By JAVIER C. HERNÁNDEZ, New York Times, Sept 7, 2016
BEIJING, China -- For centuries, Buddhists seeking enlightenment made the
journey to Longquan Monastery, a lonesome temple on a hilltop in the hinterlands
of northwest Beijing. Under the ginkgo and cypress trees, they meditated,
chanted and pored over ancient texts.
 A view of Longquan
Monastery, in the hinterlands
of Beijing. In success-driven
China, many people marvel
at the decision of the
temple’s monks to leave
behind lucrative careers in
the tech sector to devote
themselves to Buddhiststudy.
Credit Giulia Marchi for The
NewYork Times
Now a new generation has
arrived. They wear hoodies, watch television shows like “The Big Bang Theory”
and use chat apps to trade mantras. Many, with jobs at some of China’s hottest
and most demanding companies, feel burned-out and spiritually adrift, and are
looking for change.
“Life in the outside world is chaotic and stressful,” said Sun Shaoxuan, 39, the
chief technology officer at an education start-up. “Here, I can be at peace.”
As a spiritual revival sweeps China, Longquan has become a haven for a distinct
brand of Buddhism, one that preaches connectivity instead of seclusion and that
emphasizes practical advice over deep philosophy.
Monks and volunteers at Longquan Monastery in Beijing perform the morning
songjing, or chanting of Buddhist sutras.
The temple is run by what may be some of the most highly educated monks in
the world: nuclear physicists, math prodigies and computer programmers who
gave up lives steeped in precision to explore the ambiguities of the spiritual realm.
To build a large following, the monks have put their digital prowess to work. They
have pioneered a popular series of cartoons based on Buddhist ideas like suffering
and reincarnation. (“Having a bad mood can ruin one’s good luck,” a recent
cartoon said.) This past spring, they introduced a two-foot-tall robot named
Xian’er to field questions from visitors, the temple’s first foray into artificial
intelligence.
Traditionalists worry that Longquan’s flashy high-tech tools may have muddled
he teachings of the Buddha, the dharma. They say its emphasis on practical
topics like resolving family conflict and achieving success neglects more
important philosophical questions.
But the leader of the monastery, the Venerable Xuecheng, who dispenses bits of
wisdom every day to millions of online followers, has defended his approach,
saying that Buddhism can stay relevant only by embracing modern tools. In a
computer-dominated world, he has said, it is no longer realistic to expect people
to attend daily lectures.
“Buddhism is old and traditional, but it’s also modern,” he said in an interview in
March with the state-run news agency Xinhua. “We should use modern methods
to spread the wisdom of Buddhism.”
On a recent Sunday morning, I stood outside Longquan’s gates, watching as
hundreds of volunteers and tourists ascended to the temple. They bowed to one
another and took turns sweeping cracked walkways. Some wandered through the
organic vegetable garden, stopping to prop up unruly tomato plants.
The modernity of the temple was inescapable. While it was first built in 957,
many of its original structures were demolished by war and, more recently, by
the Cultural Revolution, when Chinese Buddhists were persecuted. Only at the
turn of the century was the temple salvaged and rebuilt by a Buddhist
businesswoman, Cai Qun. It reopened in 2005, and it is now equipped with
fingerprint scanners, webcams and iPads for studying sutras, or Buddhist texts.
The state-run news media speaks of the temple in almost mythical terms. In
success-driven China, many people marvel at the decision of the temple’s monks
to leave behind lucrative careers in the tech sector to devote themselves to
Buddhist study, rising at 3:55 a.m. each day for morning prayers.
Longquan has become a favorite showpiece for the ruling Communist Party, which
officially promotes atheism but has led a push in recent years to revive ancient
cultural traditions. In addition to leading Longquan, the Venerable Xuecheng is the
president of the Buddhist Association of China, a party-controlled supervisory
organ. The temple displays the writings of President Xi Jinping, and long-term
residents must submit information about their patriotism and political views.
In a kind of soft-power spiritual push, the Venerable Xuecheng has sought to turn
the teachings of the monastery into a global export, translating his writings into
more than a dozen languages. In July, he helped open a temple in Botswana for
Chinese expatriates.
Longquan’s proximity to several of Beijing’s top universities and the city’s main
science and technology hubs has made it popular among young people. Many of
them are searching for deeper meaning in a society rife with materialism. Others
seek an escape from grueling schedules, and tips on relaxation.
The temple is renowned in start-up circles, in part because of a widely circulated
rumor involving Zhang Xiaolong, one of the inventors of WeChat, a popular
messaging app. News articles have claimed that Mr. Zhang, having hit a stumbling
block, attended a retreat at the temple, after which he gained inspiration for
WeChat. (Mr. Zhang, through a spokesman, denied the reports.)
Today, young entrepreneurs make the pilgrimage to Longquan in hopes of
creative epiphanies. They work at some of China’s most prominent technology
companies, including JD.com, an e-commerce giant, and Xiaomi, a smartphone
maker.
“Some of the people who come here may not actually be incredibly interested or
believe in Buddhism,” said Rax Xie, a software developer. “But they will have a
certain connection and receptiveness to the thought and culture behind Buddhism.”
On Sunday mornings, Mr. Sun, the technology entrepreneur, makes his way from
his suburban apartment to Longquan. He slips on a maroon robe and begins to
chant.
Mr. Sun was once a skeptic of religion. But after a spiritual awakening last year,
he said he came to embrace Buddhism, eschewing meat and alcohol and
persuading his wife to join him on his spiritual journey.
I met Mr. Sun at a chanting ceremony one Sunday at Longquan. The meditation
hall was covered in pillows decorated with lotus flowers; a large, gleaming
Buddha statue rose from the front.
A wiry man with soft, dark eyes, he sat in the first row of worshipers, a bell in his
hand, and wore a golden sash reading, “Thanks to those who taught me
salvation.”
After the ceremony, he told me about his transformation. As he saw it, he was
once self-centered and angry, prone to barking orders at his family and
co-workers. While his mother was a Buddhist, he saw the religion as “just a story.”
Then, in the fall, he attended a three-day retreat at Longquan intended for
information technology workers. He was forced to give up his cellphone and
passed the time by meditating, listening to lectures and working in the garden.
Almost immediately, he said, his mind felt cleaner and lighter.
Mr. Sun and his wife now attend services nearly every week. In the afternoons,
he performs maintenance on Longquan’s websites and helps organize workshops
on back-end programming.
He said he had come to see the temple as a “small utopia, free of conflict,” in a
society that could sometimes feel riddled with deception.
“When you go to the mountain, you don’t need to think: ‘Who will trick me? Who
will harass me? Who will think badly of me?’” he said. “Once you have a sense of
security and trust, then you will want to open up, help others and explore your
beliefs.” |
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