When I left off with my account of the trip to Taiwan, we had just finished our 10 minute silent finish-what-you-started lunch. Now, as I said, the real tour of the temple facilities began. As usual, we walked up a lot of steps, past the beautiful Bodhisattva Hall, to stop at the Meditation Hall. For some pictures and a little editorial commentary, go through the slides in the frame below. Each time that you click on a picture, it will advance by one frame.

I won't drive the point on the last frame into the ground, but this was definitely a thought that kept running through my mind. You do this; you do that; you discipline yourself; you achieve an alert mind or a state of no-mind, and so forth. I don't mean to denigrate any of that, at least for the moment (thus, postponing pointing out some items that ought to bother a devoted Buddhist as much as they do me). Even if all of these concepts were true and good (which some are and others are not), they do not address the central problem of humanity: our alienation from God due to sin.

You see, that's why I keep insisting that it cannot possibly be true that all religions are identical at their core while coming in different guises on the outside. At their very cores, they begin by attempting to find answers to different questions. For Buddhism, the (general) issue is how to escape from the apparently never-ending cycle of suffering, and the (general) answer is by becoming detached from this world. Christianity addresses the problem that in our fallen state, we cannot have a relationship with God, and that Christ's atonement in history has made that reconciliation possible. Thus, Jesus is not a Bodhisattva, and the Buddha is not an inconsistent Christian.

Well, it looks like time and energy are making me stretch out things a little more than I had planned. Then again, I hope you're enjoying the variety I'm trying to put into these entries, such as the "i-frames" tonight. So, next time, we'll still be at the Fo Guang Chan Temple

And not-so-by-the-way, I've had only one reply ti far to yesterday's Thanksgiving Question Contest. The person had the correct answers, but declined the prize, so the book is still up for grabs. Anyone want to give it a shot?

THANKSGIVING 2009

June and I wish that you have had as wonderful a Thanksgiving Day as we had.  It was wonderful to have the six of us sitting around a table for the Thanksgiving dinner once again.  It has been a long time.  Downright exciting, though, was having June be the ring master of the kitchen (we all contributed something) and head chef.  It was a sight I never expected to be treated to again.

After the mid-day meal at our house, we all got into our cars and drove over to Seth and Amber's to have one of our customary relaxed afternoons and evenings.  Among the items of amusement on the list: the Simpson's version of Clue (my character was Homer) and the new family version of Mario Brothers on the Wii. I didn't do as well as I used to; it's been quite a while since I played Mario, and my hands aren't quite as nimble as they used to be.

More than anything, it was a good day of reflecting on the fact that, even though circumstances may be pretty messed up, we are still in the hands of the one who created the universe and gave his life to redeem us.  At that, there are so many things for which we can be thankful: a great family, a fantastic retirement celebration, blessings provided by friends (including the trip to Taiwan), and--even more than most other things--the friends themselves.  

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After looking at the picture I took, I couldn't help but think of the classic painting with which I am alternating it.  Which brings up this year's more or less annual Thanksgiving question.  Which singer/songwriter, who was particularly popular in the 1970's, wrote a song commemorating the artist of that painting, and what precisely was the title of the song? (Hint: The answer is not Arlo Guthrie.)  The first person with the complete correct answer will receive a free copy of Jim Sire's 5th edition of The Universe Next Door.

Click here for the official contest form!

Next time we'll head back to Taiwan.  

That is, of course, luncheon at the monastery and temple of the Order of Buddha's Light Mountain. --- Where have you heard that term before? Would it help if I told you that the Chinese translation is Fo Guang Shan? --- Very good! That'll be five extra credit points for whoever remembered that this is the same order that has built the massive temple complex in the Los Angeles area. In terms of size, if I were to rate the Hsi Lai Temple in LA as large, this one would easily be double-X. It claims to be the largest Buddhist temple in Taiwan, and I wouldn't dispute it, though it must be a close call in competition with Chung Tai Chan and Dharma Drum.

Just to remind ourselves, this order was started in 1967 by Master Hsing Yun. Similar to Wei Chueh, the founder of the Chung Tai Temple, he stands in the direct succession of Chan Zen masters along the branch called Linji Chan, which in Japan eventually issued in Rinzai Zen.

The Buddhist professor whom I'm calling Wa-ta-wa in this blog (see the entry of Nov. 10) saw to it that we would be able to participate in the daily lunch at this monastery. This was supposed to be quite a ceremony, to which we looked forward. We were told ahead of time that it would be vegetarian, but that had been true for quite a few meals already, so that prospect didn't bother us at all. When we heard that we needed to receive instructions for lunch, I, for one, thought that such training should be unnecessary. I was wrong.

Our guide on this day was a nun who had been in the order for twenty-six years. Once again I need to confess to striking out on catching the name; my best reconstruction is "Ijir" or something similar-sounding. The first thing she did was to give us directions on how we were to eat lunch when the time came: to maintain complete silence, to finish any food once we had started it, to place the dishes into the correct positions on the table in front of us to indicate a) whether we were still eating of it, b) finished with it, or c)  wanted more, etc. She used a set of paper dishes that could be moved around various transparent pockets on an easel to give us visual illustrations. After she had finished the long and complicated set of instructions, she assured us with a twinkle in her eye that, if we made a mistake, we would surely be forgiven.

There was only about an hour or so left before the procedure would begin. Remember that one of the ten precpts of Buddhism holds that monks should not eat too much and not after noon; so, the meal would have to be over by that hour. We spent the time beforehand touring through a museum-like exhibition hall, most of which was given over to to exalting the spiritual qualities of the Venerable Hsing Yun. (I shall come back to that phenomenon of the person-cult in a future entry). When it got to be surprisingly close to noon, the monks, nuns, faculty and students of the adjoining university, and lay workers hired by the temple, filed into the huge dining hall. While we were watching, I casually asked Ijir, "This is the last meal of the day for you, right?"

To my surprise she answered, "No. We take dinner also. It is considered 'medicine': 'medicine' for hunger."

I said nothing, but my thoughts immediately turned to the several students over the years who, as a project for the Eastern Religions class, had attempted to follow the ten precepts for a week, and how hard it had been on them not to eat anything after luch. They didn't realize that a late night trip to Ivanhoe's (an ice cream restaurant in Upland, Indiana) could perhaps be construed as taking medicine. Let me assure you, though, that there are many Buddhist orders, particularly in the Theravada tradition, that do not make use of such an interpretation.

We visitors entered last. The room was divided into halves with the tables and chairs on each side facing the other. Each place had empty dishes in place already. There was complete silence until from nowhere there came the sound of a gong and someone chanting "AUM" just one time. It was so unexpected and loud, it almost startled me out of my seat. Then, as the deep silence resumed, a great number of food workers, reminding me somewhat of house-elves at Hogwart's, bustled around and provided everyone with their portions of the day's repast. I'm afraid, I cannot remember everything that they set before me. I can recall two items that looked like variations on the theme of boiled cabbage, chestnuts, something big, dark, and fungioid, chestnut soup, and a large dumpling wrapped in green leaves, but I'm sure I'm leaving out one or two other things.

Rice, of course, for one thing. How could I forget about the rice? It's a hungry person's life-line if everything else on the table looks like it needs a lot of explanation.

Now, the key for my decisions on what to try was the rule that if you start an item, you must finish it (though I had already decided that if something would turn out to be utterly impossible to get down, I would bank on the forgiveness that had been promised earlier).

• So, did I dig into the dumpling whose real identity was hidden by the leaves? Obviously not.
• Did I sample the fungioid-looking substance? I know that all things made by God are good and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with prayer and thanksgiving, but I have never been able to receive anything from the fungus group as food with thanksgiving. (Penicillin is a different story, assuming we're reverting to the traditional distinction between food and medicine.)
• I started and finished the cabbage-like entities and the chestnuts. To be honest, I like boiled cabbage.
• I had not yet finished the chestnut soup (and was wishing I didn't have to), when suddenly there was that gong and the "AUM" again; the meal was over; I was off the hook; and everyone filed out again, still maintaing the same silence. The whole procedure had lasted only about ten minutes.

Ijir had sat two seats down from me, and I assumed that I had been out of her line of sight, but apparently Buddhist nuns have x-ray vision, just as mothers do. When our little group reassembled, she came up to me and expressed her concern that I might not have eaten enough to keep up my strength. She may very well have been right, but I felt fine and told her so. Then the real tour of the temple premises began, and I shall tell you what I learned about meditation, calligraphy, and temple gift shops, and how I had the opportunity to share the gospel, the next time or two.

---

By the way, I have felt really awful since coming back from Michigan (though I'm sure Michigan is not to blame) Sunday evening. There was a change in medication, which apparently has taken me in the wrong direction. When I called Dr. B's office early this morning to be reminded of what time today my appointment would be, the office lady disclosed to me that it had been yesterday. I really dislike it when I do things like that, but I'm not sure I could have driven to the doctor's yesterday anyway. The lady was nice about it, but couldn't find another slot for me until February. Well, I'm scheduled for several appointments with other doctors before then, so I'm sure someone will put me back on the right track fairly soon. I will also mention that the stress caused by the precariousness of the material side of our lives is not helping. As always, June and I appreciate your prayers.

The Pali Canon

So, as I was saying, we found ourselves unexpectedly running into the Pali Canon on one of the last days of our trip through Taiwan.  Specifically, we were at Dharma Drum Temple, to which is attached Dharma Drum University.  As you can see by the picture, if you choose your university by its view rather than its worldview, it has a lot going for it (perhaps tempered a bit if I tell you that the big building across the valley is a crematorium).  

Before going on I might just note that this entry is somewhat long and technical; perhaps even "geeky." Please bear with me.  It all leads up to some worthwhile points.  

The so-called Pali Canon is a collection of writings of truly encyclopedic proportion. The name is simply based on the fact that its largest and most likely oldest surviving version is in the language called "Pali," which is possibly the language that the Buddha spoke.  Pali is one of the several languages that spun off Sanskrit. The Pali Canon is also called Tipitaka, the "Three Baskets,” because it has three divisions: rules for Buddhist monks, teachings of the Buddha, and scholarly analysis of Buddhist teachings. 

As we mentioned last time, according to tradition, much of the teaching material was recollected and dictated by Ananda, Buddha’s own disciple, at the first Buddhist council in the early fifth century B.C.  If a particular issue came up, or if someone was trying to recollect specifically what Sakyamuni had said, Ananda would concentrate, begin with the words "Thus have I heard," and then start to recite what was supposed to have been pretty much verbatim the words of Sakyamuni.  Of course, many scholars, particularly those who are having a hard time believing that there even was a historical Buddha (Sakyamuni), question the accuracy of these alleged recollections.  However, as I keep contending, we Christians need to be careful not to buy into the unfounded skepticism of religious scholarship that we so heartily reject for the Bible, when it is applied to other religious texts.  Furthermore, I've known people who have had the kind of auditory memory that is being ascribed to Ananda.  So, to put things cautiously, it is credible that the Pali canon does, indeed, contain some of the direct teachings of Sakyamuni.

Still, over the centuries, the Tipitaka swelled by constant addition of new material.  Some of it, no doubt, consisted of the rewriting of popular traditions into Buddhist thought forms.  The complete Pali canon stems from no earlier than the first century B.C.  The Pali version of the Tipitaka is the most complete, and although some of it may be a fairly accurate rendering of the first generations of copies of the original as well as the first appearances of additions, there are other versions of it, some of which include different material: several in Sanskrit, and others translated into Chinese, Korean, and Tibetan.  The overarching problem for scholars analyzing the early manuscripts is not textual precision—that is a lost cause—but simply identifying passages that may or may not have been a part of the original.  Starting about the thirteenth century, there are wooden print blocks of it in Chinese and Korean, and so from that point on the translated texts into those languages have stabilized themselves. 

So, anyway, since the visit to Dharma Drum came towards the end of the trip, I won't get into the specifics now, except as they impinge on this discussion.  I never really caught our guide's name (a volunteer, not a monk), but his name tag revealed that it was .  Let's call him "Joe" since that's a little easier on the orthography.  I guess I must also mention that we distinguished ourselves a little bit by asking our friend some questions early on in the tour that he couldn't answer, and so he called in an American professor of Tibetan Buddhism at Dharma Drum University.  He answered them in the common academic manner by providing nomenclature rather than insight, but we had a pleasant chat.  Regardless, my point is simply that we manifested a bit more intellectual curiosity than they were used to.

(Jimm W., skip this paragraph please.  )  Based on that impression, after lunch, Joe suggested that we visit the library, a thought that did not particularly inspire me since it was located several hundreds of steps up a hill, and libraries are not usually places you visit for just a few moments, and you have to be really quiet, and you have to be extra careful not to spill anything, and they never ever let you run, not that I wanted to. But since I did not particularly stress those matters, I was out-consensused, and we made our way up and entered the bibliophilic premises.

I changed my mind.   

The part of the library that Joe wanted us to see was a collection of various versions of the Pali Canon: some authentic ancient ones (to which we did not have tactile access), reproductions of ancient ones, and multi-multi-volume translations into both ancient and modern languages.  Wyatt had been excited all along, and now all my fatigue left me instantaneously.  We could have spent hours there.  Joe and a very pleasant librarian (who, by the way, never once shushed us), offered to xerox for us a page from the Pali version, and I've copied it here.

 

It is the beginning of the Mulapariyaya Sutta, for which you can find a complete translation and introduction by Thanissaro Bikkhu on the website Access to Insight: Introduction to Theravada Buddhism, literally the Sutra about the Conversation on the Root. 

Here is where I'm asking you to hang in, even if this looks pretty off-putting at first, and you've never seen anything like this before nor would you have chosen to.  As you will see, this is a lot like game, actually.  If you've had any experience with Hindi or Sanskrit, you will immediately recognize that Pali uses the Devanagari alphabet.  The most obvious difference that strikes the eye is the dissimilarity in the spelling of various words.  Not that there aren't also grammatical differences to Sanskrit, but it's the spelling that really stands out.  

Okay, novices and budding experts togther, let's start with the word sutta.  It is, of course, the Pali variation of the word sutra.   So, in the title

 

(mulapariyayamsuttam),

the last part reads  (sutta) rather than    (sutra)  as it would in Sanskrit. The little dot over the final character in the Pali means that the "a" is nasalyzed.  By the way, the thing that looks like a question mark is the numeral "1," and the period after it is a concession to Western conventions.  It is, after all, a contemporary printing.  

So, what did we notice with the word "sutra" as it was transformed into Pali? Pali became more nasal in its pronunciation, but--much more importantly, it dropped the "r" and doubled the consonant.  This is a pattern we encounter throughout. Here is an example from the top of the second page:

I highlighted two uses of the word  (dhamma), which is the Pali version of the word   (dharma), whose meaning includes everything from the fundamental rules of the universe to the truth of Buddhism to the means towards enlightenment. If you read the Venerable Thanissaro's translation of this sutra, you'll see that in this case it refers to the rules of the nobility (lit. the Aryans) and the righteous men (lit. the "sannyasin," i.e. monks who have withdrawn from the world), of whose dharma the hypothetical common person is ignorant.  But to come back to the language, the Devanagari alphabet has many ways of indicating the letter "r," which is considered a semi-vowel.  In dharma it is indicated by that half loop over the last character, which is a "ma." So dharma in Sanskrit becomes dhamma in Pali.  Sometimes the consonant changes slightly as well.  Thus, for example, nirvana (Sanskrit) becomes nibbana (Pali).

So, with a little bit of luck you can take a Pali word and make an educated guess as to what its Sanskrit predecessor might have been.  I called the "Three Baskets" the Tipitaka.  That is the Pali word for it.  What might it be in Sanskrit?  You're right:  It's Tripitaka. Since there were no doubled consonants, the original "r" must have been at the front of the word, and so we just needed to add it there. The syllable tri also shows us how nicely Sanskrit lines up with general Indo-European patterns.  We didn't get the use of "tri" to indicate "three-ness" from Sanskrit, nor did they get it from us nor the Romans nor the Greeks; it's a part of our common I-E heritage.  

 Let's now take a quick look at the first paragraph.

The quotation marks, commas, and dashes, not to mention the footnote indicator, are additional accommodations to Western style. Classical punctuation consisted of only two signs: the first one designating a short break, such as after a line in a poem, the second one calling for a full stop (thus resembling a comma and a period respectively).  The first words constitute the famous formula ascribed to Ananda and copied by imitators and forgers ever since:   Eva me sutam.  ("Thus have I heard.") It occurs to me that there could be some confusion between suta here and sutta earlier.  sutta ("sutra")and suta ("heard") are two different words. See if you can find the little line that doubles the letter "t." in sutta !

Ok, then, if you try to revert suta back to Sanskrit and follow the previous formula, how would you do so? You have only one consonant in the middle, and if you just add an "r," you would get the same word sutra again.  But that wouldn't make sense for Sanskrit any more than we just said it would for Pali.  So, just like with tipitaka/tripitaka, we have to look at the front of the word again. But in this case it's just a little more complicated.  To turn the Pali back into Sanskrit, you also have to change the type of "s" from the straight-forward hissing sound to one that's better transliterated as "sh," and then you do add the "r" to it, resulting "shr."  I drew a little red rectangle around the little bar that stands for the "r" in this instance. Now make one further grammatical adjustment and you get shruti, the word that is used in Hinduism to refer to the holiest texts, such as the Vedas, those that were supposed to have been "heard" by the rishis  ("holy semi-divine seers") of ancient days.

Now we get to the pay-off. What does the little formula, "Eva me sutam--Thus have I heard"  really indicate then? It's a reappropriation of the notion of shruti, indicating that the text that is about to follow is the real shruti.  Buddhism is sometimes considered to be one of the two "heretical" schools of Hinduism (the other one being Jainism), primarily for two reasons.  It rejected the caste system, which was already finding its place in Indian society in the sixth century B.C., and it rejected the authority of the Vedas and their accompanying texts, all of which are considered shruti.  So, instead of the Hindu shruti, we get the new shruti, except that it is now expressed in Pali with the phrase: eva me sutam.  In other words, the new formula may be a compliment to Ananda's memorization skills, but that's neither here nor there.  More significantly, it is a dramatic claim: "You are about to hear the genuine revealed truth."

This is, of course, only a relatively minor insight, which presents little surprise in the history of religions.  And I could have simply told you this right at the beginning without confusing you with all those illegible symbols. ---- But wait!  What makes them illegible? They are, after all, languages, encoded in an alphabet.  If they are illegible to you, it's because you don't know the languages, and I don't blame you if you don't.  Most likely, you've never even had much of an opportunity to learn them.  I've had to teach myself.  

Thus, we come to my polemic.  Serious evangelical Christian seminaries have their students become competent in all three biblical languages: Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic, and we justifiedly react negatively to those who interpret the Bible in direct contradiction to what it plainly says in its original languages or to those, such as Jehovah's Witnesses, who clearly distort the Greek text in order to support their heretical doctrines.  Furthermore, some of the best schools offer the opportunity to delve deeper into the ancient languages prior to and coterminous with the Old Testament: Moabite, Akkadian, Edomite, Egyptian, etc.  This is very good because it contributes to our understanding of the biblical text and biblical history.  I would not want one less credit unit of these ancient languages offered or taken.

However, here is another point to consider.  For quite a while now, neither Moabites nor Akkadians have provided too many significant intellectual challenges to the truth of Christianity.  Whatever is written by them is past history.  On the other hand, Buddhism is alive and well and intent on swallowing up Christianity, and if we want to do any meaningful apologetics, we have to be able to read their scriptures in their languages.  How do I know whether Ven. Thanissaro's very elegant translation of the Root Sutra is accurate or whether he is deliberately covering up items that could possibly turn off the people he might be trying to reach? How can we know whether the Theravada Buddhism presented on that site really is Theravada Buddhism or just an accommodation to Western tastes? (For what it's worth, from my vantage point, this appears to me to be an excellent site and a good translation.) Without knowing some Pali, we won't be able to make such assessments.  Many of the more popular translations of Eastern scriptures into English bear only a faint resemblance to what they say in their originals.  For example, a popular translation of the Bhagavad Gita makes references to churches and mosques.  Are they really there in the Sanskrit text?  How will you respond to someone who brings up that passage (without writing an e-mail to me )?  

And I'm wondering--and this is a radical thought--are any Christian schools at all contemplating training their students in classical Eastern languages?  

This has been a long entry, written sporadically over a strenuous weekend trip visiting June's aging and ailing Mom in Michigan.  I thank you for reading this, and I hope that you might catch both my excitement for this kind of study and the ache in my heart for those who need the truth.  I'm praying that Christians who are excited about apologetics would also become excited about the hard study necessary to do apologetics well. We cannot afford another generation of American Christians who spread the absurd notion that Buddhism is a form of pantheism.  Buddhism has come too close to us to keep getting it wrong.  (Hint: Look at the courses offered at major universities these days.)

Next time a culinary topic: Lunch with the monks and nuns at the monastery.  

CHUNG TAI CHAN MONASTERY

A couple of points as I continue my reports on the trip to visit Taiwan.  First of all, let me clarify that the entire cost of the trip for me, including spending cash, was due to the generosity of some very wonderful people. It did not cost me a penny (or other units of currency). Even though the trip was physically hard on me, as well as emotionally difficult to some extent on both June on me, the amount of learning for me (and, I like to think, some little contributions I was able to make) definitely made it worth it.

Second, one purpose of the trip included visiting with local Christians, some of them converts from Buddhism, which--as in most parts of the world that declares itself to be ever-so-tolerant--can bear a painful price tag. We made some great contacts, but for the most part I will not discuss those visits.

Third, if you're waiting for stories on what we did for fun, you apparently never took my regular world religions class (before my energy started to give out), and so you aren't aware of the fact there is nothing more fun for me than visiting temples (. . . well, and playing music and watching auto races and doing web sites . . . ). Anyway, we spent an enormous amount of time just traveling back and forth, and I used a lot of that time for zombying out. We did not go surfing or rock climbing.

A number of the local highways led through tunnels.  These conveniences of transportation have, however, raised some serious opposition from citizens in a traditional Chinese mode of thinking.  You see, a mountain represents a dragon, and a tunnel that goes right through it would break the backbone of the dragon, which is a bad idea, both for the dragon himself and for the larger world whose balance is being upset by the loss of dragons.

Bodhidharma

Now, then, our next temple was the huge Chung Tai temple.  It fit the pattern of most of the places we visited: it was built recently under the guidance of a contemporary leader.  In this case, it was a man named Wei Chueh, in the direct succession of Zen masters, going back to the remarkable Bodidharma who brough Zen (Chan) to China and whose spiritual genealogy can be traced back to Mahakasyapa, the Buddha's first successor and presumably also the first patriarch of Zen.  Wei Chueh founded a separate monastery in 1987 and this place in 2001.  As you can see by the pictures, they are doing quite well.  Over the last twenty years, more than 15,000 monks and nuns have received full ordination from him.  These are roughly the same figures we heard in the context of other new Buddhist orders in Taiwan.  

Our guide was a nun who went by the name of "Simplicity," who turned out to be originally from Hanover, Germany.  She took us up all thirty-two floors of the temple; fortunately most of the stages were accessible by elevator.  Regular visitors and worshipers were only allowed on the first floor, which contained most of the normal statues, some of which I'll come back to shortly.  It included the representation of the earthly Buddha (Sakyamuni) depicted below. Then on the second floor there was a statue of the Buddha's spiritual body, much larger and more impressive.  Occupying stories nine through fifteen was the Buddha's Dharma body, a huge all-white statue that leaves you breathless, even if you take the elevator and not the stairs.  Going further up, there is a pagoda dedicated to the Medicine Buddha.  It would be a large building just if it were standing by itself outside; here it is a large building occupying the top floors of a huge building. It is constructed entirely of wood without any nails.

The globe on the very top is dedicated to all Bodhisattvas.  As an interesting by-product of the spherical construction, if you stand in the very center of the room and speak, you can hear your voice as it would be heard by other people.  There is no particular religious significance to this phenomenon, and if you don't like the sound of your own voice, it's an annoyance.  

Let me come back to the statues on the bottom level.  Many depictions of the various Buddhas have them accompanied by two Bodhisattvas.  In the case of Sakyamuni (Siddhartha Gautama, the "regular" Buddha), these are often two of his first disciples, Mahakasyapa and Ananda.  We already mentioned the former, who assumed leadership after the Buddha's death and is considered the first patriarch of Zen.  According to the tradition, Ananda had not yet found enlightenment by the time of Buddha's death because he was too hung up on intellectual questions.  He was supposed to have had a tape-recorder-like memory. Mahakasyapa finally brought him to the point of realization, and Ananda eventually became the second patriarch.  Ananda is credited with being the source of much of the enormous collection of the Buddha's teachings, called the "Three Baskets." This brings us to the so-called Pali canon, of which I can tell you next time because it was, in fact, an unplanned destination on one of our excursions.  

 The Bodhisattva Temple

The Boddhisattva Temple	Guanin and Amithaba at the front of the temple.
Airborne Guanin	Prince Siddhartha in contemplation.
The Venerable Master Huei Guang

The first temple we visited in the Taichung area was undoubtedly the most personal.  As you can see in the picture, it occupied a little niche on a busy street. I removed (by the magic of Paintshop Pro) a huge light pole in order to give you a decent picture of the building, which very evidently is simultaneously serving as growth facility for various species of vegetation.  The external botany makes for a great effect from the inside, though, such as with the picture-window like front of the temple. You are looking at the guilded figure of Guanin (Kuan-Yin) in front of the standing Buddha Amithaba.  

For those who are new to this world, Guanin is a Chinese folk legend, who became known as the goddess of mercy.  When Buddhism came to China, her identity was merged with that of the Bodhisattva of Mercy, who has been known by the snappy name of Avalokitesvara. (I doubt that his name gets butchered all that much more than, say, "Winfried," does.)  Just as I had seen before in Hong Kong and Singapore, here in Taiwan also the two names and personalities were interchanged freely.  In other words, when people were not intending to be technically accurate, they might easily refer to a representation of the male Avalokitesvara as Guanin, or they might also speak of a Guanin statue as Avalokitesvara.  Please note the picture of the clever depiction of Guanin on a cloud on the external stairwell.

Furthermore, as long as we're addressing the basics, I trust my well-informed readers (a redundancy, to be sure) know that there are numerous Buddhas in the various schools of Buddhism. Amithaba, supervisor of the Western quadrant of the universe and artisan of the much-desired Pure Land, is one of the most popular ones.  

Then there was the statue of a person whose legs were not in the lotus position, and whose finger was pointing at his cheek. It is common knowledge that the various hand positions (mudras) and other bodily attitudes of Eastern divinities have specific meanings, and so it is in this case.  A statue under this description represents Prince Siddhartha after his chariot ride, agonizing over his impending decision to leave the palace and seek enlightenment.  

 The Master of this small temple was the Venerable Huei Guang.  At one time he was a science major at a university in the United States, felt called late in his studies to go into religion and philosophy, but decided to finish his science major before enrolling in seminary (in other words, his early educational biography was very similar to mine).  After several years as monk in the order of Fo Guang Shan (see last Friday's entry), he launched this new project, and he appears to be very popular.  However, note the sword-like tool at his side.  This is the instrument with which the master slaps his student meditators if they accidentally fall asleep during meditation practice.

After an hour or so of good personal conversation, we came to the usual exchange of gifts at the end of such a visit.  Wyatt had come to Taiwan prepared with a number of nicely wrapped Bibles, which would be one of our standard presents.  Master Huei Guang had just mentioned that he had never read the Bible, and that he dearly wished he had one, when Wyatt handed him one.  We broke Chinese custom and encouraged him to open the package right then and there, which he did, and you can see the result on his face.  It had been a long, long time since I have seen anyone so genuinely excited to receive a Bible.  May the Word of God exercise its power in his life and his ongoing search for truth.  

(Just in case you're wondering, we each received a shirt from the temple.)

WHILE I WAS GONE . . .

. . . some good things came out.  Or should that be the other way around: while I was out, some good things came in?  Anyway, between reports on events in Taiwan, please allow me to mention quickly, a few items that happened on the publications front.  The Pocket Guide to World Religions went into its third printing.  In contrast to other publishers, InterVarsity Press always treats a new printing as a minor celebration and sends the author a newly printed copy with a little congratulatory note.  But much more fun with regards to the Pocket Guide was the fact that waiting for me at home was also the Spanish translation of the book.  Apparently it came out in June or so, but IVP hadn't been able to acquire samples to send to the authors of the Pocket Guide series.  

Furthermore, James Sire's fifth edition of his Universe Next Door was officially published.  (Taylor students and graduates may recognize it as one of the original sources for the "Foundations" course, previously known as "Freshman Seminar." The book and course have grown apart from each other to a certain extent; Mark Cosgrove, of course, has now published his notes in book form, and you can find them under the title of Foundations of Christian Thought at ChristianBooksBibles.com.) Anyway, over the years, Jim Sire has added quite a bit of material to his book, and some of you may remember that I wrote a chapter on Islamic theism for it during my last year of teaching.  It didn't rate mention on the front cover, but it's there as chapter 10 of the work.  Let me repeat, as I did a while back, that it is an honor to have been allowed to make a contribution to that classic work.  

That's all for tonight.  Oh, okay, I'll throw in a couple of pictures of Taiwan, just to keep the mood going.  You see here a composite, cleverly stitched together by your skilled, but humble, bloggist. Seasoned travelers will undoubtedly recognize the little plaza outside of the train station of Taichung.  

The Medicine Buddha in LA

Our trip to learn about Buddhism in Taiwan began in L.A.  Not too far from Biola University (though undoubtedly not connected) there is a Buddhist temple, finished in 1988.  When I say "temple," I mean "temple complex," a number of buildings, halls, and exhibitions on what is a virtual Disneyland of Buddhism.  Wait!  Make that "Hsing Yun Land," and you're not far from the reality.

The actual name of the temple is "Hsi Lai," which means "Coming West" or "Moving West," an appropriate name for this mission from the East to the West.  From a material point of view, it definitely seems to be a success.  What we saw there is a phenomenon we encountered all along the way: a revised or adapted form of Buddhism that maintains traditional forms of thought and practice, but attempts simultaneously to appeal to a twenty-first century outlook.  This particular order is called Fo Guang Shan (Buddha's Mountain of Light), and, like most Chinese Buddhism today, its roots straddle early Chan (Zen) and early Pure Land Buddhism.  But don't confuse these Chinese versions with their later Japanese offspring.  This order was convoked by a monk named Hsing Yun in 1967, and its goal has been to establish a Pure Land on earth.  ("I really am for world peace!")

The Official Gate	Welcome to "Moving West"
Some of the "Sixteen Arhats"	"Hero Hall" (The Main Shrine)
Amitayus, the "Medicine Buddha"

For me the most intriguing item of interest was the importance of the "Medicine Buddha."  As is true for most Dhyani Buddhas, his role in Buddhism is highly variable, depending on geographical setting and historical linkages.  In the context of this particular tradition, he is called Amitayus, and he is the Buddha of the East, corresponding to Amithaba, who created the Pure Land of the West.  In other contexts, e.g. Tibetan Buddhism, Amitayus is a projective form of Amithaba, while the Eastern quadrant of the universe is governed by Akshobya, who built his own Pure Land of the East, providing a second opportunity alongside that given by Amithaba.  Regardless of his identification in the mythology, there is no question that the Medicine Buddha plays an important role in the lives of the common people.  He is usually pictured holding an object associated with immortality: a pagoda, a bowl filled with an elixir, or an orb.  

I decided on this, our first temple visit as a team, to be totally honest and let Wyatt and Ncho know as soon as I was too tired to go on and set up a pattern that I would find a place to rest while they could move along further to associated museums, gift shops, or whatever.  We were able to maintain that practice pretty much the whole trip, for which I was very thankful.  

MADE IN TAIWAN

Those who have hung around my blog for a while know that I tend not to advertise overseas trips indiscriminately in advance.  Sorry if you're disappointed, let alone upset, if you got left out of the loop, which has a rather short diameter, but there are several strong reasons for it.  For those of you who knew, thanks for your thoughts and prayer support.  The objective of the trip was to visit a plethora of Buddhist temples in Taiwan and to talk to converts from Buddhism to Christianity.  The team consisted of Wyatt, who is my friend and has been my companion on several previous trips abroad, Ntchotchi (hereafter: "Ncho") along with her husband Intchutchuna (hereafter: "Nchi").  Oh yeah, you might not find them listed under those names listed in the phone book either.  I'm not meaning to be overdramatic (if I were, I would have to disguise my identity also and not publish any pictures), but just following some basic measures for publishing something unrestricted on the web.  In Taiwan, we were joined on most days by Wa-ta-wa (hereafter "Wa"), a Buddhist college professor, who opened many a door for us.  

For tonight, I will just give a quick summary and a few introductory pictures.  After spending a couple of days in Los Angeles, we enjoyed a 14 ½ hour flight to Taipei, which we followed up immediately with a five-hour bus ride down to Tainan, our headquarters for the next week or so.  Since most of our locations were around Taichung, we did quite a bit of commuting by train each day.  Then we went to Hualien by way of Taipei (the quick way of getting there), and finally spent our last few days in Taipei.

The trip was physically demanding, but everyone was looking out for me: making sure I was taking my meds, eating enough fruits and vegetables, and taking rests whenever possible.  

Taiwan is an intrinsically beautiful island, though in all candor I must say that much of the industrialized part of the west coast has taken on a somewhat disappointing resemblance to New Jersey with palm trees.  Nevertheless, much of the rest of it makes up in aesthetic appeal.   At that, I need to apologize for some of my pictures in advance.  Due to the virtually ever-present haze, photography became a little difficult at times.  In some cases, I've left the view as it was; in others I've enhanced it subsequently when I've wanted you to see details, creating a little bit of a spinach effect for the greenery.  You may substitute other vegetables of your choice as you see fit. 

Lots of stories to come!