Learn Chinese with Me

It is an ambitious title, and with only the commonest knowledge in both, I could no more than attempt to just touch the very surface of it.

In China today, you could not see, as you would in Thailand, barefoot monks in orange or red robes walking in a line at dawn going around the neighborhood to accept almsgiving. Nor you could see, as in North India, holy temples dot the lower ranges of Himalayas, and in almost every household, there is a statue of Buddha, people there typically start their day by offering fresh flowers to Buddha and saying their morning prayers.

Once mother, when I touched upon this topic, said “I am a Buddhist myself”. I bluntly told her that by going to the temple once a year (often not even), burning some incense and asking Buddha to solve whatever problems she happens to have in life does not make her a Buddhist. ( We also call this “临时抱拂脚” in Chinese).

Yet, in one respect she is not wrong: merely by being a Chinese, she is a little bit of a Buddist. For it is on your tongue, in the language you speak, it is in the way you think, it is in your blood.

It’s said Buddhism came to China around 67A.D., so it has existed in China for nearly two thousand years, and with such a long history as that, it has time enough to weave and merge in every aspect of Chinese people’s daily life. And it has already, through these long years, ingrained in Chinese language and mind and has become a main part of China’s own culture.

Indeed, one of the Four Great Classical Novels(四大名著 sì dà míngzhù)–the four best-known Chinese classic works–Journey to the West(西游记 xīyóujì) is about a legendary pilgrimage made by five well-known characters: 唐僧, 孙悟空，猪八戒，沙和尚，白龙马 ( Monk Tang, Monkey King, Zhu bajie, Monk Sha, Dragon Prince), to the west region (西域 xīyù, modern day India) to obtain the Buddhist sacred text (佛经 fójīng).

It would be safe to say that no Chinese, children and adults alike, do not know these five persons, and for many a Chinese children, one of the pleasures in the long summer afternoon is to watch Journey to the West, and almost every Chinese little boy and little girl, has at one time or another, dreamed of being 孙悟空 the “Monkey King”.

It’s said there are about thirty-five thousand Chinese words come from Buddhism, and here are only a very few examples:

缘分 yuánfèn, lot or luck by which people are brought together, is a Buddhism concept deeply believed by Chinese, or Asian people.

慈悲 cíbēi, merciful, or to give others happiness, rescue others from suffering.

如意 rúyì, it’s originally a claw stick in ancient India–they still have it today–for scratching the back and relieving itching, coming to China, the word took up an auspicious meaning: satisfaction, good luck. 祝你万事如意, we still say it today “May all go well with you”.

善有善报，恶有恶报 Shàn yǒu shàn bào, è yǒu è bào, good deeds beget good deeds, bad deeds beget bad deeds, is a Buddhism concept, though in English, you also say “what goes around comes around”.

Also, some of the naming of the most common things are influenced by Buddhism. In China, especially in the north we also call our father 父亲 fùqīn, 爹 diē, this word is from some Buddism text when it was first introduced in China.

We call our fourth finger, the ringfinger 无名指 (Wúmíngzhǐ) no-name finger, is partially because in India they call this finger the same way.

世界 Shìjiè, the world, in ancient China before the Buddhism was there, they call it “天下tiānxià” sky-under: under the sky; the world. 世 means three times lines: past, present, future, and 界 means the ten boundaries, or directions: east, south, west, north, southeast, southwest, northeast, northwest, up, down (东, 南, 西, 北, 东南，西南，东北，西北, 上, 下).

Even the word for wisdom in Chinese “智慧Zhìhuì” is from Buddhism.

Our mind is shaped by Buddhism: 境由心造 Jìng yóu xīn zào, or “circumstances/conditions are created by the heart”, or to translate is roughly, your attitude towards life determines how you live it, do you smell Buddhism in it?

It is in our poems: 出淤泥而不染 Chū yūní ér bù rǎn: out of the mud but not stained–it is a praise for the symbol of Buddhism: the lotus flower.

It is in our idioms: 盲人摸象 Mángrénmōxiàng, blind man touching the elephant, means only knowing part of a whole picture, 空中楼阁 Kōngzhōnglóugé castle in the air.

So when a Chinese, any Chinese, says that he is a Buddhist, he is not, actually, far wrong.

There is a simplicity of Americans which could work for or against itself depending on the situation.

With the naivety and lightness of a child, they believed that there is a solution for every problem and everything could be solved and improved for the better and life is as simple as that.

When the therapist, there was a mild shock when I looked at her short, nondescript person for the online photo gave no clue of her height and her air: there was something of a slow drabness about her which, in a way, could be an advantage because it disarmed and no one could be afraid of her. I at once trusted her: she was the wise old sister who no one paid any particular attention to and whose best quality was she listened to your troubles. I settled down to tell her all my thoughts whatsoever without any reserve.

And when the she asked if I had ever had suicidal thoughts, I did not know it was just a format.

I laughed and a line from Camus popped up in my head: “All healthy men have thought of their own suicide.” And I said that I was not eight, of course I have had fleeting thoughts of this kind but I never seriously entertained it. I said that sometimes you wonder what’s the meaning of life and all that and what’s so good about it that we hold fast on to it. Then I, as I imagined most people, shun the thought of death instinctively like it’s morbid, a dicease. Because, I philosophised, we instinctively cling to life and death scares us.

She nodded and wrote down something in her notebook. And I wondered what she wrote. I felt she was making judgements and analyses of me through my words which told something important about me that I could not see myself. I noticed that her boots were dirty and her hair unkempt and her office shabby. I tried to pick up some clues from her eyes and face which were hiding behind her huge glasses, some clues that would tell me something about her and her life, she probably was forty-five? Does she have a husband or children? Since she is a therapist herself, she must know how to be mentally well and happy and all that? How many people’s stories has she listened to? And how many has she messed up? Because I began to detect a nervousness, a hint of excess caustion which could be the aftereffect of some catastrophe. It might, after all, be part of the package of being a therapist. I vaguely concluded.

“Do you have depression?” She asked and again I tried to see her eyes behind her glasses but could not. Though her voice was kind and calm and non judgemental enough.

Oh. I said. Of course I’m not alway happy. I get depressed. Yes. But I wouldn’t say it’s the medical term of depression. I sometimes get depressed and I just couldn’t face the world or face other people. I sleep a lot and I watch lots of movies during those times. And I lose interest in other things. But I would snap out of it in two or three days, at most a week. Then I would be back on the track again and be very active physically and mentally like I generally do.

She wrote down some more words in her notebook. For some reason, this act irritated me a little.

“How long would you say you sleep during this period?” She asked.

“Oh. eight hours, or ten. I don’t know, or more. I mean I simply do not want to get out of bed. You know sometimes you have the feeling that there is no hope in achieving the things you really want to achieve. It’s a fleeting feeling. Still, it’s a feeling.”

“Would you say you could sleep ten to twelve hours during this period?” She asked.

“Sure.”

“How often does it occur?” She asked.

I could not say. Sometimes months, or maybe a year could go by without it happening. But sometimes it happens once every few months. I confessed.

“I have to make a report, an analysis, to the insurance company.” She explained.

I nodded and thought no more of it.

A week or two later. I was to be asked by her questions that made my mad which, in a way, played into her hand.

“Have you had suicidal thought in the last twenty-four hours?” She asked.

“I’m referring you to some therapist who has experience with depression.” She said.

I was, of course, furious and told her to stand off and I was made more mad by her absolute calm tone: she seemed to be convinced that I was mental and suicidal and there was a real possibility of me committing suicide in the next twenty-four hours and I had the chilly feeling of a confirmed patient in an asylum who was trying to persuade the doctor she was not crazy and screamed: “I’m not mad. I’m sane.”

“If you were a hammer, everything is a nail.” I was told when I related my experience.

And I just thought, if Chinese, with the stubbornness of a child, have always been determined to avoid the mentioning of “death” at all cost, Americans are as scared, and the word “suicide” could disturb and upset and set, the sometimes delightfully and occasionally unbelievably simple Americans, into such a panic that it’s almost like a taboo here too.

So next time if I were asked, I know just the right answer for that: “No no no no no. Absolutely not. I’m as happy as oh any laughing girl you see on a commercial.”

Buddhism and Chinese Language

An American Experience