "People say he is suffering, but I say he is enjoying himself." In his eyes, there was almost nothing in the world that was bad, as long as one could appreciate it. "Regarding all things, not bound by conventional prejudices, restore them to their true nature and observe and appreciate them, this is true liberation, true enjoyment" ("Preface to Zikai Comics"). From another perspective, Ye Shengtao understood Master Hongyi's natural calmness as "a small tree on a spring field." Regardless of whether one believes in religion or not, isn't life just a hope to reach the state of "spring full" and "moon round"? Master Hongyi "lived a lifetime of 'living well' and now 'died well,' happy and content, with no regrets" ("On the Posthumous Verses of Master Hongyi"). Without any real achievements or brilliant writings, just the phrase "branches of flowers are full, the sky's heart is the moon," which seems too great in the eyes of the world, but this is the Buddhist realm of life. Only by reaching this level through learning Buddhism can one live up to the "intersection of joy and sorrow" for decades.