Venerable Gangxiao: Buddhist Lecture on Hearing, Contemplation, and Practice

Earlier I covered right faith in the Three Jewels and the building of right view. Now let's talk about the four factors of stream-entry. Of course, I'm just passing along what the elders before me have said. The four factors are: keeping company with good friends, reflecting in accordance with the Dharma, right reflection, and practicing in accordance with the Dharma. We can only touch on these briefly, so let's begin with good friends.

Keeping company with good people is actually quite simple — you just need to sort out a few questions. What is a good friend? In other words, what are the conditions and standards? Everything has to have a standard; without one, everything falls apart. Second, you need to understand why you should keep company with good friends. Third, how do you go about it?

The Yogācārabhūmi-śāstra says that a good spiritual friend must possess eight qualities.

1. Upholding the precepts. This means having a clear grasp of the precepts, knowing the rules of upholding and transgressing them, and truly understanding their spirit. Take the precept against theft, for example: a good friend would never get tangled up in debates over whether embezzling or stealing 100 yuan automatically strips a bhikṣu of status, or whether it takes 50,000 yuan to do it. Some people don't do this — instead, they painstakingly figure out how many yuan and jiao the five māṣas the Buddha mentioned back then would equal today, which shows they don't really get what the precepts are about. Then there are those who say both 100 yuan and 50,000 yuan lead to automatic loss of bhikṣu status, so you might as well steal 50,000. Take the precept against eating at the wrong time — some people argue endlessly over whether you're really allowed to eat at night. Or the precept against killing — how exactly do we weigh the karmic offense of killing a mosquito against killing a person? A good spiritual friend handles all of this very well. Their grasp of how the precepts actually work is solid.
2. Extensive learning. Some people only know how to recite the Buddha's name; whatever question you put to them, they just answer, "Just recite the Buddha's name well" — that's their way of meeting every change with the same unchanging response. They even complain that intellectuals just know how to run their mouths and wave their pens around: "A person's life is finite — who can possibly learn every Dharma door?" So how will you manage to be reborn in the Pure Land? They even laugh at intellectuals for being foolish and deluded ~~~ Here's something I want to say: for student monks at Buddhist academies, whatever scores they get, I don't blame them. I only blame myself for being unskilled. Why can't my lectures attract them? Why can't I spark their enthusiasm? There are only unskilled teachers — there are no unskilled students. Where does the problem lie? In the teacher's narrow knowledge. You ask me about Yogācāra, I teach Yogācāra; you ask about Madhyamaka, I teach Madhyamaka; you ask about Chan, I teach Chan…… This is what Master Yongming Yanshou meant in his fourfold classification: "Those with both Chan and Pure Land are like tigers with horns." Here "Chan" and "Pure Land" stand in for different teachings, different schools. Only when you understand Chan and Pure Land, the Three Treatise school, Yogācāra, Tiantai, Huayan — when you truly understand them all — only then can you "be a teacher to people in this life, a Buddha or patriarch in the next." That requires extensive learning. You can't answer a question about turning consciousness into wisdom with "Just recite the Buddha's name, one Buddha name contains everything." You can't answer a question about dependent origination and karma with "Just recite the Buddha's name, one Buddha name contains immeasurable merit" — that's pure nonsense! Of course, one Amitabha does contain everything, with immeasurable merit — who would argue otherwise? ~~~ Nobody. But is it useful? No. Buddhism is about liberating sentient beings, and that approach just can't do it. Bodhisattvas must master the five vidyās to attain full awakening! So when people ask you about Buddhism, you need to know; when they ask you to design a temple hall, you need to know; when they ask you to treat an illness, you need to know. Of course, that bar is awfully high.
3. Realized attainment. Most people can't reach this. At the very least, you need a purified Dharma eye — you can clearly distinguish right Dharma from false. Without a purified Dharma eye, how could you tell the difference? ~~~ When I was studying, my teacher said you need the ability to read others' minds, so you know exactly what your students are thinking and can teach accordingly. What else is needed? I can't quite remember. (You also need knowledge of past lives — so the teacher knows what the student did in previous lives and why they have certain habitual tendencies, and can help, liberate, and work to counter those tendencies.)
4. Compassion. This is a heart of compassion. Some people have hearts of stone: they see someone on the verge of death and take a detour to avoid them, thinking "out of sight, out of mind." That's lying to ghosts! You already saw them ~~~ Here's an example: suppose something itches, you scratch, and find a louse. Kill it, and you've taken a life; don't kill it, and it'll bite you. So you grab it and put it on someone fatter. My little nephew, whom I haven't seen in years, must be grown up by now. When he watched Journey to the West as a child, the tears streamed down his face: "Poor Sun Wukong — what's the point of fetching the scriptures? He still gets chopped and hacked by demons." Children are kind by nature. Once they grow up, that kindness is gone.
5. No weariness in teaching. Master Xuanhua said: if there's a question, I'll explain it once; if you don't understand, I'll explain it again; if you still don't understand, I'll explain it again, and keep going until you understand. That's what makes someone a good spiritual friend. As for the rest of us: you come to ask me, I explain once, you don't get it, I explain again, you still don't get it — that's it, I blame you for being thick and never want to explain to you again. That is weariness — getting fed up, not wanting to go on. In our temple there's a monk named Gangzhou who's illiterate. But once you've ordained, it's simply unacceptable not to know the morning and evening liturgy, so he wanted to learn. Nobody else could teach him, so Old Ocean took him on — and truly without weariness. Once, twice, ten times, a hundred times. Gangzhou asked every day, Old Ocean taught every day, whenever the question came, whenever the answer went. Now Gangzhou can recite the morning and evening liturgy beautifully and has even learned the Diamond Sutra. For someone who can't read a single character to manage that is no small thing.
6. Ability to endure hardship. Don't have too fierce a temper. Chan's teaching methods are generally more than most people can take — they're so harsh and intense people can't stand them. At the slightest provocation, thirty blows of the stick; scoldings that leave your head ringing. But people are contrary that way — what they can't get, they value most. Most people can't enter the Chan gate, so they all praise it highly. But what's so great about it? Some can spin out a whole list of reasons, but that list only fools outsiders. Anyone who actually knows the tradition hears it and immediately spots where the argument falls apart. We "revere Śākyamuni, but we don't know what makes Śākyamuni worthy of reverence." We revere the Sixth Patriarch, revere Mazu, revere Baizhang, revere Ziran, revere Zhaozhou — but what exactly about them makes them worthy? We don't know. In fact, the people who understand the Sixth Patriarch, Baizhang, and Xuyun best aren't us Buddhist disciples but those who oppose Buddhism. The only ones who truly understand Lu Xun are Lu Xun's opponents, not the so-called Lu Xun experts. Why has Chan flourished? Because nobody understands it. Other men's wives are always better, right? Because you can't get them ~~~ Now, about this ability to endure — everyone needs to understand: a teacher is often misunderstood, and liberating sentient beings is no easy matter. There was once a Japanese Chan master named Hakuin who had a disciple we'll call A. A deeply respected his master, and A had a daughter who was close with a young man from the neighboring family. She ended up pregnant. The father was furious — so shameful — and the daughter said the child was Hakuin's. A was enraged: "I respected you so much, and you're actually a lecherous monk!" Just like that, the old master's reputation was ruined. But Hakuin went on living as before. Later, A's daughter couldn't bear the guilt and told the truth. A, overcome with shame, went to retrieve the child and beg the old master's forgiveness. The old master said calmly, "Oh, so that's how it was." Being a teacher requires that kind of capacity, that kind of endurance.
7. No fear. This is mainly about standing against heterodox teachers and false teachings. Generally speaking, when you propagate the right Dharma, you'll inevitably offend people — so what? As long as it's for the sake of the Dharma, you might end up paying a heavy price. Master Hanshan was thrown into prison in his day. Zhu Daosheng declared that even icchantikas possess Buddha-nature, and was expelled from the monastic community of his time. With nowhere else to go, he withdrew into the mountains and taught the rocks. Monk Shenhui convened a great unmonopolized assembly at Huat'ai to settle the disputes between the Northern and Southern schools. After the Northern school lost the debate, they used political muscle to have Shenhui thrown into prison. Later, when the An Lushan Rebellion broke out and the state treasury was emptied, they remembered Shenhui, brought him out to transmit the precepts, sell ordination certificates, and raise military funds for the state. By that point there were barely any elder monks left. Even though these great masters suffered such enormous injustice, they kept on teaching. They didn't stop just because they met resistance. Remember: those who proclaim the truth are often left battered and bloody from their encounter with "truth."
8. Perfect eloquence. What does that mean? It means being skilled at expounding the Dharma. Some people have plenty inside but are clumsy with words and can't get it out — useless. Of course, you can use other means. Take Master Yinguang: nobody could understand his lectures because his dialect was so hard to follow; he rarely lectured in his whole life and eventually stopped entirely. What he left behind was his Collected Writings. Put plainly, "perfect eloquence" means "speak human words to humans, ghost words to ghosts" — that is, teaching in accord with the student's capacity. The "be a teacher to people in this life, a Buddha or patriarch in the next" from Yongming Yanshou's fourfold classification means the same thing: you can't just go around urging everyone to recite the Buddha's name. A Pure Land master once went to the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences to urge people to recite the Buddha's name, and no one listened — they said he was talking nonsense. That's failing to teach in accord with capacity.

To be a good spiritual friend, you must possess these eight qualities. Only someone who has them can recognize where a student is right and where they're wrong, and can properly guide and support students. To guide and support students means to make them accept you, willingly learn from you. Only with these eight qualities can you explain the meaning of the sutras to students, speak with authority on the Vinaya, and skillfully expound the treatises. With these eight qualities, even if you haven't become a Buddha, you're a true disciple of the Buddha, and only then can you truly follow the teachings. Those who possess these eight qualities can lead us to meet the World-Honored One — so we should seek them out.

We want to keep company with good spiritual friends — what kind of mindset do we need? We should settle our minds on the four foundations of mindfulness. They are: contemplating the body as impure, contemplating feelings as suffering, contemplating the mind as impermanent, and contemplating dharmas as without self. The four contemplations of the four foundations of mindfulness have wisdom as their essence. When Śākyamuni was about to pass into nirvāṇa, Ānanda asked him four questions, one of which was, "What should we rely on?" Śākyamuni said to rely on the four foundations of mindfulness. Only after settling the mind on the four foundations of mindfulness can you seek out good friends. Otherwise, don't — because if your mind isn't settled on the four foundations of mindfulness, you'll find fault with everyone under heaven and never recognize a good spiritual friend.

The Great Treatise on the Stages of the Path to Enlightenment expands these four foundations of mindfulness further: only those who possess the following conditions have the qualities of a true disciple and the possibility of learning the Dharma. What are those conditions? The ones I mentioned earlier:

1. Right abiding. What does that mean? Not clinging to your own views and belongings.
2. Wisdom. The ability to choose between good and evil, to distinguish right Dharma from false Dharma.
3. Aspiration. A willingness to learn the Dharma. The Sūtra of Bequeathed Teachings says, "It is hard for the wealthy to seek the Way, hard for the poor to practice giving," and so on. If you have no aspiration to seek the Dharma and no willingness to study at all, how can you succeed?
4. Reverence for the Dharma and the teacher.

These are summed up as four supporting conditions:

1. Seeking the meaning and benefits of the Dharma;
2. Restraining the mind well while listening;
3. Reverence for the Dharma and the teacher;
4. Choosing between good and evil.

True good spiritual friends, when they teach others, are also learning themselves — this is benefiting oneself while benefiting others; benefiting others is the greatest benefit to oneself.

1. Solely seeking realization. The only goal is to understand the true meaning of the Dharma, without any concern for whether one's own mindset is correct. This is a little hard to grasp: when you teach the Dharma and help others understand the true meaning of Buddhism, that process also furthers your own realization. As for the phrase "without concern for whether one's mindset is correct" — please everyone, don't twist this around — that would be bad. Master Hongyi once said that by the standard of his own lifelong practice, he wasn't even qualified to be a novice monk. Master Hongyi was the founder of the Vinaya school, famous all his life for rigorously upholding the precepts — yet he said he wasn't even qualified to be a novice monk. Then consider another: it's said that on his deathbed, Master Xuanzang said, "My whole life was absolutely at the bodhisattva level." Look at Xuanzang's life: the first half spent in arduous study and travel through the various countries of India, the second half devoted to translating the scriptures. Of the three trainings — precepts, meditation, wisdom — he didn't uphold the precepts with the deliberate rigor of Master Hongyi, and he didn't deliberately cultivate Chan meditation either; yet he never broke a precept his whole life and was often in meditative absorption. When Śākyamuni gave his prediction, he said Maitreya would be the next to become Buddha. The people at the time were baffled — looking at Maitreya's practice, nothing about it seemed impressive — so they doubted. Śākyamuni assured everyone present at the Dharma assembly that Maitreya's practice was absolutely beyond theirs. Isn't that strange? Hongyi focused single-mindedly on the precepts, yet couldn't uphold them perfectly — wasn't even qualified as a novice monk. Xuanzang focused on translating scriptures, and his observance of the precepts turned out to be the most rigorous of all. We often say, "Within Śākyamuni's gate, whatever you sincerely seek, you'll receive." I sought rigorous precept observance — why couldn't I achieve it? I sought something but didn't get it — where's the contradiction? The "seeking" in "whatever you seek, you'll receive" belongs to the first stage of "seeing a mountain as a mountain." But seeking something and not getting it — that's the third stage. This is what "without concern for whether your mindset is correct" means — the language of the third stage. When you focus single-mindedly on realization, your mindset naturally becomes correct. When you don't fuss over whether your mindset is correct, your mind stays fixed on understanding the true meaning of the Dharma, so the mindset is naturally correct. If you're constantly wondering whether your mind is correct, your mind naturally won't be. That's the first point.

2. Nurture reverence; let arrogance be absent. A virtuous friend must never harbor the attitude, "You all come ask me—I'm above you." Practitioners of the Dharma should be reverent toward the Dharma and its teachers, and those who teach should be all the more reverent toward those who seek. After all, it is precisely the seekers who complete one's accumulation of merit. The scriptures speak of the Bodhisattva Sadāparibhūta—常不轻, "Never Disparaging"—who bowed to everyone. Master Xinxing of the Three Stages school bowed to everyone too. The monks of his day protested, "How can you, Xinxing, bow to laypeople? It violates the dignified bearing of a monk!" and expelled him from the saṅgha. Yet Master Xinxing was the genuine article—a true bodhisattva. He was at the third stage of "seeing mountains as mountains," while others were still stuck at the first. They were not on the same level at all—one on the first ground cannot know the affairs of the second ground.

3. Go further—one must not be content with small gains. Some say, "You're doing fine already—why push yourself so hard?" In a certain elementary school in Henan, the director of instruction already earned ten yuan more than the regular teachers. Yet he insisted on also taking on a homeroom class. The other teachers protested, "You already get ten yuan more—let someone else have the ten-yuan homeroom fee." He replied, "I just want to do a bit more work. It's certainly not to show off my energy, and it's not about the ten yuan—but that's hard to put into words." This third point is about further developing one's own potential.

4. For the sake of both self and others. To grow one's own merit and help others grow theirs—not for fame or gain. When I'm invited to lecture somewhere, I always begin with a declaration: please don't take my words as gospel. And please don't be polite about it—if you understand, you understand; if you don't, you don't. I'm only in my twenties, but some of you listening could be my grandparents' generation. Your life experience alone surpasses mine many times over. There's no need to spare my feelings or worry about stumping me. Stump me, and I'll see where I'm still falling short. That's the greatest help to me—that's my self-benefit. If after listening you work out even a single doubt, that's benefiting others. When it's time to leave, your hosts may offer you money. Don't take it. Who taught me this? The American elder monk Shouye. Shouye spent many years at Mount Wutai and was a Dharma brother of the elder Benhuan. He lectured at Mount Jiuhua several times, but his regional dialect was nearly unintelligible. The only thing I remember is: don't be greedy for money. Then there's the elder Jingkong. When he visited the Jiuhua Buddhist Academy, after his lecture people left offerings on the tea table. As he was leaving, he gave the pile a casual shove across to me and said, "Give this to the permanent residents of the Jiuhua Buddhist Academy." These elders are our role models—they don't pursue fame or gain. The "professional experts" are different. They'll ask you for it. No matter how learned such experts may be, they have only knowledge; what they lack is genuine humanistic cultivation. A true spiritual friend should not be like this. Of course, experts have families to feed, so accepting payment can be reasonable—they should be paid what's fair.

Now, how do we judge a spiritual friend? Young monks today all do the same thing: some elder has a great reputation, so they go bow at his feet. In 1994, during the precept ordination at Mount Jiuhua, we went up to help. One person actually claimed his refuge teacher was the elder Xuyun. Master Shengxue tossed out his certificate on the spot. The elder Xuyun was famous—unquestionably a genuine spiritual friend—but he had passed away many years ago. If you're going to fake it, at least fake it right. I'm also a disciple of Śākyamuni—wrong? Of course not. When choosing a spiritual friend, we absolutely must not judge by the size of a name. Generally speaking, a large name suggests real substance behind it. But that substance may not be genuine Buddhist insight—it could be political savvy, or simply the fruits of past merit. Even if it's merely past merit, we must not look down on it. Some of us junior monks are insufferably arrogant—I used to be exactly the same. Take the elder monks' articles: their own writings contradicted each other. When I discovered they were actually ghostwritten, or drafted by disciples, I looked down on them even more. The contradiction was simply because different people had written them—different views, naturally they clashed. But over time, I've come around. No matter what, they must have their strong points. Even if someone is merely good at working a room, that's a strength—because the Buddha-Dharma does not depart from worldly affairs. That is the beginner's stage of the Dharma; studying Buddhism starts with learning to be a decent human being. Still, the spiritual friend we seek must be grounded in genuine inner insight. Some people have great reputations. We may respect their character and not look down on them, but they are not the spiritual friends we should rely upon. When choosing whom to rely upon, we judge by teaching and reason, not by fame or status. Once we have chosen, the esoteric tradition says we must entrust ourselves utterly. If the teacher tells you to kill someone, you do it. Master Zhimin's tapes on Consciousness-Only mention an incident—he said he couldn't quite remember the details. A wedding was about to take place, and the guru told his disciple, "Go seize that bride being married off." It utterly violates human ethics, but if the guru says do it, you do it. This is the esoteric tradition's position. For now, let us respectfully set it aside—we don't understand it, so we shouldn't pass judgment lightly. What we adopt here is "rely on the Dharma, not on the person." Why? Because what we rely upon in study and practice is the Three Jewels, never any single individual. Rely on a person, and the Āgama scriptures say, and you incur five faults. In his lectures on the Great Treatise on the Stages of the Path to Enlightenment, Master Richang told a story from his own practice. He wanted to study the Dharma, and somewhere there was an elder Chan practitioner who seemed thoroughly versed in all the schools and lineages—how the Yunmen school rang its bell and board, how the Linji school sounded its ritual instruments, how the Caodong school did this and that—he spoke of it all most impressively. So Master Richang went to study with this elder. But no sooner had he sat down for the first incense period than the elder's head drooped—he'd sunk into drowsiness. When the bell rang out, the elder was bright and alert again. Next incense period—he sat, head drooped, drool running from the corner of his mouth. Another incense period—still the same. So Master Richang took his leave. This is "rely on the Dharma, not on the person."

Spiritual friends are, in truth, hard to find. As the saying goes, first there must be a Bole, and only then can there be a thousand-li horse. Thousand-li horses are common, but a Bole is not. Spiritual friends are few. We shouldn't insist on finding a spiritual friend equipped with all eight qualities. We say: anyone who can guide us toward the Three Jewels is a spiritual friend. When we move on to teach through the Āgamas, I'll have everyone read the original text and keep my own commentary to a minimum. It's like when a visitor arrives from outside—I'm only the tour guide; I can take you to Sweet Dew Temple. Once you arrive, Master Zangxue will explain things to you. I'm just a guide—how could I be more familiar with Sweet Dew Temple than old Master Zang? It's the same with studying the Dharma. I can only bring everyone to the threshold of the Āgamas. Once you're there, it falls to Śākyamuni to teach you directly. Why should this nobody rattle on? What the Buddha taught is the purest outflow of the immaculate Dharma-realm! And so, although a spiritual friend endowed with all eight qualities is rare, anyone who can lead us to see the Three Jewels, to see the World-Honored One—that person is a spiritual friend. Yet in this Dharma-Ending Age, some people are not like this. Not only do they lack the eight qualities, they block you from seeing the World-Honored One—layer upon layer of obstacles between you and the Buddha. For instance, Supreme Master Ching Hai declared, "Śākyamuni is outdated. You don't need to chant Śākyamuni's name, and you don't need to chant Amitābha's name—just chant my name, Ching Hai, and that's enough." Li Hongzhi said, "Stop displaying Śākyamuni's image—just display my image, Li Hongzhi." There are even some prominent Dharma masters who forbid reading any other sutra—you only need to read the Sutra Spoken by the Buddha on the Adornment of Immeasurable Life, Purity, Equality, and Enlightenment of the Great Vehicle. According to Master Zangxue, this is how it is at the elder Jingkong's place too—students are permitted to read only the elder Jingkong's books. People like this, however lofty their prestige or wide their influence, are pure evil friends and should not be approached.

Question: If it were up to you, what books would you have practitioners of the Pure Land school read?

Read the original texts of the Five Scriptures—and read all the various translations. If possible, look at the Sanskrit originals as well. Now, when we study Buddhism, we must remember one thing: simply listen, with reverence, to the teachings of the World-Honored One. Just listen to what the World-Honored One said; don't ask why it is so. For now, your only role is to listen. Just listen well, and practice as taught. Why? Because you haven't yet established decisive right view and faith in the World-Honored One's teaching. Your mind is still governed by ignorance. So every challenge you raise is rooted in ignorance. With ignorance as your foundation, everything is off. Here is an analogy: listening to the Dharma is like a recorder capturing a recording, or like an image reflected in water. Right now, as I speak, a recorder is capturing it. You simply listen to the words it plays back—you don't need to understand how the recorder works. A student of the Dharma doesn't need to understand how the recorder works. You simply see a tree's reflection in the water. You can leave the optics of the reflection aside too. This is what is meant by "dharmas abiding in their own positions." The Buddhist practitioner just listens to the sound from the recorder; it's the technician who worries about how the recorder works. To put it in one phrase: when studying Buddhism, first "know what it is—don't worry about why." In other words, studying Buddhism means "study permitted, questions not." For now, simply attend to what the Buddha said, then practice according to that Dharma. We ask you to reflect inwardly, but we strictly limit your chasing after external answers. When you go ask someone and they give you an answer—why should you believe it? Say you ask, "Is life ultimately suffering or joy?" Someone answers, "Suffering." Why does he say suffering? Because the one you asked has had a wretched life, full of hardship. Ask another person, and he tells you life is joy. Why? Because he grew up from infancy in a cradle of comfort. See—suffering, joy, these are merely the answers of the people answering; they have nothing to do with you, the one asking. And their "suffering" or "joy" is itself only a feeling. So I earnestly urge everyone: don't chase after external answers. If you take someone else's answer on faith, you've fallen onto the side of the object—relying on another person's understanding rather than your own. When you have no answer, reflect for yourself. The moment you get an answer, you let yourself off the hook. In the Buddha's time, for instance, many asked about the shape of the universe. Śākyamuni told them the world has a center—Mount Sumeru—surrounded by the four great continents, and so on. They trusted Śākyamuni, and stopped pondering. They were lucky to meet a truly awakened one—but even that was a provisional teaching! They stopped pondering. What about us? The moment someone gives me an answer, I too stop considering the question. But is the one giving me that answer trustworthy? This severs our right reflection. Without right reflection, your actions can't be guided. Here's an analogy: everything you do needs to be threaded together by right reflection. Right reflection is the string; your actions are the beads of a mālā. Each bead has to be threaded on the string.

Reflection is enormously important. The scriptures constantly say, "Listen well, listen well, and reflect upon it well," or, "Reflect upon it with the utmost care." It's always about reflection. Ordinary beings have limited dimensions of thought. Studying the Dharma is precisely the work of expanding those dimensions. We're like a TV antenna that can only pick up one Henan channel. Studying the Dharma is like diligently saving up to install a satellite dish. Once the dish is in place, we can pick up dozens of channels.

Q: When learning Buddhism, should you start by believing without question, or by doubting? Right now you don't even know what Shakyamuni taught—how could you believe? And how could you doubt? "Dharma-nature inherently includes reflection"—so settle your mind first, and listen to what Shakyamuni actually said. You may doubt. The Āgama Sutras offer four great teaching guidelines: whatever teaching you hear from anyone, reflect on it before accepting it. That is, in effect, an invitation to doubt. But think about it—when you doubt, haven't you already stepped inside the circle of belief? You've believed the Āgama. That is why I said earlier that at the very beginning of Buddhist learning, the rule is "study before you question."

I've been saying that good listening to the Dharma is essential. Now let me add one more thing. Besides listening well, there are two conditions that are especially helpful for learning the Dharma, and remarkably good for awakening right reflection.

The first is similes. Take the parable of the phantom city. If you have half a brain, you'll quickly grasp the point of the teaching. A group of people set out to gather treasure from the sea. The journey was long; they grew weary and thirsty, and could bear it no longer. Just as they were about to turn back, their guide, by his great spiritual power, manifested a city ahead and said, "Come, let's push on just a little farther, and we'll rest in the city and regain our strength." What a wonderful simile—so vivid, so direct. And what kind of teaching is the Lotus Sutra? A one-vehicle, definitive, perfect teaching. Once you see that, how could you fail to understand the Pure Lands of the West or the East? Let me digress for a moment.

Golden ground in the Pure Land is only a symbol of happiness, not a literal description. When people get hung up on the seven treasures, I'm reminded of the indentured laborers. In those days, the recruiters used to tell them: the West is paved with gold, so bright it dazzles your eyes as you walk; you can scoop up money there freely, grab it by the handful. Columbus, too, set out on his voyages partly because people said the East—China—was dripping with spices and gold.

With a simile, you only take the part that serves you and leave the rest. People understand that, because it is only a simile. This is why similes can awaken wisdom without getting you stuck on the object side.

The second is questioning. Earlier I said no questioning—"study before you question"—yet here I'm suggesting you ask questions. What's the difference? The earlier "no questioning" meant not running to others for answers. The questioning I'm talking about here is questioning yourself. It's as the Zen saying goes: great doubt, great awakening; small doubt, small awakening; no doubt, no awakening. This kind of question you cannot ask anyone else. If you do, they cannot give you the answer—and whoever tries to is about the worst teacher you could ask. There is a public case I half-remember. Person A studied under Teacher B for several years. Eventually he felt he had some understanding, so he went to B for confirmation. He poured out his realization in one go, and B simply asked, "What was your original face before you were born?" A was struck dumb. "I really can't answer that." He asked B to explain. B said, "I can't tell you. If I did, it would be my answer, and sooner or later you'd curse me out." You see—B doesn't tell A! Later, while A was working—cutting stone, I think—he suddenly awakened. He knelt down at once and bowed in the direction of Teacher B: "It's because you never told me that I can awaken now."

So never ask others—ask yourself. Rely on your own power of reflection; apply effort on the "subject" side. That is the right practice.

Here is a simile. Suppose someone has a stomach ailment. Some treat it with medicine; others change their eating habits. Before, they ate picky meals, gorging when there was food and starving when there wasn't. Now they eat at set times, in proper amounts, and exercise every morning. Slowly their constitution strengthens and their health improves. Treating with medicine—"every medicine has some poison"—always brings side effects. Dietary therapy has none. Asking others is like medicine therapy; questioning yourself within your own mind is like dietary therapy.

Our section is titled Listening, Reflecting, Practicing, yet we've been talking all along about how to reflect. Why? Because listening, reflecting, and practicing are really one continuous thread; their essence is reflection. Outwardly they may look like a teacup or a measuring cylinder, but their essence is glass. In listening–reflecting–practicing, "listening" is simply the most shallow level of reflection; "reflecting" is reflection one step deeper; "practicing" is reflection deeper still. Let me approach listening, reflecting, and practicing from two angles now.

1. From the standpoint of depth. In the listening stage there is no discrimination—don't fuss over anything. Someone says "hello," you take it in. Someone says "go to hell," you still take it in. Just take it in; don't sort out the good from the bad. Discrimination only begins in the reflecting stage. What does "hello" mean? What does "go to hell" mean? Think it through. The move from listening to reflecting is the part of understanding. In the practicing stage, discrimination drops away again. Why? Because by then you've come through the reflecting stage and know the difference between "hello" and "go to hell." You've made your choice—you've kept "hello" and let go of "go to hell." Only "hello" remains, with nothing left to sort out. So the practicing stage is also without discrimination. The move from reflecting to practicing is the part of awakening. In the listening stage, the absence of discrimination is because you lack the capacity to discriminate—you can't yet, so what would you discriminate? Just wasted effort. In the practicing stage, the absence of discrimination is because discrimination is unnecessary. "Hello, hello"—hello is good, no need to discriminate. So don't assume that going from no-discrimination to discrimination and back to no-discrimination is just spinning in a circle. The no-discrimination of listening and the no-discrimination of practicing are not the same. In listening, you're unable to discriminate. In practicing, it's no longer needed.

Seen in terms of depth, moving from listening to the sutras, to reflecting, and then to practicing is really an evolution from intuition toward reason, from affairs toward principle.

2. From the standpoint of entering and emerging. We begin with listening—that is the surface of the Dharma, the place to enter. The deeper we go, we reach the reflecting stage: that is going deeper in, the process of understanding. Then we must move on to practicing—that is actually going back out. We study the Dharma not for the sake of studying the Dharma; we study it to rescue sentient beings. Take the so-called experts, the Buddhist studies scholars. After studying the Dharma, they can write academic papers and lecture everywhere, and by this means support their families and gain a reputation. They only enter, never emerge. Almost no one can understand the articles they produce. But if you study Buddhism to rescue sentient beings, then once you've gone deep into the great ocean of the Dharma, you must also be able to come back out. If you can't come out, you cannot guide others. Some people studying Buddhism today have wedged themselves into a corner and can't get out. Marx said religion is the opium of the people. Opium is addictive; religion can be addictive too. Once you sink into a religious atmosphere, it really is as if you're floating, swaying, riding the clouds—the feeling is exquisite. Then you don't want to come back up. But at that point you absolutely must come out. If you can't, you can't go any further.

Listening to reflecting is the process of understanding, going from the surface into the depths of the Dharma. From reflecting to practicing is the process of awakening, emerging from the depths back to the surface. Listening, reflecting, and practicing is the progression of realms from low to high. In listening the realm is lowest—you lack the capacity to discriminate. As you gradually reach the reflecting stage, discrimination arises. Though this stage is higher than listening, it isn't the goal (the goal is Buddhahood and the rescue of sentient beings), so it isn't yet a high realm. Once your reflection runs through, you start to come back out and move toward practicing—that is the high realm.

Someone asked: can we go straight from listening to practicing, from a low realm to a high realm? No, we can't. Look—here is a chalk box, a rectangular solid. We want to drive a nail in from the left and have it come out the right. The far left is the listening stage, moving into depth. The middle of the box is the reflecting stage. Then the nail keeps going in and emerges on the right side—that's the practicing stage, the emerging stage. If you try to enter from the left and come out the right without passing through the middle, that is simply impossible.

That is exactly how we are learning Buddhism right now. We are at the far left, not yet inside the Dharma. Hearing the Dharma is like making contact with the left side of the box. We press inward, going deeper. When you reach the deepest point, to rescue sentient beings you must come out the right side. If you can't, it's useless. Coming out the right means you have arrived outside the space the box occupies. The space on the left of the box and the space on the right are connected—they both represent the non-Dharma (in the narrow sense). Once you've come out the right and teach others, you are rescuing sentient beings. Entering from the left and emerging from the right is what we call "going deep and coming out at the surface."

But many teachers today don't work that way. They enter from the left, but they don't come out the right. Instead, they slip out obliquely from the front face (or the back, top, or bottom). Although emerging from the front does connect with the same space as the left of the box, and they too can teach and rescue beings, since they never truly entered the heart of the Dharma, their grasp of it is shaky. The Dharma they teach is incomplete, even skewed. Theirs is a "deep in, shallow out" that never really went deep—and they actually lack the qualifications to teach the Dharma.

Speaking of which, I'm reminded of certain scientists today and the popular science books they write. Take Gao Shiqi—his standing in China is irreplaceable—but he entered from the left and came out obliquely, not from the right. He did come out shallow, but he didn't go deep. Hunan Science and Technology Press once put out a series called The First Push—that is real popular science. Its authors are world-class scientists. That series isn't easy to read. Without some grounding, even something those top scientists consider shallow as shallow can be, you still won't understand it. Gao Shiqi's popular science, anyone can understand. Achieving "deep in, shallow out" is not easy. The same goes for the Dharma: true Dharma cannot be made easily accessible.

Let me offer another simile. Suppose we want to go upstairs. Our ground floor is flat, but at a low level; the floor we want to reach upstairs is also flat, but at a higher level. To get from the ground to the upper floor, you can't go straight across—you have to go up. The low ground floor stands for the listening stage: it is flat, standing for no-discrimination. We climb the stairs—this is the reflecting stage: not flat, there is discrimination. When we reach the upper floor, that is the practicing stage: flat again, no-discrimination. From the ground wanting to reach the upper floor, there's no straight road; you can only climb the staircase step by step.

Or take going to the moon. First you take a taxi to the station, then a train, then a bus to Xichang, and finally board a spacecraft that flies straight to the moon and lands. Taking the boat is a metaphor for "listening" to the Dharma. Taking the bus to Xichang is reflection. Boarding the spacecraft is practice. Landing on the moon is like reaching the path of seeing and attaining the first bhūmi. Those are worldly similes. In supramundane terms: primordial wisdom corresponds to listening; subsequent wisdom to reflecting; perfect wisdom to practicing.

In learning the Dharma, we can sum it up through the three trainings—precepts, concentration, and wisdom. So we must hold the precepts. To hold them, we first have to hear about them. Whatever small piece we learn, we should put into practice. You may want to study the precepts but find no companions to encourage each other along. What then? Carry on alone. Don't compare yourself with others. The solitary one is the lion; only monkeys and the like travel in herds. Do as much as you can, and that's enough. Once you've studied the precepts, never go around checking them against other people—precepts restrain the mind, and you don't know another person's inner state. Don't fault others for not keeping precepts. Take Ji Gong or the Living Buddha of Gold Mountain—how do you know they aren't keeping precepts? Theirs is the purest keeping of all. Restrain your own mind, keep the mind from wandering, and the heart will be at peace. As long as we attend to ourselves moment by moment, watching our own thoughts, we cut off suffering.

We constantly observe the impurity of the body. This helps us guard the sense faculties so that no evil can intrude. There's an image for it: it's like wind blowing against a great mountain—no matter how strong, the wind cannot move the mountain. Or like the elephant-keeper in the Āgama who tried to frighten the Buddha—you can't scare the Buddha. If we guard the sense faculties, the sutra says, "hide the six senses like a turtle"—the turtle pulls its whole head in, and the heron cannot bite it. As long as we guard the sense faculties, we don't even commit small evils. In time, precepts, concentration, and wisdom will be present.

As for specific practice, there are several sutras that you must read.

First is the Dharmapada. It is the outline of the Āgama Sutras—practical and easy to follow.

Then the Saṃdhinirmocana Sūtra—also a definitive sacred teaching, the key that unlocks the whole Tripiṭaka, the overarching principle of the Dharma. It is like a country's constitution.

Then the Prajñāpāramitā Sūtras. These cut through obstacles. Anyone learning the Dharma must read them.

If you don't have time to read the Āgama, study the Dharmapada. If the twelve divisions of the Tripiṭaka are too much, study the Saṃdhinirmocana Sūtra. The Prajñāpāramitā is also a lot—six hundred scrolls; you can't finish it. What then? Study the Diamond Sūtra—best to study the version translated by Master Xuanzang, the Vajracchedikā Prajñāpāramitā. Some say they can't even manage the Diamond Sūtra—is there anything shorter? Yes—the Heart Sūtra.

To study Buddhism, rely on the Saṃdhinirmocana Sūtra to gain right view and right faith; then follow the Dharmapada in your practice; then use the Diamond Sūtra to cut through obstacles. Throughout the entire process of learning, keep the Saṃdhinirmocana Sūtra as your guide.

If a person already has right view and right faith, and has given rise to the great mind, then naturally they will study the Āgama Sutras. They would never say, "The Āgama is too much—I'll just study the Dharmapada." Saying that would mean they haven't yet gained right view and right faith.

Taking the Āgama Sutras as our support, we study now and practice now. The moment you hear the sutra speak of suffering, your mind naturally contemplates suffering. Hear it speak of non-self, and your mind naturally contemplates the principle of non-self. Hear it speak of impermanence, and your mind naturally contemplates impermanence. The sutra teaches the truth of the path, and your mind naturally contemplates the truth of the path… Why? This is what we mean by "dharma-nature inherently includes reflection." What does that mean? It means every one of us naturally has "reflection"—this is the function of the mental factor manasikāra among the hundred dharmas. But we shouldn't force it.

In time, as your practice matures, the moment a defilement arises, you know at once that it has arisen. We today aren't like that—we don't know when a defilement arose. By the time we notice, it has already grown, and we can't handle it anymore. When the defilement passes, the moment it passes you know it has passed. This is what the Zen tradition calls "attending to the topic of inquiry." What does "attending to the topic" mean? It means the moment a defilement arises, you illuminate it. But we tend instead to work on the "who." That's the common way. Elder Monk Rende says, "Who is it that recites the Buddha's name?"—he is working on the recitation. Once the thought has already arisen, it's the tail end of the topic. If you chase after the "who" in "Who is reciting the Buddha's name?" that is attending to the tail end, not attending to the head.

When you cultivate the sacred path, the moment the path arises you are aware; the moment it ceases you are aware. Clear when walking, clear when standing, clear when sitting, clear when lying down. Here we should note: a certain Pure Land master has said, just keep reciting the Buddha's name. After reciting for a long time, if someone asks you a worldly question, you don't know; if they ask a Buddhist question, you don't know either… That is one school's position—it cannot be criticized, but it cannot be followed outright either. You must be clear and distinct.

Study the Āgama Sutras, but study the inner meaning. Don't waste effort on the outer form, because cutting defilements is what matters. Knowing the Āgama's externals won't help you cut defilements. You need to understand: why did the World-Honored One say this to disciples here, and say that there? Why didn't he answer certain questions? Why did he sometimes have back pain? Why did he always cultivate samādhi? We should reflect on these things—ponder the hidden meaning of what he did. Apply effort on our own "subject" side. Don't labor on the "object" side, on the "realm" side. That's how to study the Āgama.

We can offer a simile for this process. Suppose we want to build a tall building. The site has been chosen, the blueprints drawn, the funds secured, the bricks and tiles and materials already purchased. Now we only need to dig the foundation and pile up the bricks one by one, and the building will rise. In our building of the Nirvāṇa city: choosing the site is right faith; the blueprints are right view; funds and materials are good provisions; laying the foundation is giving rise to the mind; building the walls is right practice. This is cultivation.

To summarize: to study Buddhism, first listen respectfully to the teachings of good spiritual friends. Know your present realm. Know the goal you are heading toward. Once these two are clear, then "do no evil, do only good, purify your own mind"—that is studying Buddhism. What people today lack is this: they cannot see their present realm, yet at once want to practice the six pāramitās and the myriad practices, abandoning foundations like the Āgama. They also don't know their goal. In fact, you're heading to a Pure Land world as a way station on the way to Buddhahood—not that being born in the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss is the end of the line, ship at dock, car at station. That is one stop on the road to Buddhahood, not the destination. If these things aren't yet clear, and you immediately start practicing "do no evil," you don't know what evil is. To go against the truth is evil. If you try to "do only good," you don't know what good is. To conform to the truth is good. And "purify your own mind"—if you can't tell good from evil, how can the mind be purified?