Criticising and pointing out faults

1. DISTINGUISHING

Mistakes are a great problem for human beings. None of us would dare claim that we have never made a mistake from childhood until now. So one truth we must see and face is that we always live among faults: the faults of others and our own.

As for our own faults, each of us is correcting them step by step. But what attitude should we take towards the faults of others?

We who have taken up the practice generally live with an ideal and a lofty goal. Otherwise, who would dare leave their family to enter a temple and live the monastic life? We believe that nobody becomes a monastic because of hardship, failure, a broken heart, unemployment or disappointment, as some novels claim. We understand the Path, we love the Path, and we have the affinity that brought us to the temple to practise. So each of us has, to a greater or lesser degree, a dream: that one day we will rise above the condition of ordinary beings and enter the stream of the Saints.

But we must also understand that, from where we stand now to the position of a Sage or Saint, we have to overcome countless faults within ourselves. For a Saint is nothing other than someone with extremely few faults. It will not be only in this life; over many more lives we shall have to correct all our mistakes. Then, one day, when very few faults remain, we will have entered the stream of the Saints. Of course, at the level of the Buddha, mistakes no longer exist at all.

So we must admit that on the path of practice we still commit faults, and our companions in the community still commit faults; what matters is that we know how to correct them and move beyond them. If faults are overcome early, the Dharma will quickly flourish again. If we and our fellow practitioners cannot overcome our faults, or overcome them too slowly, that means the Dharma is in decline. Thus our own faults and those of others both affect the Dharma, and that is no simple matter.

One more point: if we practise diligently, keep a fine watch over our own minds and correct many of our own faults, we become very sensitive and sharp at seeing the faults of others. (Of course, we always see others' faults more than our own. To see many of one's own faults is very hard; to see others' is easier.) When we diligently watch our own mind, the moment another person so much as stirs, we see it at once and know immediately what kind of person they are. And at that point we must decide what attitude to take towards their faults. Some faults are not serious at first, but if they are left to grow for a long time they become serious. So we must not let our own faults, or our companions' faults, go on existing; we must help our companions overcome them. (Here we are speaking of the faults of others, not our own.)

For example, someone has just offered the four requisites. The goods are placed in the monks' quarters. A companion comes in to collect his share, gets a good item and cries out: "Wonderful, I got a good one." If we see this, we should gently remind him: "If I get a good one, that means another companion doesn't get the good one; and if I take a poor one, some other companion will be spared the poor one."

By the standard of the Vinaya, choosing the better item for oneself among the small things offered as the four requisites is no offence and gives nothing to blame; but by the standard of Ethics, it is a flaw. He has stolen from nobody and committed no serious mistake, but it is a sign of greed and selfishness. Such people, later, in the hardships of life, will not know how to sacrifice or give up favourable conditions to their companions. And so they will have no chance to create great meritorious deeds, because they think only of themselves. Someone without great merit will of course not make much progress in their spiritual aspiration or moral character. It is only a simple matter, yet we see at once how great the danger is. If we remind them at the right moment, they will wake up immediately. By contrast, where someone is greedy and takes what belongs to others as their own, that is an extremely serious fault. So a practitioner must be careful about their own greed, must live cleanly and must never covet what belongs to others.

Some faults are very small, yet if we see them and do not stop them, the person who commits them will become corrupted.

For example: the temple has a rule that anyone who wants to leave the temple grounds must ask permission. One day someone has to rush out of the temple on urgent business, but the abbot and the teacher are away, so he cannot ask in time. He should have reported to the abbot afterwards, but seeing that nobody knew, he said nothing.

In itself, the matter is not serious. He went out for a legitimate reason, not for a bad purpose. But if we know and still stay silent, he will later fall into the habit of going behind his elders' backs. From going behind elders' backs, he comes to despise the discipline of the temple. And once the temple's discipline has been broken, when he becomes the abbot of some temple he will not follow the common policy of the Sangha. Once accustomed to trampling on the Sangha's policy, he will no longer care about keeping the precepts of the Path either. So we see that if a minor breach of the temple rules is committed once and nobody corrects it, the fault is nurtured, grows and becomes serious.

This reminds us of a story from a court trial that people often cite as a lesson for parents in bringing up their children. The story goes that before sentencing a defendant to death, the judge asked him:

• What is your last wish?

He answered:

• I want to embrace my mother one last time.

It was such a reasonable wish that his mother was quickly summoned. Everyone expected the son to embrace and kiss her tenderly, but instead he struck her so hard that she almost fainted. Tears streaming down his face, he said: "It is because of this woman that I am dying such a shameful death." He then bitterly told how, when he was small, the first time he stole a box of matches from the neighbours and brought it home, his mother praised him: "This boy is clever." And so, as he grew up, he became a robber and a murderer.

During the period of training, there are small faults that seem unimportant but that lead to great collapse later. Since the danger is like this, when we see a companion commit a fault, we must understand that it is not a simple matter and find a way to remind them so that they can correct it.

For instance, from a very small matter, such as a person who does not go along with his companions and likes to do only what he wants, let us imagine what will happen later. A person who does not go along with his companions is stubborn, which also means he clings heavily to the self and to his own opinions and cannot accommodate others. If he clings heavily to the self and does not live by the mind of his companions, his self-clinging will grow and cause his aspiration for the Path to decline. It is only a little failure to go along with others, but we must understand that this person will find it very hard to practise, because someone practising Buddhism is moving step by step towards no-self. No-self always gives us a great capacity to go along with everyone, to hold on to no opinion of our own, and to live always by the mind of our companions.

Or another matter, disobeying the Teacher and the Patriarchs:

The Teacher goes away and asks us to tidy the cell and rooms at home, but we are fond of play and do not do it. The Teacher returns and asks: "Why didn't you do it?"

• "I forgot, Master; I was busy with work, so I forgot."

It is true that we really forgot and did not deliberately disobey the Teacher. Looked at again, the matter is small, but in truth it is not small. For when the Teacher gives an instruction and we do not focus our mind to receive his words, that means our mind is not obeying the Teacher. If we listened attentively when the Teacher gave his instructions, we would surely not forget. From being careless and inattentive, we end up disobeying the Teacher. People who do not go along with their companions and do not obey their Teacher usually cling very heavily to the self and find it very hard to advance on the Path. It is light now, but in the future such a person may destroy the Path. Where self-clinging is heavy and one lives without accommodating others, selfishness grows, and many even graver things follow.

Here, when we see a companion commit a fault, one of three situations, three attitudes, will appear in us:

a. First: criticising.

Criticising means attacking harshly and spreading the person's fault so that everyone knows. This case arises when self-clinging is heavy and compassion is slight. Why, when compassion is slight and self-clinging heavy, do we criticise others when they commit a fault? Simply because we always want to be better than others. That is a hidden psychology. Instead of wanting to do something better than others, we wait for others to commit a fault so that we can be better. Whatever fault they commit that we do not commit means we are better than they are. To show everyone that we are better than others, we must criticise. That psychology is very hidden. It is why people so often speak ill of one another. When we know someone has a fault and tell others about it, we have come under the sway of that hidden psychology. A mind that always thinks that if another is inferior then I am superior is a mind of rivalry and conceit, and this mind is formidable.

b. Second: pointing out the fault.

When we see another's fault and we are someone whose self-clinging is light and whose compassion is great, we feel pained. For we know that if our companion has a fault, that person will later suffer its karmic consequences. Seen through the law of cause and effect, a person with aspiration for the Path, whose self-clinging is light and whose compassion is great, understands cause and effect very deeply. From this pain, two thoughts arise. First, we do not want anyone to know, for fear our companion's honour will be hurt. Second, we look for a way to advise and explain, so that our companion does not commit the fault again.

c. Third: leaving it alone.

These are the three attitudes we commonly meet when we stand before the faults of others. They depend on each person's compassion and degree of self-clinging.

Among the three, we must absolutely avoid criticising, and also avoid leaving it alone; we should only help one another overcome faults in a spirit of loving kindness.

2. CAUSE AND EFFECT

Quite a few people ask us, "What do you practise for?" Many people have stated their purpose, which is usually to become better, to become awakened, to be liberated...

In truth, all those purposes are governed by a latent selfishness. And it is this selfishness that produces many troubles. Why? Because wanting oneself to be good is still selfish. The deeper we go into Buddhism, the more we discover subtle things that each of us must be alert to see. When we become monastics, everyone hopes to become good. Put like that, nobody dares say that his reasoning is wrong. And yet a latent selfishness still governs it.

Each of us comes to the Buddha through some affinity, some starting point. Let us reread a few lines of verse in the book A Treatise on Cause and Effect:

… Have you ever dreamed idly Of a homeland flooded with the light of love, A human realm where the shadow of Heaven has appeared, Because good Dharma is spread over every path, The human world would no longer be dark If the road of the law of karmic cause and effect Were proclaimed and lit across every region, Within child and elder, within everyone.

(Chơn Quang)

When we understand the law of cause and effect, we always dream that everyone will come to know about it. Then the whole world would naturally be filled with Ethics. We dream that in schools, children would all learn the law of cause and effect. But that can only be realised in a country where Buddhism is the state religion. If it were so, Ethics would grow very strongly.

In general, we all live with dreams. We hope that everyone will love one another and look at one another with tender eyes, hand in hand with one smile, one joy; that this world will be full of singing birds and blooming flowers, full of rosy sunlight, full of fragrant blossoms like a Heavenly realm, and that everyone will have ethics and above all know how to love one another. Our hands may be small, our work little, our abilities not many, but our dreams are not allowed to be small. A practitioner must live like this: must have dreams, and the dreams are not allowed to be small. We must dream, must aim towards an ideal of absolute perfection even though we cannot achieve it.

We hope the whole world will know how to love one another, and hope that the Dharma will spread over every road. That is, from distant villages and high hills to the bustling cities, everyone would treat one another in the spirit of cause and effect, compassion and universal love of Buddhism. That is, each of us would be an envoy bringing love, ethics and peace to people and to humanity.

We dream like this, but what will we actually do? First, each of us must now filter our own mind and always help our companions in the temple. When we grow older, we may travel about teaching the Dharma and hold great Dharma gatherings with large crowds. Dreams are usually this grand, yet we will only manage to do something very small; if our dreams are small, our deeds will be even fewer. So we must know how to dream, must know how to long for perfection and the absolute, so that even if we cannot do what we dreamed, we will still have contributed some good things to humanity.

But for everything to be good, first of all we practitioners must perfect ourselves.

Nobody can deny that being ordained does not mean being free of faults. Monks and nuns, however hard they try, still make slips. Sometimes those slips spread widely, and the Dharma declines. If the lapses in Ethics among monks and nuns remain within a narrow scope, the Dharma can still be called flourishing. If we want the Dharma to flourish, we must help one another avoid lapses in Ethics so that people's faith may stand firm.

So, before our own faults and those of others, we all bear responsibility. Each person must correct their own faults, and at the same time we must help one another correct faults, and must not leave it alone when we see the faults of others.

Now let us speak of cause and effect, the consequences of each action.

a. The consequences of criticising:

Criticising means taking another person's fault and spreading it widely to many people, with a mind that can be called malicious. For when we speak of another's fault to outsiders, we ruin their honour and also cause outsiders to lose their commitment. This is very dangerous. Buddhists who understand the Path deeply do not depend wholly on us but rely on the teachings for their practice. But Buddhists who are not so devout and have not studied much must rely on us. They think that since we eat vegetarian food, recite the Buddha's name and study every day, we must surely understand deeply and be able to practise the Buddha's teachings. If they see monks and nuns practising well and having Ethics, they will believe that Buddhism is a good and progressive religion. Conversely, if they see the moral conduct of monks and nuns is poor, they will think badly of Buddhism. That is easy to understand. For every day we live in the Buddha's pure world, eating vegetarian food, chanting sutras and so on, and if our moral conduct still declines, how can they believe Buddhism is good?

Yet Buddhism is very noble, very perfect. If we do not carry out the Buddha's lofty teaching, we will cast a bad light on our own Buddhism. It is not only outsiders: all of us share one trait, that we are easily moved, urged on and encouraged by good examples. We may listen to Dharma talks day after day and still not give up the greed, anger and selfishness that reign in our hearts. But if we meet someone who practises meditation, has attained the Path, lives with strict observance of the precepts and has lofty ethics, a drive naturally arises in our mind that we must learn and mend ourselves in order to be like them.

That is a very good kind of encouragement. For this reason, if we tell lay Buddhists about our bad deeds, they will leave the Path. They will refuse and feel no need to advance in practice any more. But if we meet lay Buddhists and tell stories of one another's good qualities, that will help them practise diligently.

For example, a lay Buddhist asks a monk: "Is there anyone else accomplished in this temple?" The monk thinks for a moment, sees no one who is accomplished, and stays silent without answering. Later, thinking back, he is full of remorse. For he sees that his companions are much better than he is. There are things his companions can do that he cannot. The reason he saw no one accomplished at that moment was that conceit veiled his mind. Only when we are humble can we see the strengths of others.

We avoid criticising because criticism always comes from an unwholesome mind; and speaking ill of others and wounding their honour brings fairly heavy karmic results. Later we ourselves will commit those very faults, or we will not be able to do many good things for the Buddha's work, and we will have no standing with which to teach widely.

If we cause this person or that to lose all standing and all honour, we will have no merit and will not be able to do great things for the Dharma. For whoever can do great things in the Dharma must be someone with much merit. Among these, the greatest blessing is to have credibility and honour. So by damaging the reputation of others we cannot build a reputation for ourselves. Moreover, we often fall ill, suffer accidents that obstruct us and do not succeed in life. The karmic result of criticising and speaking ill seems simple, but in truth it is very heavy.

b. The consequences of leaving it alone:

When we see another's fault and stay silent and pass over it, that is not right. In many places, influenced by the tradition in the Platform Sutra, "Do not look at others' faults, for when you see another's fault, your own fault has already reached your feet", the policy is to look at no one's faults at all. So everyone's faults grow day by day.

The present state of Ethics among monks and nuns, sometimes criticised as decadent, also stems from this view: "No one speaks of anyone's faults; no one helps anyone overcome faults." For several thousand years this has persisted and has caused the Dharma to decline severely. So we must not keep a passive attitude any longer, but must actively correct one another's faults.

When we see another's fault and leave it alone, we will receive the following karmic results. The most visible is that later, if we commit a fault, no one will offer us advice or warning. If we see another's fault and act as if we did not see, in a later life we will not be able to see anything. Or if we hear that another has a fault and act as if we did not hear, in a later life we will not be able to hear anything. Or if we see a companion's fault, and we are someone with the affinity who could advise them but do not speak, then in a later life we will not be able to say anything at all. Cause and effect in this way is real, not a joke. That is why some very gentle people are blind, mute or deaf.

There was a Venerable who practised very well and attained supernormal powers, but he was blind. The karmic cause found was that in a previous life he had been completely passive. He himself practised very well, but whoever had a fault, he left alone and did not look at, and so in this life he was blind.

We must sincerely offer advice so that our companions can avoid faults. That too is a great meritorious deed for the Dharma.

3. TOWARDS THE DHARMA

The ideal of the Dharma is to bring all beings to awakening and perfect Ethics. So leaving others alone in their faults leads to many consequences, and the greatest is: "contributing to the swift decline of the Dharma". This is a grave offence. Criticising is already wrong, and leaving alone is more wrong still. We have no right to be passive, because being passive before the faults of others is to bear a heavy offence against the Dharma. This mistake has persisted for too long in the Dharma and has made it decline.

In reality, practitioners still have a great many faults. What is urgently needed now is to reduce the faults of practitioners. We must not go on making that mistake, but must actively correct the faults of others and our own. Of course, correcting another's fault is not simple. When we correct a fault, we must take care to avoid two things: not destroying the honour of the person who made the fault, and not letting outsiders lose their commitment, that is, not letting others lose their faith and confidence in the Dharma.

Another point to note: to point out a fault to another, we must examine whether our mind has one important element. That is loving kindness!

Only when we feel we have enough love for our companions should we offer advice, for if love is not yet enough, advice will bring no result. The general human psychology is that we are moved by, and listen to the advice of, only those who truly love us. So in life, to have the merit to correct our companions' faults, we must first cultivate a mind of loving kindness! If we have a mind that loves everyone, then later we can correct the faults of many people without obstruction. Correcting others' faults is a very great meritorious deed. It may be that the merit of giving the Dharma is not as great as the merit of correcting others' faults. So from now on we must resolve to try to correct everyone's faults. This too is wholesome merit for our life of practice.

When we have a mind of loving kindness, we are also more confident in correcting our companions' faults. In daily life we have loved them and treated them well, and when it is necessary to offer advice, our companions will understand that we want to help them become better and have no intention of belittling or reproaching them. They will also understand that we are not good only to them but live well with everyone. So they will accept our words more readily.

But to reach a virtue sufficient for our companions to listen to our advice, we too must sweat much, over so many acts of yielding, sacrifice and dedication, throughout a long period of time.

Of course, in resolving to correct a companion's fault, we should not regard our own ego as great, should not speak carelessly, but must be careful and tactful. We should meet privately to give advice in a spirit of love, humility and skill. Skill means following the principle that Dale Carnegie advised in How to Win Friends and Influence People: "If you want to point out someone's fault, first find some of their good qualities to praise."

4. NOT BEING PASSIVE

If criticising people's faults brings bad karmic results, then staying silent before their faults will also lead to something bad for us. So it is no accident that Confucius said: "Vi nhân nan" (being a person is very hard).

In life, we must try to offer advice so that our companions correct their faults. But where we do not have the affinity, we must report to our elders, to those who bear responsibility, so that our companions can be reminded and corrected in time. Staying silent, saying nothing before the faults of others, is a mistake.

However, in reality, some people report a companion's fault to the Teacher and then the companion becomes angry with them. At such times, we should not be afraid. When people are angry, we keep on reporting their fault until the moment that person is no longer angry, and then we stop. Never show your own cowardice and timidity, for then correcting the fault will be ineffective. We do not speak of the fault to outsiders but only to the Teacher; we accept our companion's anger, and there will come a time when they understand what we did. What matters is that in daily life we treat them well, love them and bear no ill will. If we have ill will, we will not be able to win them over.

In some cases, a person cannot advise his companion and hurries to report to the Teacher. His preceptor too cannot find any way to advise this person so that he corrects the fault. The reporter keeps being tormented, not knowing what to do… For such people, all that remains is to pray for them, relying on the Buddha's power to protect them and to turn people's minds invisibly. This too is hard to bring about; it may be five or ten years before that person can change. Even so, it is better than leaving them alone in their wrongdoing.

An abbot, a teacher or an administrator must bear responsibility for their disciples, must diligently watch the conduct and mind of the Assembly, and must not pass over it carelessly. For if we do, we incur an offence against the Dharma. What we must note is that we must look to the mind of the disciple. Even when the same fault is committed, we must look right to their mind, see what mind it was, and not reprimand on the basis of behaviour.

For example, when someone comes to repent: "Master! I broke a glass," we must ask the reason: "Why did you break it?"

If that person answers: "Well, someone left the glass on the table, right at the edge. I was in a hurry with some work, and as I passed, my hand knocked it and the glass fell." Then we ask: "Who left the glass like that?" When we find out, we reprimand the person who left the glass, not the person who broke it. For it was that person's careless and heedless placing of the glass that made another person knock it over while hurrying. When all is considered, the one who left the glass bears the fault, not the one who broke it. So judging others' faults is not a simple matter.

In correcting disciples, if we judge only by outward behaviour, we will blame them unjustly and they will not be convinced. We must reprimand the fault from within their mind if we hope to correct them. And when we manage to correct a disciple's fault, we will have great merit. Teaching a disciple to correct faults from within the mind is making them good from within, not good only in outward behaviour. Such people will later be the pillars of the Dharma and do many good things for it. If we have twenty disciples and all are good people, it is as if we have gone to heaven. But if we train twenty disciples and all become corrupt and coarse, we will go to hell before them.

So the ancients said: "Giáo bất nghiêm Sư chi quá." Teaching without strictness is the fault of the Teacher. And every fault has its karmic result. So we must be extremely careful and regard teaching ethics to disciples as a great responsibility and the lofty ideal of one who is a Teacher.

There was a case where the abbot of a nuns' temple was an exceptional Senior Nun, excellent in both wisdom and observance of the precepts, but when people assessed her disciples, almost everyone expressed dissatisfaction and distrust. What was the reason? If we have the chance to talk with people in that temple, we will understand everything. In one debate with a guest, a nun in the temple disagreed and argued fiercely. Meanwhile the guest, a monk, said very gently: "When presenting the teaching, we should not presume that we are always right. We must be humble, in case we are slightly wrong and others can offer us advice." Hearing the guest say this, the nun agreed, but still found another way to argue and would not yield. The other said again: "You are debating the teaching in a state of mind of winning and losing. When we discuss the teaching, the aim is to let the truth come to light. I may be right, the other may be right, each of us may have something wrong, but what matters is that in the end we find the most common, most reasonable point, beneficial to ourselves and to others, and not discuss the teaching so as to gain the upper hand. On one side is making the truth manifest. On the other is winning the argument over the other person. Those two purposes are different. You have come under the sway of the mind of winning and losing."

At that moment the nun suddenly woke up, stood, joined her palms to thank the other and said very sincerely: "For so long no one has given me this advice."

Through the story of that nun, we find the cause. The Senior Nun keeps the precepts very well and has wisdom and ability, but she corrects her disciples' faults only in behaviour, relying only on the precepts and rules, on the twenty-four chapters of deportment: you must not do this, you must not say that. So her disciples are not deep in correcting faults in their inner mind and do not see faults from within the deeply hidden mind. That is the cause of the temple's breakdown. The Senior Nun, though able, does not pay attention to the Moral Psychology of her disciples. This is very subtle, and this is also the first time the subject of Moral Psychology has been taught to monastics.

Outward behaviour is only form. Someone may do just one good thing so as to be called blameless, yet inside be full of ugliness and wrongdoing. Someone's outward behaviour may look wrong while inside the mind is good. Moral Psychology is a very complex matter; we could study it our whole life and still not understand every issue in this field. So throughout a life of practice and a life of work, we must strive to study and research in order to supplement and complete our Moral Psychology. In teaching disciples and in inner practice, we must pay attention bit by bit, in the depths of the mind. For Buddhism is the path of the mind, and in teaching disciples we must look right to the mind, and never look only at outward behaviour. That is the wisdom and the mettle of a practitioner. There are things that look faulty from outside but in truth have no fault within. If we keep looking at the outside in order to reprimand, people will naturally not be convinced, because they know we blame wrongly and that we judge matters superficially.

If we are an elder brother in the temple with responsibility, when a junior brother has a fault, we too must scold him. This is a place for great care. If, among equals, advising one another already requires loving kindness, then when we are the elder brother and want to rebuke a junior, we too must have loving kindness. Without loving kindness, the junior will not be convinced and will not heed us. That is why the first lesson in Moral Psychology that we studied was the lesson on loving kindness. A mind of loving kindness and compassion is the basic mind. If we cannot cultivate loving kindness and compassion, then the countless, innumerable practices that come later we will not be able to carry out. We could not even point out faults.

When pointing out another's fault, we must be discreet: we must not criticise in irritation or broadcast the person's fault outside. That too is a principle. For monastics and lay practitioners alike are determined to practise, and are urged on and encouraged, only when they see good examples. When they hear many bad stories about monastics, lay people will lose their commitment. Especially in difficult circumstances, people greatly need others' encouragement and support. We should give them trust and love for life and for people. Once they believe that there are still many good people in this world and that there are still lofty examples of ethics, they will be able to overcome the difficulties and obstacles before them.

The story of a female Buddhist disabled after a train accident moved many people. She was a knowledgeable person who by misfortune had both legs severed by a train. Once, while crossing the railway track, she suddenly tripped and fell, unable to get up, unable to move, while a train rushed towards her. The train ran over her and she lost both legs and had to walk on artificial legs. She suffered terribly, because the door to her future, which had been opening so brightly, suddenly slammed shut when her body was crippled. But the wonder is that the young woman did not collapse before the misfortune of her life. After listening to tapes and reading books and understanding many things, she began doing charity work. She visited a school for the blind and saw that these people were even more unfortunate than she. The blind usually touch the outside world only by reading books in braille. But braille books are hard to print and so are rare. Unable to touch the outside world, their feelings were depressed and burdened with inferiority, and many went mad; the blind go mad very easily. She understood this and read stories onto cassette tapes and brought them to them. Thanks to this, the blind felt less sad and less lonely. When she brought joy to others, the sadness within her also suddenly vanished. She forgot that she was disabled and lived very cheerfully and naturally. The story of a young woman who rose above fate and dissolved her own sorrow by bringing joy to unfortunate people was praised in the press and won the admiration of many people. Reading the papers, many students wrote letters expressing their admiration for her and also wanting to do charity work like that.

People too are moved and want to do good deeds only when they see good examples. So in life, each person should look for good examples around them and tell others about them. We ourselves must also perfect our practice and leave a good example for the world.

The story of a woman teacher who won the title "Best Teacher in America" also deserves to be seen as a shining example of dedication, endurance and overcoming difficulties in life that each of us should follow. She was Vietnamese, settled in America. She was originally Catholic, but her husband was Buddhist. It was precisely because he practised in accordance with the ideals of Buddhism that her husband managed to persuade her to turn to Buddhism.

Her teaching was very hard work. But thanks to her dedication and her wealth of love, she won over her students. Her reputation as an excellent teacher spread ever further. She taught not only students but also her colleagues. Inexperienced teachers came to her to learn.

At that time, in one state in America there was a very large school with about a hundred thousand students. Among them were some students who had been pushed to the margins because they were counted as unruly and spoiled. Those students were usually of Vietnamese, Lao, African, South American and other origins... Mostly they did not speak English well and would not study, so they became unruly. The school had them study in container boxes. The big buildings were for well-behaved students. Because those students were so unruly, no teacher could teach them. The school had to hire teachers by the hour, paying for whichever hour they managed to teach. Some taught the first hour and then did not dare teach the next. The principal heard of her fame and came in person to invite her. The couple deliberated, and in the end the husband encouraged her to accept. When she arrived at the school, she saw two police cars parked there. The police had to be present constantly because these students came to school carrying guns and knives. Entering the school, she saw a couple standing here and another couple there, embracing and kissing quite openly. Entering the classroom, she witnessed even more dreadful scenes. They often fought and stabbed one another. From time to time the police had to run in to intervene. That is not to mention the girls who sat in class with their chests bared and their feet on the desks. The atmosphere of the class was truly frightening.

She proposed to the principal: "Give me a proper classroom in the building, not in the container."

The principal said: "Whatever you ask for, we will do it."

The classroom had not been cleaned for a long time and was very dirty; she had to sweep and wipe it herself. Seeing her, they asked: "What are you doing that for?" She replied: "A classroom is like our own home; we must take care of it." She said only that, but they found it reasonable, so each lent a hand, and the classroom became clean, beautiful and cool. In the course of teaching, she loved and respected her students and so won them over. And the children began to learn.

A few days later, an American student came into the class. The first thing he did was to put his feet on the desk and sleep. For three days in a row he did this and nobody said anything; on the fourth day he no longer slept and began to make trouble. He shouted noisily so that people would notice.

She asked him: "Where are you from?"

He answered: "Just out of prison."

She asked: "What were you in prison for?"

• Armed robbery - he answered coldly.

His body was tattooed from head to foot. Yet she managed to persuade him. He began to be willing to study and became the one who kept order in the class. During lessons, if anyone talked, he turned and pointed at their face: "Quiet."

She taught with great perseverance and her students improved visibly. When she saw a student making progress, she moved them straight to another class and did not keep them in her own. All the students who were moved to other classes became good students. Many of them also passed into famous universities. Her name became known to many people. That year, America chose 300 outstanding teachers across the whole Federation, then narrowed them to 60. They filmed each teacher's way of teaching, selected again and again until 36 remained, and invited those 36 to meet in the capital, Washington. Before the meeting, each was sent a video cassette so that they could get to know the other 35. By the rules, at the conference each person had only three minutes to speak about their approach to teaching and education.

At first she spoke in Vietnamese: "Good day, ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to meet you here." Nobody understood anything.

Then she spoke in English: "Do you understand what I am saying?"

Everyone shook their heads and laughed.

"Now if I speak more slowly, do you understand?"

Everyone again shook their heads and laughed.

She said: "That is my task. My task is to help students who cannot grasp the American language, who have become burdened with inferiority and cast out of American society, to be integrated into American society, to become good students and to become citizens useful to America."

The whole hall applauded thunderously and said: "What you said so briefly has made you stand out from us." In English the word outstanding is translated as "xuất chúng", meaning standing out. And she was unanimously chosen by the remaining 35 as "Best Teacher". The President of the United States himself presented her with that noble prize. It was a great honour for a teacher like her.

To have one story that we can tell in five minutes, people must make effort hour by hour, minute by minute, year after year, even struggle all their lives. So we should be grateful to those who have made "legends" for life, because of the hardship they bore and the effort they made to achieve it.

The story of Venerable Hư Vân making his pilgrimage to Mount Wutai is the same. At every three steps he made one prostration, and it took him several years to reach the mountain. When we hear the story of a Zen master who prostrated once at every three steps, prostrating to the Bodhisattva Manjushri, a person with wisdom will keep wondering: why is it that, being a human being like us, he had such a fierce resolve, such a fervent reverence for the Buddha? Why is it that we, being human beings too, cannot understand, cannot do anything good? Only by wondering and questioning ourselves like this do we become conscious of rising up and striving to attain good things.

When we hear good stories, we are encouraged and urged on. The deeper our wisdom, the deeper the lesson in ethics we receive. If we hear good stories and remain superficial, we will not benefit much and will never progress.

We do not speak of our companions' faults, but we must skilfully tell others of our companions' good deeds, and hold them up as examples for everyone to follow. Regarding the faults of relatives and companions, our grandparents and ancestors often taught: "close the door and teach one another." But to do the meritorious deed of pointing out others' faults, we ourselves must do a great deal of self-correction. When we examine our own faults deeply, we will see others' faults more deeply. The only difference is that instead of criticising harshly, we speak out of love. And when we point out others' faults deeply, our merit will be very great. For we have helped the Dharma flourish again.

5. EXAMINING ONE'S OWN MIND WITH FINE ATTENTION

a. At present, the state of ethics of monks and nuns everywhere is a concern to the senior elders. Each of us must be a fighter, an envoy, assisting the senior elders in helping monks and nuns make fewer faults. We must have that aspiration and that ideal. But we must always see our own faults first; we must see our own faults finely, from the very moment they begin to sprout. That is wisdom in practice.

For example, when we hear a companion speak harshly to us, we may fall into different psychological states. First, we may flare up in anger and answer back at once. That is coarse anger, and an outsider would see it immediately.

In the second case, we are angry but stay silent and turn away so as not to show our attitude outwardly. That is how someone who knows how to practise behaves. Even so, we still have the psychology of anger, though restrained. We still see that our anger is very heavy, which means we have seen our fault, but a little late.

In the third case, when attacked, we feel a flicker of anger. The anger passes lightly in a single instant, but we still must see it and still know that it is a fault. A practitioner who sees as far as this is one who truly knows how to practise.

In the life of practice, there are faults that pass very quickly. If we can still keep them under watch, we are good practitioners. Once we have achieved this, we will be very deep when pointing out faults to others.

b. Examining our own mind finely will lead to the experience of seeing others' faults easily. But we must be careful about the mind that wants to criticise, driven by clinging to self. When we have experience in practice and meet another with a fault, we will not correct it superficially on the outside but will point to the very root in their mind. Once the root is seen, people easily overcome the fault, and we gain great merit. So we must try to practise in order to help others overcome faults through our own mind of loving kindness and not out of clinging to self.

6. THE FORMS OF REQUEST, DISCLOSURE AND REPENTANCE ARE VERY NECESSARY

In the temple there should be a practice of disclosure and repentance. Every half month or month, each person comes before the assembly and states their own faults so that the senior teachers can analyse the causes and offer advice, helping the one at fault overcome the fault. Each person should speak only of their own faults and should not advise others. For giving advice publicly like that is very dangerous. People will take offence, and the one giving the advice will also suffer a loss of merit.

For example, if we see a companion has a fault and want that person to come to the repentance before the assembly at the due time, we should only hint beforehand, before the disclosure session, so that they speak up themselves, and should not speak during the session. The senior teachers will calmly listen as that person discloses their own faults and will analyse them. That person will overcome them through the mind of loving kindness.

Disclosure has very great merit. When we have a fault, if we tell everyone, the fault will naturally vanish. If we sincerely apologise and try to overcome it, everyone will love us more. If we hide the fault, not only does our fault remain, but others will dislike us more. There are three things for overcoming faults. They are disclosure, prostrating to the Buddha, and actively doing voluntary work to create merit. When we have committed a fault that harms the assembly or harms the Dharma, we must do voluntary work to make up for our fault, and we must absolutely not pass over it.

In Gleaning Sand and Stones (Góp nhặt cát đá) there is a very fine and moving story. It is the story of The Tunnel.

A swordsman, wanting to take another man's wife, killed the husband. He led the wife away to another place. Afterwards, seeing that this woman was not good, he abandoned her. He felt remorse and looked for a way to atone for his fault. At that time, seeing that people from two provinces who wanted to cross had to pass over a mountain by a dangerous pass, where a single slip could not be recovered from, he resolved to cut a road through the mountain. By day he went begging for food, and by night he chiselled the mountain, for who knows how many years. Until one day the son of the official he had killed earlier came looking for him, drew his sword and challenged him to a duel to take revenge. He said: "I do not kill a man from behind; draw your sword and fight me."

The man said: "I will give you my life, but let me finish cutting this tunnel." The young man thought it over and found it reasonable, so he agreed. The waiting dragged on. Waiting and waiting, he grew weary, so he helped the old man chisel the tunnel to make it faster. The two chiselled for who knows how many years, and at last the tunnel went right through and people crossed easily. Then the old man sat down and said: "Here is my head, cut it off!" The young man knelt, embraced the old man as if embracing his own Teacher, and said sobbing: "Master! How can I cut off your head?"

During the time he chiselled the tunnel with the old man, the young man came to admire his character, that of someone who both performed meritorious work to wipe out his former fault and possessed moral character. He realised that this was truly his Teacher. From the position of an enemy, that man had become a venerable Teacher, because he had done a meritorious deed so great…

So an abbot must help the assembly carry out well three things throughout their life of practice: disclosure, prostrating to the Buddha and voluntary work to create merit, in order to help them overcome their faults.

7. THOSE WHO MUST NOT BE CRITICISED

We should not criticise respected senior elders, or those who are becoming prominent in the Buddhist community though they are still young. We should also not criticise the saints of other religions who are venerated by their followers.