Self-Mastery

1. DEFINITION

The word "self-mastery" (tự tại) is hard to define precisely. Still, we can understand it as ways of living and expressing oneself that are no longer dependent on, governed by or shaken by outer circumstances. This is also an important lesson in the series of talks on the ethics of a person who follows the Buddha's path.

2. THE EXPRESSIONS OF SELF-MASTERY

Other religions may praise certain human values according to their own outlook. In Buddhism in particular, we praise at great length the spirit of self-mastery: being at ease in suffering, in death, and when facing the adversities of life. This spirit is regarded as a very high ethical quality in those who practise Buddhism. So a person who meets heartbreaking misfortune and still remains calm and free of sorrow is said to have practised at a very high level, and to have an easy, self-mastered attitude to life.

In Buddhism, we have heard many accounts of the self-mastered way of life of the Buddha, of the Patriarchs and of the Zen masters. In the face of life's countless storms and sufferings, they met everything steadily and calmly. Outer circumstances did not stir up suffering in them or trouble their minds. And this is not only so in Buddhism. In other religions too, when a founder or philosopher shows ease in adversity, later generations praise and trust him for ever, and regard it as a firm achievement of his philosophy and thought.

Confucius, for example, a statesman and famous philosopher of the East, is also praised as a man of ease and self-mastery. Once, in the state of Chen, Confucius fell into utter destitution. People shunned and drove him away, and he had nothing to eat, yet he went on sitting calmly playing his zither. His disciples, seeing this, complained that the Master treated such dire straits as though nothing had happened. Confucius told them: "Life drifts easily along; let a person simply live in peace." It is precisely this way of living that has led followers of Confucianism, even now, to keep their faith in their founder, a man not shaken by outer circumstances. Although they cannot explain it, people still regard it as a very high achievement of a person's thought, spirit and character.

Or take Lao Tzu, a transcendent man of remarkable spiritual power, also praised by the world. He wrote the Tao Te Ching, which left to later generations a philosophy of life of great nobility. Although he lived simply, the height of his ethical life won everyone's admiration. Only someone with a very high spiritual realisation could break free of every bond, be indifferent to fame and gain, and leave behind a philosophy so profound.

The appearance of people such as Lao Tzu and Confucius enriched the culture and philosophy of the East, which people to this day still develop and apply. That philosophy shaped a way of life among Eastern peoples that is both earnest and unburdened. So when Buddhism came to China and met these two schools of thought, it combined with them and produced a wonderful culture. It could be said that the summit of human wisdom and philosophy gathered on Chinese soil. As a neighbouring country, Vietnam also received all three streams of culture, but the most complete and fullest of them is still Buddhism. We can regard Buddhism as a foundation capable of harmonising the thought of other religions.

When we speak of famous people who lived with ease and self-mastery, we cannot fail to mention Socrates, the Greek philosopher regarded as the founder of Western philosophy. He was a thinker and philosopher, and also an educator, who left humanity many precious ideas. In his time there were no media as there are today, so he spread his thought only by going from place to place to talk. At such times he felt it was a calling, a noble mission, and so he was full of enthusiasm and spoke with great fervour. He had an art, a way of speaking, so persuasive that many people believed in him and followed his philosophy. Sometimes his wife, seeing that he did not look after the family's livelihood but only went about talking, was unhappy and reacted. At times she even scolded him and drove him out of the house; there were times she would throw a glass of water in his face as well… yet he treated it as though nothing had happened, without anger or sorrow. Often he even took pride in it: it was thanks to having such a wife that he had become a philosopher. In forbearing his wife's reactions, he found many principles for living.

Though a thinker, Socrates showed behaviour that others could not understand at all. Once, while walking down the street, he stopped to reflect, grew absorbed in thought, and went straight into meditative absorption. He stood motionless in the street for a whole day and night, and came out of it the next morning and went home. Such people are not simple.

In the West in the old days, the word "philosopher" was used for philosophers. But, to be exact, a philosopher should be understood as a sage-ascetic. Such people usually had great spiritual power. Besides having thoughts and principles to pass on to others, they had extraordinary spiritual abilities. Later on, those called philosophers had only the ability to lecture, and no longer the extraordinary spiritual power of the earlier philosophers. This can be understood in the same way as in our Buddhism. In the Buddha's time, he had wisdom, compassion, supernormal powers and wondrous skill… but now when we teach Buddhism we have only the philosophy, and no longer the transcendent manifestations that he had.

Socrates' disciple was Plato, and Plato's disciple was Aristotle; they are regarded as founders, who left a wealth of precious ideas for Western philosophy. Western philosophy afterwards had a wide influence across the world. Yet, in the end, people today still prefer Eastern philosophy. Many who studied the West at length finally turned to Eastern philosophy for its depth and subtlety. Western philosophy did not go as deeply into the spirit as the East did, so the ability to stand motionless as Socrates did was not handed down, and was gradually lost.

Returning to the stories told of Socrates, we see that he often talked about the Way with others, and naturally, in doing so, he corrected the mistakes of this person and that, and so offended the powerful people of his day. The conflict grew ever sharper. Meanwhile, the crowds following him grew larger. Once, because of someone's envy and slander, he was arrested and ordered to drink poison. He met death with ease and composure: he took the cup of poison and drank it, and went on talking with his disciples while they stood weeping around him. Then, growing weak, he lay down and said to them: "My feet are cold already, the cold is rising to my knees, and when it reaches my chest I will die." When the cold had reached his abdomen, he gave his disciples a few last instructions and breathed his last.

All of this leaves us full of admiration. Clearly, it takes real attainment within, in the mind and spirit, for them to speak such wisdom and show such self-mastery. It is this self-mastery that gave them strength, vitality, faith and happiness, and a worth that no longer depended on anything outside, and that made everyone marvel.

3. WHAT WE NEED TO LOOK AT AGAIN

For a very long time, many people who came to Buddhism also admired that self-mastered attitude. In the last few decades, Zen has reappeared in Vietnam. Zen books always praise the self-mastery of the Zen masters, so that we, the later students, have come to be far too fond of that attitude. Because they were so fond of it, and longed for a self-mastered life while their practice was not yet deep and their merit was thin, many people came to ruin. This is very harmful, not only to the individual but to the Dharma as well. In truth, self-mastery is the result of a long chain of virtuous practices that come before it. Only when that chain of practices is in place does self-mastery appear, as a wholly natural expression. But when we hurry to find self-mastery too early, it loses its foundation, produces many side effects, and breaks down our practice.

We know that meditative concentration leads to wisdom. Through deep work in concentration, we also gain self-mastery. That is, self-mastery is only one small branch, one small result of meditative concentration. If we do not know this and take self-mastery alone as the goal to aim at, we will grow wild and arrogant and do ourselves serious damage by depleting our merit. When they come to the temple, quite a few lay practitioners hear, in a half-understood way, that Buddhism has Saints and Zen masters who live with ease and self-mastery, who show strange behaviour that goes beyond ordinary norms. Then they imitate it, and often speak in wild and arrogant ways. These things deplete their merit. So self-mastery is dangerous too, because it has side effects, and we have to be careful.

4. MISUNDERSTANDING AND MISUSE

Self-mastery has many meanings, but it can be misunderstood and misused.

First, self-mastery can be misunderstood as selfishness. The word tự itself means oneself. This word appears very often in Buddhism. In Zen we often hear the saying: "Turn the light back on yourself: that is the fundamental duty." That is, the basic task and work of a practitioner is to look back at oneself. Zen terms in particular stress words such as self-nature, self-mind and self… These words remind the Zen practitioner always to look for the values that exist within oneself. Anyone who turns outward and looks for values outside is reminded by the great masters: "The treasure is in your own house, yet you do not look for it and wander outside." That is, within oneself there is complete happiness, wisdom and worth, a moon and breeze that have never run out; one can enjoy it freely there, with nothing to fear and no need to look outside. This is what the word tự means. But that same word tự is also the word for ego. It is true that the starting point of practice must be the inner life of each person, but if we simply stay there we will strengthen our ego and our clinging to self, and the ego grows easily.

On the other hand, a self-mastered person does not concern himself with outer circumstances, and so does not concern himself with the people around him either. Living like that, he unknowingly loses his altruism. Once we are no longer living for others, selfishness has appeared. So if there is no foundation, and we go looking for self-mastery while so many virtuous practices that come before it have not been carried out, we will gradually fall into error. Many people, as they seek practice, thirst for liberation and thirst for awakening, apply themselves with great diligence, go into a retreat hut, shut the door and sit in meditation, or live among the community as if among nobody, caring for no one and depending on no outer circumstance… and they think this is liberation and self-mastery. They do not realise that such a way of life makes selfishness grow, until they no longer feel for the joys and sufferings of others.

We often dream of a world where people always love one another. Setting aside lofty matters, if everyone loved each other, this world would become a paradise and happiness would overflow. At present we may still be threatened by natural disasters, hunger and illness, but in such circumstances, if everyone loved and helped one another, happiness and joy would still be full.

Much later I wrote these lines of verse to say:

I will only speak to praise love

Of people, for humankind, for the homeland

Of a happiness that leaves sin behind

Much later I wrote these lines of verse to say:

I will speak to praise peace of mind

A happiness leisurely as the immortals'

So unburdened, easy and dignified

Much later I wrote these lines of verse to sing:

I will unite everyone in one shared heart

A holy happiness, vast beyond measure

One is all, and all people are one.

When our practice is on the right course, our mind gradually comes to care more for the people around us. A brother's need, a sad look on a visitor's face, a friend's pallor… we notice them quickly and look for ways to help. If we apply ourselves wrongly, we become ever more self-mastered and gradually forget those around us.

The Buddha once taught that a teaching must be practised and examined this way and that until one is sure it is right, and only then accepted. The teaching on self-mastery is the same: it too must be examined this way and that from many angles, so that we see clearly its strengths and its flaws. And then we will all see that when a practitioner worries less about himself, that is, clings less to self, altruism will appear quite naturally. Then the lives of the brothers around him come before his eyes, so that he has to care for and help them; and that too is a duty, a principle, a small step forward on the path. As for anyone who can go further, beyond that, and live a life of complete altruism for the sake of all beings, that is the ideal, the wish of everyone.

One thing needs noting: the more a person seeks self-mastery, and above all the more he shows off his self-mastery, the more altruism he loses. For this reason, at first some people were a little doubtful about the teaching on self-mastery. Only later, after a long period of practice, were people able to firm up the reasoning about self-mastery, and to understand what is right self-mastery and what is wrong.

So the first sign of wrong self-mastery is that it tilts into selfishness, because one holds that everything comes from oneself, from within oneself, and forgets everyone else. The second sign is that a wrong understanding of self-mastery turns into indifference and coldness. Always seeking and keeping our own ease and self-mastery, we no longer feel responsible for anything outside; we live as onlookers, unmoved. Even towards the joys and sufferings of living beings we are indifferent, and so become people lacking compassion and human feeling.

The reason we regard this as a distortion of self-mastery is that a rightly practising person stays unmoved when adversity such as praise and blame, suffering and loss comes upon himself, but must feel with the joys and sorrows of others, and must not show an onlooker's detachment or indifference. For example, when someone scolds and curses us, we do not get angry: at that moment we are unmoved. That is a very proper attitude. But when someone comes and tells us that their house burned down last night and they could not save any of their belongings, we must not show coldness. Of course, we do not suffer along with the suffering of living beings, but we must feel with them, and look for ways to comfort and help them. We should understand that empathy is rejoicing in others' joy and sharing their pain when they come to us. This is an ethical quality that a practitioner cannot do without.

We still remember the story of a blind man who praised the Zen master Bankei. Being blind, he could not see other people's faces, and so judged people only by their voices. For example, someone who heard of another's suffering would express pity, yet in the sound of the voice there was still a note of gladness, gladness that the other would lose to him. Someone who saw another succeed would praise him, yet in that praise the blind man still heard something resentful, resentment that the other had surpassed him. For this man, only the Zen master Bankei, whenever he shared another's sorrow, had the full sorrow in the sound of his words. Or when he praised another's success, the man heard in that sound complete joy. That is, Bankei always felt with others and shared sincerely in the joys and sufferings of living beings.

If we want to reach self-mastery without having prepared a proper foundation beforehand, our self-mastery will bring errors with it: selfishness, coldness and indifference. So, as regards himself, a practitioner does not let sorrow and joy govern him, but as regards the sorrows and joys of living beings he must have empathy. Yet our empathy is not like that of ordinary people. That is, we do not feel soft, sentimental sorrow or gloating joy along with others' sorrows and joys. A practitioner's empathy, in joy and in sorrow, must be truly gentle but deep.

For example, to ordinary people, to hate is to dislike, with the heart seething with irritation and anger, a bitter hatred. But for us, if we say we hate something (a person wearing a traditional robe but shorts underneath, say), it means we do not approve, do not like it, not that we are angry, irritated or must cast the person off. The word "hate" sounds heavy and exaggerated, but in our mind it is very light: just a lack of approval.

The reason we do not show excess when we feel with others is that when people come to us, within that unmoved state we bring forth the function. If we hear that someone has sad news, we feel sadness with them. Before a person's terrible suffering we still have a sad state of mind to share, but that sadness does not become an agitation of overly strong feeling on the surface. That is the function of the mind, of empathy, arising from the ethical quality of compassion, not ordinary sadness.

Those who understand self-mastery wrongly and try hard to display it will also become arrogant. Why is that? Because such a person is busy looking for the value of self-mastery, living only with himself and having no need to respect anyone. We know that humility comes from respecting others. The more people we respect, the greater our humility. Once there is no one left to respect, arrogance arises. This is very dangerous.

It is the same in practice. First, we must bow to the Buddha with complete reverence, to keep the root of merit. The merit of bowing to the Buddha gives us very great blessings, but humility is still not much increased. For the Buddha is an absolute Saint. When we revere him, wondrous merits and the qualities of a Saint gradually appear in our minds, so the merit is very great. But humility does not grow much, because before such a great Saint it is ordinary to bow and revere. Yet if, deep in our hearts, we have respect and gratitude towards those who are senior in years or ordination, even though they are less able than we are, our humility grows greater still.

For example, when we meet a Venerable or a senior monk who began practising before us, even if he has not yet attained the Way and may even be less capable than we are, we still bow our heads and pay respect, and then our humility is very great. After all, they are people who came before us, whose long years of practice have accumulated, who have more virtue than we do, and who are among the important links, one after another, that have kept the Dharma through each age and each generation. Bowing to such elders is our way of showing gratitude and respect to those who have kept the Dharma. Being able to respect these ordinary people shows that our humility is firm.

Or if we respect and feel grateful to brothers of our own rank, our humility grows greater still and can dissolve arrogance. For example, when we have made some mistake and come before the community to repent and bow sincerely, even if it is only to brothers equal to ourselves, our humility is very high. This humility itself is the root merit that makes arrogance disappear.

So the more ordinary the object of our respect, the greater our humility. At present, we practitioners are able to bow to the community and to brothers of equal rank. But the ideal in the Way is that we should respect even lowlier objects, as in the words of a song: "Buddha, teach me to be humble, to know myself as dew and dust, to bow everywhere, to grass and trees or a bird blown across the sky."

5. THE PROCESS THAT LEADS TO SELF-MASTERY

We already know that the starting point of practice is three basic virtuous practices: reverence for the Buddha, compassion and humility. From these three, countless other virtuous practices arise, which we have examined in earlier lessons.

The most important thing, however, is precepts. Precepts have two levels: lower than ethics and higher than ethics. Lower than ethics are the ordinary rules and regulations, such as: walk, do not run. Precepts higher than ethics are purity and freedom from defilement. Only very firm merit can reach this freedom from defilement. Anyone who wants to keep it must practise the three qualities above with great care.

When all these elements are in place, we can then achieve meditative concentration: that is, the power of concentration can appear in our minds when we sit in meditation. When meditative concentration has been achieved, wisdom and liberation then appear. A person who eagerly practises meditation without knowing the virtuous practices that come before it will not succeed.

As said earlier, meditative concentration has many branches. Self-mastery is an important branch of it, a natural expression of a person who practises, and not the main road of meditative concentration. Self-mastery appears alongside meditative concentration, naturally, and is not a goal to strive for. So to go looking for self-mastery deliberately, to show off one's self-mastery, proves that we have misunderstood the Dharma. When the inner mind is unmoved, a self-mastered attitude appears. It is something we do not care about and do not set out to seek, but it appears all the same. We should remember this.

Likewise, on the straight road to meditative concentration, countless unexpected manifestations appear. These too are things we do not care about. If we keep showing everyone that we live in this world at leisure, at ease and self-mastered, we are wrong. That is only boasting.

6. RIGHT SELF-MASTERY INCLUDES OTHER VIRTUES

Right self-mastery must include other virtues. First, it is forbearance in the face of adversity. Once we are self-mastered, we feel no sorrow over the troubles that come upon us, yet we still have compassion for the suffering of living beings. This is the empathy we mentioned earlier. For example, when we lose a motorbike, our hearts stay unmoved, without worry, sadness or discouragement. That is self-mastered forbearance. But when someone else loses a motorbike, we feel for them and sympathise with them. This is called the Middle Way. The two attitudes are opposite, yet support each other and give each other strength. When one appears the other is absent, and the reverse. Put another way, when altruism appears, selfishness is absent, and when selfishness persists, altruism disappears. In life, if we feel for and care about others' joys and sorrows, then naturally our own affairs fall away, and we become self-mastered without knowing it. If we keep caring about, and rising and falling with, our own affairs, we cannot care about other people's. So true self-mastery means not being preoccupied with our own affairs, yet having great compassion and empathy for other people's. It is the power of love, and of empathy with the joys and sufferings of others (altruism), that makes selfishness dissolve and self-mastery appear.

Another expression of self-mastery is having no ambition, and not scheming or running about in search of fame and gain for oneself. An ambitious person is always preoccupied and miserable over plots and calculations, trying to win over this person and that. They have sorrows and preoccupations driven by ambition. A self-mastered person, by contrast, no longer has those desires, no longer has ambition for worldly fame and gain. Yet they do not live a life of leisure, ease and liberation; they spend their whole lives dedicated and giving of themselves for the Dharma and for living beings. With whatever ability they have, they are always wholeheartedly supporting the Right Dharma.

In the past, many people misunderstood this. They thought that to go forth was to be self-mastered and to be "non-acting": to do nothing at all. A practitioner needed only a hut with every comfort, and to stay in it all day chanting sutras and sitting in meditation. A Chinese philosopher influenced by Lao Tzu's idea of "non-action" said: "Plucking out a single hair to benefit the whole world, I would not do it." He advocated "no action, no doing", doing nothing at all, and regarded that as the Way. People who understand the Way like this are mistaken. Though they too look for ease and self-mastery, their understanding is distorted, and they are no longer dedicated or willing to sacrifice for others. Here, the person with the right attitude is one who, deep in their heart, no longer wishes, strives or seeks for benefit to themselves, yet works devotedly and hard for a lifetime for everyone's lives.

On this point, we need to avoid two extremes. First, a person with no thought of seeking anything for himself who therefore likes to live in seclusion, avoiding everyone. Second, a person with too much ambition who, in shared work, always competes and schemes, and so has a very hard time.

We practitioners seek nothing for ourselves. Deep in our hearts, when we see someone better than us we rejoice, yet we are always busy and dedicated, and ready to help anyone with anything. For example, later on we might become a teacher and go to teach in some village, while a brother from our own class goes to a large district as the chief representative. When that brother asks us to help with some work because he is too busy, if we can arrange it we are ready to go and help. It may be paperwork that is very tiring for the brother, that no one knows about, and still we are cheerful. Because we are people of ethics, we do not shrink from any task, as long as it benefits the Dharma and benefits living beings. We do it without seeking anything else for ourselves. That is the right attitude. If we have ability and health but shy away from a life of fame, gain and wearying jostling, and go to some quiet place to practise, contributing nothing to the Dharma, then our attitude is wrong.

7. THE VIRTUES THAT MUST ACCOMPANY SELF-MASTERY

The first virtue is not being preoccupied with people's judgments, praise and blame (rising above public opinion), while still sincerely listening and learning from the good in others.

A self-mastered person is not preoccupied with others' praise and blame. When we go out to work or to give a talk, if someone praises or criticises something, our mind is not stirred. That is being unmoved by outside opinion. But we are not like plants, iron or stone, insensible and unable to hear other people's views. Before people's praise and blame we must examine ourselves, to see to what extent the praise or blame is right or wrong, although we do not let our hearts rise and fall with it.

For example, when someone praises our teaching as excellent and very moving, we must examine whether what they say is true. If the praise is right, we must find out why the teaching was good and persuasive, so we can pass that experience on to others. Or when people speak of our mistakes, we must stay calm. If what they say is right, we must look for the fault and correct it. If their criticism is wrong, we do not become angry because of it. That is the right attitude of a self-mastered person. If we leave other people's opinions in one ear and out the other, we become thick-skinned and stubborn. This does not fit the teaching of Buddhism.

We must observe attentively the good in others and learn from it sincerely. If we know how to look at life and at people in order to learn, we will avoid other people's mistakes while learning their good and fine qualities. The ancients taught: "When three people walk together, there is surely a teacher for me among them." If we keep learning from what is good in others, we will surely succeed. Some people have not studied much, only some basic teachings of the Buddha, the Patriarchs and the Saints, but they know how to observe life, combining that with their own experience, and so have succeeded.

Another thing to note is that a self-mastered person has an inner mind that is calm and not restless, yet full of love for living beings. To say this is to say that a person whose inner mind is empty, with nothing left in it, with nothing stirring, is not practising rightly. For example, take a plot of land full of thorns and weeds: we clear it and leave it as it is, and it is still of no use. Good land must be land cleared of weeds and thorns, ploughed and turned over, and planted by people with rows of fruit trees, clumps of flowers, pretty grasses and so on. The human heart is the same. At first it is full of greed, anger, delusion, resentment, hatred, love, rage, loathing… When we learn the Way, we clear away the evil, the wrongdoing, the errors and confusion, but we must fill it with compassion and love for living beings. So a right inner mind must be a pure inner mind that is full of love.

Here, if wrong views do not attack, then as soon as we have a little concentration, compassion will naturally flourish alongside it. But once wrong views have entered the mind (because, newly practising, we have studied some mistaken teaching), we will always keep the mind dry, unmoving, loving no one and hating no one. Then the more concentration we have, the emptier our mind becomes, without a trace of compassion in it. Understanding this, at the starting point of practice we must prepare compassion in advance, so that as the practice advances step by step, compassion flourishes with it throughout our lives.

Of course, compassion is not easy to acquire. Generally, men (the monks) have less feeling than women (the nuns). Women are naturally sensitive and quick to love, though their love may be small and selfish. But if they drop that petty selfishness, they will develop compassion faster than men. By contrast, the monks have the advantage of not clinging to small things, but their hearts are drier, and practising compassion is harder for them. If a monk wants compassion to appear in his mind in full, he must contemplate his vow and compassion for at least three years. Even those who often praise love for people have admitted that after a long time of practice they still felt their hearts to be as inert as pebbles. It took them many years to begin to see compassion gradually appear. And when it has appeared, only then can we believe that the Dharma is wondrous.

In general, the matter of compassion is boundless and cannot be fully described. Each person who practises, while trusting in the Dharma, will see it for themselves. When we do not yet have compassion and talk about it, we speak only superficially. We must be determined to practise compassion over a long time, perhaps three years, five years or ten, before we see the worth of this mind.

Another virtue that goes with self-mastery is a broad-minded spirit that is not licentious. We do not cling to petty things, yet we are earnest, relaxed, careful and gentle. Clinging to petty things makes us unreasonably difficult people. But we should also never think that a self-mastered person lives needing nothing, clinging to nothing, and so lets himself go and indulges. That is a distorted thought, not self-mastery in the true sense.

We met a nun who had come back from abroad. From our conversation we learned that she did a great deal of meritorious work, always helping others. In old age, when she had a pension, she saved it to bring back to Vietnam to do good. But on that nun's face there were signs of discontent. Indeed she was a very difficult person. Her difficulty came from clinging to petty things. Nuns fall into this very easily, because they have three hundred and forty-eight precepts. In everything they see wrongdoing and merit, so they are very fearful and keep them very carefully. When they manage to keep them, they then want to be better than everyone else, and so often pick on this person and that and become difficult. In truth it should not be so. Buddhism is very careful, but there are things it is very tolerant and forgiving about, not regarded as important.

For example, the Vinaya rules that those who have left home must not eat together with lay people, in order to keep proper order and the hierarchy. But in practice there are times when we eat with them quite normally. Why? Because in certain situations, sitting down to eat with lay practitioners shows our love and our fellowship, with no discrimination and no feeling of being better than everyone. It is true that by not eating together we keep to proper order, but if we kept to that order always, we would come to feel we are better than everyone, that is, that we who have left home are better than those who live at home. That is an arrogant view. Thinking so, in the next life we would not be able to go forth again. In fact, many lay practitioners were monastics in a past life, and so are very capable now and know the scriptures thoroughly, yet can never go forth. The simple reason is that in the past life, once they had gone forth, they always saw the world as inferior to themselves.

So keeping to proper order, keeping the separation between the Sangha and lay people, and giving lay people faith in those who have left home is also good. But if we are not careful, we can sometimes become discriminating, proud and lacking in love. So, according to our own wisdom, sometimes we should eat together to show love and fellowship.

On the other hand, the reason the Buddha ruled that those who have left home should not eat with those who live at home was to guard against the occasional slips of the monastic, which, if they are too close to lay people, would be seen by them. Once lay people see a practitioner's slips, they lose faith in the Dharma. So keeping a distance from lay people is also necessary. In truth, this has happened. Someone who had worked with monks in various temples confided that he did not want to go to the temple any more, because since working with the monks he had seen the faults of practitioners and was disillusioned and had lost faith in the Dharma. Hearing such confidences, we are very pained. But this is also a test for all of us. "True gold does not fear fire": in circumstances where we must be close to lay Buddhists, we try to prove our mettle and the strength of our practice.

For example, perhaps on a long pilgrimage or on some charity visit, we travel together with lay Buddhists. Or sometimes lay people come to the temple to do voluntary work. Every day they work, chant and eat with us. At such times we never let them find a fault in us. That is true gold not fearing fire. We must cultivate the inner mind firmly so that when they live close to us, lay Buddhists have even more faith in the Dharma. Then we have succeeded.

In short, we must not cling to the rules and must act as circumstances suit.

8. SELF-MASTERY IS AN EXPRESSION OF MEDITATIVE CONCENTRATION AND DIGNIFIED AUTHORITY

We still keep deportment very carefully, because self-mastery is an expression of meditative concentration and dignified authority. A person with meditative concentration naturally has great authority. When we come near them, even before hearing a word, we feel respect. That is one of the expressions of meditative concentration. But though self-mastered, they still have dignified authority: looking at them, we see that all their gestures are solemn and careful. That is harmony. If we practise meditative concentration and look for self-mastery without dignified authority, we are wrong. That is self-mastery without a root.

When we look at self-mastery, we see that it has several different levels.

First level: through the three practices of reverence for the Buddha, altruism and humility becoming mature, self-mastery appears in us. For example, when we have an altruistic life, no longer worrying about ourselves or being preoccupied with ourselves, and whatever people say does not move our mind, we will reach self-mastery.

A monk once told of delivering a baby for a woman in labour, which many people admired. On the road, that monk met a woman having labour pains. He had no choice but to get down from the vehicle and deliver the baby very calmly. Not everyone can do this. If we always keep to proper form, deportment and precepts, we would not dare help people in that way. Once we are altruistic, we naturally have self-mastery: no fear, no embarrassment, and no fear of being gossiped about or looked down on. That is also self-mastery created by an altruistic mind. So at the level of ethics alone, altruism already creates self-mastery.

Second level: when we practise meditative concentration and the state of mindfulness and clear awareness appears, our hearts become still more at ease and self-mastered. Then the afflictions that have only just begun to stir in the mind are dissolved. Through mindfulness and clear awareness, which subdue all restless stray thoughts, we attain a mind without regret. We discussed this when we spoke of the five hindrances.

For example, when we do something wrong and others tell us it is a fault, we do not feel regret but resolve never to repeat it. That is the absence of regret of a person with mindfulness and clear awareness.

Third level: when one realises the first dhyana, the practitioner no longer makes effort; the mind enters concentration naturally, extremely pure, and sensual desire disappears. The level of self-mastery at this point is higher than before.

The higher the dhyanas one realises, the more at ease and self-mastered body and mind become. When one has reached the level of the Buddha or of the arhats, that self-mastery is free of the bonds of the three realms and the six paths, and is wholly liberated.

There is also a level of self-mastery that we often hear told of: living or dying as one wills. A Zen master who wants to pass away at a certain hour can do so at that hour. But here we need to understand something more: self-mastery over life and death is not necessarily the absolute level of meditative concentration, and not yet complete realisation. Someone who has only partly attained the Way can also do this.

There is a story that the steward of a certain temple heard that a monk there had special accomplishment in practice, and went to ask him a Zen question. That monk did not answer; he went into his room, sat in the lotus position and passed away. After the monk passed away, the temple cremated him and found several dozen relics. The community was greatly astonished that a practitioner who could pass away so freely, and whose cremation yielded relics, had not been able to answer a Zen question when someone asked. The steward said: "Even if you had three measures of relics, it would not equal giving one turning word at that moment, answering a Zen question sharply and originally." So, although the monk had passed away freely, and cremation yielded relics, the steward still criticised that monk for not practising rightly according to Buddhism, not true to the Dharma, and not having reached the standard level of Zen realisation.

So, for a practitioner to reach freedom in birth and death is wonderful. But it is only a relative level of self-mastery.

Speaking of self-mastery, let us look again at a few cases called self-mastery in Zen. We have heard the story of Master Danxia. Danxia first came to Mazu, and afterwards to Master Shitou. There he attained the Way at a moment no one knew, only Shitou knew. Afterwards he took leave of Shitou and returned to Mazu, went into the temple and sat astride the neck of the Buddha statue. Mazu came out, saw that his disciple had attained the Way, and said: "My son, Tianran" (he gave Danxia the Dharma name Tianran, "Natural"; later people called him Danxia Tianran). Once, when winter came and the temple was very cold, Master Danxia split a Buddha statue and burned it to keep warm. He even said: "A wooden statue, how could it have relics?" and burned still more.

If we explain and analyse it carefully, the story has many meanings. The ancients had a very fine saying: "Efficacy lies in me; lack of efficacy lies in me." Whether anything is sacred or not depends on our own minds. When the carver of a statue thinks, "This is a statue of the Buddha," there is already sacredness in that statue. Afterwards, people invite it home and raise it up to bow to as they would bow to the Buddha, and the statue becomes still more sacred. So when we bow to the Buddha with reverence (even if only to a statue), our merit is nearly the same as bowing to the Buddha when he was alive. Of course, if we met the Buddha in his lifetime, our reverence would be greater still, beyond imagining. In the Buddha's time, as soon as people met him they followed Buddhism at once, because the Buddha's dignified authority was so powerful that even six or seven hundred years after his passing, and a thousand years after, the Dharma was still extremely flourishing, still in good order and discipline as when he was alive. If we bow to the Buddha every day but with a careless mind, our merit will not amount to much. Boundless reverence for the Buddha is the foundation merit. Some people say there is no need to bow to the Buddha any more, because it is only a lump of cement, a lump of wood. To say so is a wrong view, because it does not help living beings create merit.

So the important thing we must understand is that whether something is sacred or not depends on our own mind. It is true that it is a lump of wood, but if it has been designated a statue of the Buddha, and everyone recognises it as a statue of the Buddha, then to say it is only a lump of wood means that our own eyes do not see the wondrous spiritual quality, the responsive mind which the Buddha has realised, arising from people's sincerity. Those who say a Buddha statue is nothing, has no sacredness, is only a lump of wood or stone, hold wrong views; they do not understand the matter thoroughly and sow harm among living beings.

Moreover, depending on how settled the mind is, we will see everything in this world accordingly. For example, if we take a piece of chalk and draw a bald human head on the board, at the first and coarsest level we see the head of a monk. If we settle the mind further, we see only chalk lines. Or look at a picture on the wall: we see a picture of a lotus. But settle a little more, and we see only paint. Settle a little more still, and we see only a piece of cloth smeared with colour… So according to how far the mind settles, we see the true nature of things and events.

Likewise, returning to the story of Danxia Tianran, we see that when he climbed up on the Buddha statue, and split it and burned it, he wanted to show the depth of his meditative concentration. That is, he wanted to show that he had settled his mind to the very bottom, seeing clearly the true nature of all things, that body, mind and the universe are of one substance, dissolving into one another. But that was when he needed to prove it to his teacher; at ordinary times he could give rise to the mind that sees at once that it is a Buddha statue, and he still always revered it. Self-mastery must be according to such levels, or it becomes wild arrogance.

The story of a monk carrying a girl across a muddy road is the same. The road was so muddy, and the girl was wearing nice clothes, so she did not dare cross. The monk carried her across. When the senior monk travelling with him showed anger, the monk answered very calmly: "Goodness, I put the girl down back there, so why are you still carrying her here?" This is judged not by appearance but by the mind. The monk did that with no desire in his heart, not moved. That is self-mastery.

Or we have heard the story of Jigong, the living Buddha (the Venerable Ji Dian, "Crazy Ji"). There are many stories about him, woven into attractive novels. But in fact his history has some very original episodes. For example, once he was bathing while in the hall his teacher was giving a talk on the Way. Hearing his teacher ask a question on a very important point of doctrine, he hurriedly wrapped a towel round himself, ran out and said to his teacher: "I can answer." The teacher asked: "How do you answer?" He turned a somersault, and the towel wrapped around him fell off, so that everything was fully displayed before everyone's eyes.

Another time, his temple burned down. That night the Empress Dowager dreamed that an arhat came and told her to donate money to rebuild the temple. She went to the temple and told her dream. When she met him, she knelt and bowed: "This is the very one." Then she asked: "Please tell me, what will become of me in the future?" He said nothing, pulled down his trousers and walked inside. Everyone in the temple was shocked, because that was a crime punishable by beheading. The soldiers were angry and about to act, but the Empress Dowager stopped them: "No, I understand his meaning. He means that in my next life I will be reborn as a man." He also ate meat and drank wine heavily, yet had supernormal powers and wondrous skill. He may have had some very strange principle to teach people, and we do not dare to criticise, because he had attained the Way at so lofty a level.

In his life of teaching, the Buddha too met many storms and calamities, but he was so extraordinary that he was always self-mastered. There is a story: One day King Bimbisara invited him to the capital for the rains retreat. When he arrived, the king forgot he was there. So the Buddha had to stay out in the open. But at that time he was as self-mastered as if nothing had happened. The heavenly dragons saw this and would not let rain fall, although it was then the rainy season. Seeing the sky always sunny, the king was both astonished and alarmed, and asked his ministers. One of them, with a sudden insight, answered: "Perhaps Your Majesty invited the World-Honoured One here and forgot to arrange a place for him to stay, so the sky does not dare to rain." The king started, ran to invite the Buddha back, and had a monastery built for him to stay in. After that the rain returned.

So, whatever circumstance he fell into, he was self-mastered, but not to prove his own mettle: it was so that others would not be distressed. That is a very noble, altruistic self-mastery.

One more thing to note is that we should not set out to prove that we are self-mastered. Those who follow the Buddha often praise self-mastery, and sometimes praise it too much, so that they grow wild and arrogant. Sometimes they commit a fault, and when others point it out they do not know how to correct it, because they consider themselves self-mastered. This is a great sickness among practitioners of Buddhism. We must remember one thing: the expression of self-mastery is something other people see and judge for us, and we ourselves should not care about it. What we should care about is loving all beings. If we deliberately put on an air of self-mastery, we easily become boastful, eccentric people.