Chan Master Nan Huai Jin
In this generation, there was a great master—Master Taixu. Back then, we thought he was not quite on the right path, but later, I came to greatly admire him. Today, the reforms that the newer generation of monastics are bringing to Chinese Buddhism originated from him. At that time, everyone criticized him as a “political monk,” but now, looking back, he was truly remarkable.
Taixu was originally a journalist and even participated in the revolution with the founder. Everyone scorned him, calling him a political monk, always going back and forth with the central government. We looked down on him then, even disliked him! I thought he lacked true cultivation. But he authored many works, writing so many books in a lifetime...
Later on, I came to hold him in great respect. At first, I didn’t even want to look at him. I didn’t like seeking out famous Dharma masters, thinking they had no time for real cultivation. But eventually, I deeply respected him. Master Taixu had so many disciples taking refuge with him and each one made offerings to him. He never looked at the red envelopes—whether they contained one or two yuan, he never touched the money. The money piled up like a mountain, and he wouldn’t even glance at it. He upheld the precepts! He never laid a hand on money, which is also part of the monastic code. He didn’t care how much it was, nor how others used it. He lived like this his entire life! That was no easy feat—yet for him, it came naturally...
The second point is that I realized he had great meditative concentration. Once, he went to Nanjing because the central government needed something from him. He had many disciples and friends in Nanjing. When he arrived, usually many important political figures would come to greet him. As he got off the train, he suddenly needed to urinate badly. So, he just pulled down his pants and urinated in front of everyone, not caring at all about the crowd. He forgot that all these people were there, forgot the situation—he wasn’t crazy, he just pulled down his pants and relieved himself.
Those important officials who came to receive him tried to support him, saying, "Master, come this way to urinate." But he didn’t care! There were men and women, a huge crowd, and all high-ranking officials. I saw him wearing a pair of glasses and thought, wow! This monk is in deep meditative absorption all day long—truly remarkable! No wonder after his death, there were so many relics (śarīra) left behind (Note: more than 300). Later, I said to my teacher, Mr. Yuan, that sometimes we misjudge people. Mr. Yuan said, “Yes, he is truly remarkable.”...
These were the ways of the past greats. Unfortunately, nowadays when you seek to study the Dharma, there’s no place where you can see such examples. Looking back now, Master Taixu was truly extraordinary. He was so busy every day, yet he used his political connections to protect Buddhism. At that time, Buddhism was in a far more pitiful state than it is now. During the warlord era, temples were confiscated and filled with soldiers. He had to fight hard with the government to drive the warlord troops out.
(Note: Master Taixu was considered one of the four great monks of Chinese Mahayana Buddhism in the recent era, along with Master Ying-guang, Master Hong-yi and Master Xu-yun)
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My spiritual experiences
By Master Taixu
My decision to take ordination was driven by many complex factors, but the primary reason was to seek spiritual penetrations or supernatural powers. I was unable to distinguish between Taoism and Buddhism at that time. Therefore, for the first year, my underlying motivation was always the pursuit of such powers whether I was receiving precepts, studying Sutras, or practicing Chan meditation. The first year was thus spent in such a nonsensical pursuit.
By the end of the first year, I was already very familiar with the Lotus Sutra and could recite it five or six times by heart every day. In the summer of the second year, I attended lectures on the Lotus Sutra and finally understood the distinction between Buddhas, immortals and heavenly gods.
I once stayed in a meditation hall fervently seeking realization of mind’s nature. While studying the Śūraṅgama Sūtra, I also read the "Records of Teachings" and "Biographies of Eminent Monks". In my third year, I attended lectures on the Śūraṅgama Sūtra and gained a general understanding of the Tiantai school’s doctrinal contemplation. I also explored the Huayan school’s Five Teachings and the Yogācāra school’s Eight Essentials. Yet, the perplexing koans (a Chan meditative method) I was investigating still weighed on my mind.
In autumn, I moved to the scripture repository to study the Tripitaka Buddhist canon. At that time, I enjoyed reading the works of masters like Hanshan and Zibo, as well as other writings, poetry, and treatises of past great masters. After several months, an elderly senior monk who was also studying the Tripitaka canon advised me, “When reading the Tripitaka canon, do not skip around randomly. Proceed from the beginning to the end in order.” Since I had been struggling to find a systematic approach, I followed his advice and began with the Mahāprajñāpāramitā Sūtra, the first text in the canon.
After about a month of reading, my mind and body gradually settled down. Before I could finish the 400-chapter Mahāprajñāpāramitā Sūtra, I came across a passage that declared, “All phenomenon are unobtainable. Even if there were a single dharma beyond Nirvāṇa, it too would be unobtainable!” Suddenly, my body and mind were emptied, yet awareness remained. In that instant of emptiness-clarity, there was no duality between self and all external phenomenon of the entire universe. In the next moment, I saw that all phenomena in the universe were within boundless great emptiness-awareness, like insubstantial shadows. This state lasted for an hour or two. When I got up from that session, I felt extraordinarily light, serene, and at ease. This experience lasted for the next twenty to thirty days.
After finishing the Mahāprajñāpāramitā Sūtra, I delved into the ocean of the Avataṃsaka Sūtra. My mind-states were nothing other than utterly empty yet vibrantly alive. All the Chan koans I had meditated upon and all the doctrinal principles I had memorized dissolved without a trace. Previously, I had possessed a strong memory, able to memorize the entire text after a single careful reading. But from then on, my memory weakened while my powers of comprehension became very strong.
Though I had never received a proper education, from that point onward, I began writing many pieces that were neither poetry nor prose. My eloquence in speech and writing became remarkably sharp. Fellow monks, including Venerable Jingguan (who later became abbot of Jinshan Temple), suspected I had fallen into the “Chan sickness” described by Master Hanshan. Yet my mind remained perfectly peaceful and stable.
Looking back, I realized that had I continued cultivating that state of meditative wisdom, I would have attained the noble results of the Three Vehicles. Unfortunately, my path shifted when I met a monk from Huashan who was running a monastic school in Hangzhou. During a brief stay at the scripture repository, he heard from others about my miraculous wisdom and began conversing with me on scientific concepts—astronomy, geography, physics, and chemistry etc. He also gave me books like Huxley’s “Evolution and Ethics”, Kang Youwei’s “The Book of Great Unity”, Tan Sitong’s “On Benevolence”, the collected works of Zhang Taiyan, and Liang Qichao’s “Chamber of Drinking Ice”.
At first, I was skeptical, having only studied classical Chinese literature and Buddhist texts. We debated for over ten days, with hundreds of thousands of exchanges. Eventually, I found his reasoning persuasive, particularly admiring Tan Sitong’s “On Benevolence”. This encounter kindled in me a compassionate vow to save the world, the nation, and all beings through Buddhism.
At the time, I believed that by deepening my understanding of the Dharma and supplementing it with modern knowledge, I could truly help the world.
The following year, I joined the monk-poet Bazhi Toutuo in establishing a Buddhist education society. That winter, we attended the Jiangsu Buddhist Education Conference in Zhenjiang. Later, I also participated in Layman Yang Renshan’s “Jetavana Hermitage”— a project aimed at reviving Buddhism in India.
From then on, I no longer practiced meditation as before. This period lasted from the 34th year of the Guangxu reign (1908) until the 3rd year of the Republic (1914). When World War One broke out, I began doubting Western ideologies and my own ability to save the world through Buddhism. Feeling that wasting my time this way was meaningless, I retreated to Putuo Mountain for solitary retreat.
Two or three months into seclusion, during an evening meditation, my mind grew still. When the temple bell rang, it was as if my thoughts completely stopped—I fell into a state of unawareness until the bell next morning. Upon awakening, I first perceived light and sound pervading all of space. Space, light and sound merged into one seamless unity, without distinction between self and other, inner or outer. Following that, thoughts arose, gradually restoring ordinary consciousness. From then on, the meanings of the Awakening of Faith and the Śūraṅgama Sūtra became plain to me as if I had realized them myself. I began composing my Concise Treatise on the Śūraṅgama Sūtra
After this experience, I continued studying Sutras, writing, and meditating. That year, I focused on Yogācāra texts. Though I consulted other treatises, I paid special attention to Kui-ji’s “Commentary on the Mind-Only”. When it came to the commentary on how “false wisdom and false exposition cannot grasp the true nature,” I reread it many times. Once, while doing this, I entered a meditative concentration where I had direct perception. This was different from the other two times, because I saw that all phenomenon, arising through interdependence, had a very profound order which was precise and could never be mixed up or disordered. This state of mind or insight could be called up at will henceforth whenever I stilled my mind and observed.
From then on, my manner of thinking and writing transformed. Formerly natural, fluid and spontaneous, it now became very meticulous, precise and structured. This difference is evident in my writings during this period.
I described my experiences of three profound meditative states above, but due to the increasing demands on my time, I did not have the time to further deepen these insights.
After the first experience, my memory was no longer as sharp as before, but my understanding deepened significantly. That year, my hair had turned white and my eyesight became near-sighted. Later, after that experience, my hair regained its darker color, while my eyesight has remained unchanged to this day.
Through the second experience, I verified for myself the explanations given in the Awakening of Faith and the Śūraṅgama Sūtra on how the original basis of wisdom gives way to deluded appearances of dependent-origination. The third experience was a direct perception of the Yogācāra view of cause and effect. It is said that “cause and effect never fails" and that became vividly clear to me. The truth is that every single phenomena and event unfolds with total precision and order according to cause and effect. There is not the slightest mistake or error.
Each of these three meditative breakthroughs brought transformations in both mind and body. At times, I even had signs of divine sight, divine hearing and clairvoyance. All the six spiritual penetrations are attainable. The workings of karmic cause and effect explained based on divine sight and spiritual penetration of past lives are completely to be trusted.
However, as my compassionate vows to benefit others weighed too heavily on me, I could not devote myself fully to deepening these meditative attainments. Thus, I am unable to establish a systematic path that others could follow for their own practice and realization.
