少林寺方丈释永信(Shi Yongxin)刚把iPod的耳塞放入耳朵，耳膜立刻被震耳欲聋的纽约武当派乐队(Wu-Tang Clan)的音乐震得咚咚直响，但他神情依然坦然自若。
出于礼貌地听了一会儿后，释永信坦言："我听不懂。"他的普通话地方口音很重，饶舌组合武当派是上世纪90年代来自纽约斯塔腾区(Staten Island)的新潮乐队，对上世纪70年代功夫电影推崇备至，自诩就来自"少林贫民窟"。
我们就坐于少林寺餐馆内，少林寺是联合国教科文组织(Unesco)名下的世界遗产，坐落于中国中部河南省嵩山(Mount Song)郁郁葱葱的山谷中。这家规模不大、有1500年历史的寺院是佛教禅宗(Zen Buddhism)的祖庭，也是中国功夫的精神家园。几百年来，寺中的僧人在此研习武术，为的就是匡扶社会正义，寻求悟道。外面，游客正漫步于寺院，观看名满天下的武僧的定时表演，他们展示力量以及眼花缭乱的功夫。
少林寺这么一个地方能与全球最知名、最闹腾的饶舌组合联系在一起，确实难以想象。但我设法对释永信说，即便他并不知道武当派饶舌组合，但上世纪90年代的很多西方成年人一开始知道少林寺源于听《全球闻名的少林寺》(Shaolin Worldwide)这样的歌，歌词大致是这样的：
绝地武士(Jedi)，人若犯我，我必犯人，
什么少林寺，别他妈地跟我扯淡！
饶舌乐队靠沽名钓誉那就中招了。
"有关少林寺的不实之词实在太多，"释永信说，神态十分淡定，是多年修炼的结果。"这些人并不了解少林寺，也不代表真正的少林历史、少林文化与少林精神的传承。"
在武当派饶舌乐队RZA、大佬鬼脸(Ghostface Killah) 、Ol' Dirty Bastard 及其他成员看来天经地义，但在中国，这正是很多人口诛笔伐释永信的把柄。46岁的释永信争议不断，自他1999年升任该寺第30位方丈以来，就不断饱受攻击，指控他收受贵重礼品，把少林古寺商业化。中国因特网上公然指责释永信的那些人认为，他的种种行为反映了全社会赤裸裸的唯利主义，在过去几十年，共产主义意识形态分崩离析，全民追求财富留下了巨大的精神与道德真空。
佛教是中国的主流宗教，全国信众超过3亿人。与其它佛教流派一样，禅宗强调放弃世俗纷扰，通过修行与践行佛教教义（包括禁止伤害任何的生灵），最终实现悟道。少林寺是很多武侠小说与电影主角的发生地，已经成为中国通俗文化不可缺少的组成部分。事实上，它是中国走向世界最知名的金字招牌，对此释永信方丈"居功至伟"，中国媒体给了他"和尚CEO"的绰号。
少林寺的经营包括出资建立全球功夫巡回表演团，允许影视、卡通及舞台剧冠名以及先期投资中药系列产品。在北美、欧洲以及其它国家，它还派出僧人建立了40多个功夫及修行中心，但释永信说这些中心以及其它"文化营运"勉强保本。相反，他说寺院每年几百万元赢余中的大部都是来自每年约200万游客的门票收入，其中30%归少林寺，70%上交地方政府。
少林寺在全球注册了商标，以阻止他人盗用其名来推销不合教规理念的东西。但它的主要战场在中国，因为中国保护知识产权的意识薄弱，从生产软饮料、筷子到电器与汽车的各色公司都盗用少林寺商标。甚至白酒与火腿肠的生产厂家也是如此，虽然禅宗严禁食肉与饮酒。
大量的侵权事件以及中国司法系统糟糕的知识产权保护，意味着少林寺追究每位侵权者得不偿失，但释永信说最终一切都会向好的方向转变，对此他持乐观态度。"若付诸司法来保护我们的权益，就会花大量的时间与精力，结果却不一定事逐人愿，"他说。"中国人将来一旦与西方人一样，有很强的法制观念，侵权行为自然就会停止。"让我觉得惊讶的是，他的说辞与中国主政者如出一辙。
然而，他解释说，创建于1988年的河南少林寺产业开发总公司(Henan Shaolin Temple Industrial Development Company)是中国第一个实名注册商标的宗教团体。"我们会应用法律与商业手段来保护自己的知识产权与品牌，保护自己的文化传承，"他说。
自公元5世纪建寺后，少林寺经历了多次破坏与重建。1949年共产党夺取政权后，其周边所有的农田都被充公，并重新分配给农民，使得寺里僧人无法自食其力。十年文革浩劫中，留在寺里的僧人遭到毒打与迫害，被迫解散。但十年浩劫结束后，有些僧人回到了寺里，开始重振其传统，包括恢复练功习武。
1981年，16岁的释永信进入少林寺，从此以后，他一直立志要重整雄风。为了保护及进一步传承少林寺，我感觉他做了很多妥协。但是，释永信说，梵蒂冈(Vatican)就有自己的银行，就是一家跨国公司，而少林寺每年的收入甚至都无法入围全中国100家最有钱的寺院。
"我们银行存款不多，但库里的存粮很多，足够吃上两年，所以即便遭灾，少林寺可保两年衣食无忧，"他补充说。正是对中国传统历史的深刻理解，才造就了他与众不同的商业技能。
午餐由寺院的老厨师亲自安排，服务僧人端来第一道菜——烤麸、腌萝卜与豆腐干做成的、被誉为"三珍迎客"(three treasures to welcome guests)的精选素小吃——这时释永信的手机响了，他从飘逸的深红色袈裟中掏出嗡嗡作响的三星手机，并礼貌地挂断了对方的电话。我这时注意到他的手指修剪得很整齐，耳垂也特别大，这样的体征在中国的文化里表示能力出众、财运亨通。
菜不断地被端上来，方丈矜持地说自己吃饭一般很简单。事实上，我被允许参加清晨的诵经课，并与众僧一起吃了一顿丰盛早餐——大米粥、素菜以及热馍，给我们端饭的小和尚年龄不超过10岁。释永信与其他和尚一起坐在木凳子上一声不吭地吃早餐，不到15分钟，大家就风卷残云地吃完了。
看到他的手机后，我觉得正好可以问问他偏好小饰件与贵重礼品那些事，释永信经常在公开场合乘坐大众SUV车(Volkswagen SUV)，堂而皇之使用iPad。"大众车不到100万元，是地方政府所送，因为我们给他们带来了不菲的收入，"他淡定的神情中，略显不悦。"我们吸引了很多的游客与学生，所以地方政府奖励我一辆车，勉励我要更好地工作。"
他说iPad与其它饰件都是信徒所赠，但都要用到无法再用才更换。"我所做的一切不为别人，而是为了整个社会与大众；也不为我个人及地方政府，如果社会或信众有需要，我都会竭力为之。"
接下来吃的这道菜由卷心菜与豆腐干丁做成，它有个好听的名字叫"飘香瓦罐"(floating fragrance in a Buddhist pot)，但我注意到释永信几乎未动筷子。他提到与地方政府的利益分成形象地说明了在中国，宗教团体与宣扬无神论的共产党之间要处好关系是多么不容易。中国政府只承认五大正式宗教团体——道教、佛教、伊斯兰教、天主教以及新教——并要求他们组成受"爱委会"监管的机构，爱委会则由国家宗教事务管理局(Administration for Religious Affairs)与统战部门(Communist party's United Front department)所管辖。
北京政府并不承认其他世界性宗教，如东正教(Orthodox Christianity)、犹太教(Judaism)、摩
门教(Mormonism)以及巴哈伊教(baha'i)，也不承认很多天主教与新教的秘密家庭教会。但只
要这些非官方活动属于私下行为，官方也能容忍，但任何显示政治苗头的组织都会遭到政府
无情打压。
释永信则无需要担心这些事。1998年以来，他一直是全国人大（National People's Congress，是摆设性议会）代表， 2002年以来，一直担任官方的中国佛教协会(Buddhist Association of China)副会长。通常说来，他与寺里其他一些高僧就能决定谁能受戒当和尚，并随后在省级宗教事务局登记备案。但方丈由宗教事务局直接任命，这些机构几乎清一色都是信奉无神论的共产党员。
我问他是如何被选中当方丈的，他的回答很简单："因为我听组织的话。我愿意全心全意为人民服务。""为人民服务"是共产党的传统口号，是各级党政机构的口头禅。他解释说：宗教服务于国家在中国由来已久，在其他许多国家也莫不如此。"纵观历史，概莫能外：宗教必须敬重帝王，敬重政府。如若不从，它就很难生存下来，"他说。"我们必须依靠政府来宣传与发展。政府权力很大，若没有它的支持，我们很难发展。"
他这时的说话口吻又俨然象一位跨国公司的CEO。
这时小和尚又端上一盘油炸茄子与豆腐做的菜，菜名就叫"悟道开颜"(blossoming smile of enlightenment)，我问如何回应那些批评者，对方指责他痴迷于把神圣与世俗揉杂在一起。
"我们的目的旨在弘扬佛法，净化众生灵魂与心智，"释永信说。"事实上，我们迄今为止的商业运作很保守，因为我们不想太多介入世俗事，也不想过度开发少林寺。"他提及2009年，正是自己与其他一些僧人的强烈反对，才使得当地政府让少林寺到国内或国际上市的提议束之高阁。
方丈吩咐菜上慢点，多数菜他尝了一下就被端走了。整顿午饭，似乎想让我相信他并非如外界所传那样，是个贪图享受的品行不端之辈。他也多次提到自己与手下的僧人生活简朴，每天的生活费只有7元钱。
解释自己承受社会压力的那一套说辞，却显得很有说服力。"我们希望借助少林寺的影响，能扭转时下不良社会风气；这几年，我们亲眼看到全民污染地球，过度开发利用资源，物欲追求日盛一日，"他说。"我们希望每个人都如僧侣一样生活简朴，不要象那些一夜暴富者那样追求名牌与奢侈生活。"
最后端上来的一道菜是佛家版的"佛跳墙"(Buddha jumps over the wall)，细细品味着这自相矛盾的菜名，释永信不禁呵呵笑了起来，这道菜通常是用肉与海货煨的高汤，味道鲜美得甚至能让和尚违背清规戒律，翻墙而出。
"瞧瞧，这道菜可以让你感知中国佛教的包容与慈悲，"他说。"在其它文化或宗教中，如果用了这样亵渎神灵的菜名，定会掀起轩然大波。"
起誓不伤害生灵的佛家弟子天天舞刀弄剑，练习用铁拳击碎天灵盖，同样显得很具说服力。对于释永信来说，暂时的利益交换——包括商业运作——似乎仅仅只是悟道路上的必然分化而已。
--------
三味餐馆(Samadhi restaurant)
地点：中国河南省少林寺
'三珍迎客'：烤麸、腌萝卜与豆腐干丁
素鱼翅汤：南瓜与豆面
春卷：用瓜、萝卜与素鸡做成
飘香砂锅：卷心菜与豆腐丁
悟道开颜：油炸茄子，豆腐与素菜
佛跳墙：人参、菌类与雪果炖的浓汤
定价：每客约80美元
（相互抢着买单差不多折腾了快1个小时，最后还是由我买单，因为这历来是FT的规矩。但违背了中国人的礼仪，但这种所谓的不合规矩最终还算被接受了。）
译者：常和
http://www.ftchinese.com/story/001040867
With my iPod headphones plugged in, the abbot of Shaolin keeps his expression perfectly neutral as his eardrums are assailed by the thumping beats of the Wu-Tang Clan.
"I don't get it," says Shi Yongxin in his heavily accented Mandarin, after politely listening to the pioneering 1990s rappers from the New York borough of Staten Island who, in homage to kung fu movies of the 1970s, described themselves as coming "straight from the slums of Shaolin".
We're sitting in the restaurant of the Shaolin Temple, a Unesco world heritage site nestled in a wooded valley in the shadow of Mount Song in China's central Henan province. This small monastery is the 1,500-year-old cradle of Zen Buddhism and the spiritual home of kung fu, where for centuries the temple's monks have practised martial arts so they can uphold justice in society and cultivate their own search for enlightenment. Outside in the warm sunshine, tourists wander the temple grounds and watch incredible displays of strength and acrobatic kung fu, performed at regular intervals by the world-famous fighting monks.
It's hard to imagine a place less compatible with the violent tirades of one of hip-hop's greatest ensembles. But I'm trying to explain to his eminence that, even though he is unaware of the Wu-Tang Clan, many people who came of age in the west in the 1990s first heard about his temple from songs such as "Shaolin Worldwide", and lyrics such as:
The Jedi, only use the Force if ya force me
Shaolin What? Don't get it f**ked up and cross me
Rappers gettin' stuck for actin' stuck up and flossy
"People tell a lot of tall tales about the Shaolin Temple," the abbot says with the composed demeanour of the deeply religious. "They are not familiar with and don't represent the real history of Shaolin, the Shaolin culture or the inherited essence of Shaolin."
If this sounds accurate in the case of RZA, Ghostface Killah, Ol' Dirty Bastard and the rest of the Wu-Tang Clan, it is also a criticism that many in China have levelled against the abbot himself. The 46-year-old is a highly controversial figure. Since he became, in 1999, only the 30th monk in the temple's long history to be ordained a full abbot, he has faced relentless attacks for accepting expensive gifts and for commercialising the ancient temple. For those who denounce him through the Chinese internet, the abbot's initiatives are a sad reflection of society's crude materialism in a country where, in the past few decades, the crumbling of communist ideology and the rush for wealth have left a spiritual and moral vacuum.
Buddhism is the dominant religion in China, with as many as 300m believers across the country. Like other forms of Buddhism, Zen emphasises letting go of worldly cares and working towards enlightenment through meditation and practice of the Buddha's teachings, which include a ban on harming any sentient beings. As its home, and the centrepiece of many kung fu novels and films, the Shaolin Temple has become an integral part of Chinese popular culture. In fact, it is probably one of the most famous global brands to have come out of China in any industry, thanks in no small part to the abbot, whom Chinese media have dubbed the "CEO monk".
The temple's business ventures include investments in its famous globetrotting kung fu performance troupes, renting out the Shaolin name for films, cartoons and stage productions, and an early stage investment in a possible line of traditional Chinese medicines. It has also sent monks to set up more than 40 Shaolin kung fu and meditation centres in countries across North America, Europe and elsewhere, but the abbot says these and most of Shaolin's other "cultural activities" barely break even. Instead, he says, the vast majority of the temple's "few dozen million renminbi" in annual income comes from tickets sold to the roughly 2m tourists that visit the site every year. The temple keeps 30 per cent of the ticket revenues and hands 70 per cent over to the local government.
The temple has registered its trademark across the world in an attempt to stop people from using its name to promote concepts that do not fit with its Buddhist precepts. But the main battleground is in China, where intellectual property protections are weak and companies making everything from soft drinks and chopsticks to electrical machinery and buses have appropriated the Shaolin brand. Even liquor producers and makers of pork sausages have taken the name, despite the fact that strict Zen Buddhism prohibits the consumption of meat and alcohol.
The overwhelming number of infringements and the weak protection offered by China's justice system mean it is simply not worth going after every offender, but the abbot is optimistic that things will change for the better eventually. "Now if we are to engage in a lawsuit to protect our rights, we will have to spend a lot of money and time and the result will not necessarily be satisfactory," he says. "Once Chinese citizens are like western citizens, in an environment where the awareness of law is firm, people will naturally abandon using the name of Shaolin Temple." I'm struck by how similar his vocabulary is to that of a typical Chinese chief executive.
Nevertheless, he explains, the creation in 1998 of the Henan Shaolin Temple Industrial Development Company, saw the temple become the first Chinese religious group to register a trademark for its name, "We're using legal and commercial means to protect our intellectual property, protect our brand and protect our own inheritance," he says.
The temple has been destroyed and rebuilt many times since it was established in the fifth century and, following the communist victory in 1949 all of its surrounding farmland was confiscated and redistributed among the masses, leaving the monks with no way to feed themselves. In the disastrous cultural revolution of 1966-1976, the monks who remained at the temple were beaten, persecuted and forced to disperse, but when the terror ended some returned and set about reviving their traditions, including the practice of kung fu.
Since his arrival at the temple in 1981, aged 16, the abbot has dedicated his life to its restoration and revival. I get the feeling he has had to make many compromises in order to protect and promote his monastery and its heritage. But, as he points out, the Vatican is a multinational corporation with its own bank, and Shaolin's annual income doesn't even put it in the top 100 on the list of richest temples in China.
"We don't have much savings in the bank but there is a lot of grain stored in the barn, enough for two years, so if there is a disaster in society the Shaolin Temple could hold out for two years or so," he adds. It is an astonishing insight into the historical legacy that has forced him to hone his business skills.
The menu for our lunch has been arranged by the temple's veteran chef, and as our waiters arrive with the first dish – a delicate selection of vegetarian morsels called "three treasures to welcome guests", made from baked bran, pickled radish and dried tofu – the abbot's phone rings and he reaches into his flowing crimson gown to retrieve a buzzing Samsung mobile. He politely dismisses the person on the other end of the line and I notice his immaculately manicured fingernails and also that his earlobes are unusually large, a physical trait that in China is said to indicate competence and bring good fortune and riches.
As the bowls keep coming, the abbot is careful to point out that he normally eats very plain food. In fact, that morning I had been allowed to attend dawn prayers and join him and his monks for a hearty meal of rice porridge, vegetables and steamed buns, served by trainee monks who couldn't have been more than 10 years old. At that meal, the abbot sat with the others on wooden benches in silence as they scoffed down their food in less than 15 minutes.
Having spotted his phone, I decide now is the time to ask him about his penchant for gadgets and expensive gifts, including a Volkswagen SUV and an iPad he is often seen using in public. "The Volkswagen is worth less than Rmb 1m [£98,000] and it was given to me by the local government because we have brought them a lot of profits," he tells me with only the slightest hint of exasperation breaking through his Zen composure. "We attract a lot of visitors and students so the government awarded me a car to encourage me to do a better job."
He says the iPad and other gadgets are all gifts from devotees but that he tries to use such things until they are broken and unusable before replacing them. "I'm not doing what I do for other people but for society, for the masses; it's not for me personally or for the local government but if there is a need in society or among the ordinary folk, then I should do what I can."
We tuck into a dish of cabbage and shredded dried tofu with the delightful name of "floating fragrance in a Buddhist pot" but I notice that the abbot is hardly touching his food. The mention of his dealings with the local government is an illustration of the difficult relationship in China between organised religion and the officially atheist ruling Communist party. The Chinese government only recognises five official religions – Daoism, Buddhism, Islam, Catholicism and Protestantism – and requires that these be organised into institutions supervised by "patriotic associations", in turn supervised by the State Administration for Religious Affairs and the Communist party's United Front department.
Other world religions, such as Orthodox Christianity, Judaism, Mormonism or Baha'i, are not recognised by Beijing, and nor are countless underground Catholic and Protestant "house churches". The government tends to tolerate much of this "unofficial" religious activity as long as it is a private matter, but any hint of political organisation will bring a crackdown.
The Shaolin abbot doesn't need to worry about this. He has been a member of the National People's Congress, the country's rubber-stamp parliament, since 1998 and vice-chairman of the official Buddhist Association of China since 2002. Ordinarily, the abbot and other senior monks at the temple will decide who can be ordained as a monk and the temple will then register them with the provincial religious affairs bureau. But the position of abbot must be directly authorised by the religious affairs authorities, almost all of whom are atheist Communist party members.
I ask his eminence why he thinks he was chosen and his answer is simple: "Because I am obedient. I'm willing to donate myself and serve the people." To "serve the people" is a traditional communist slogan that regularly trips off the tongue of party bureaucrats. He explains that this subservience of religion to the state has always existed in China and in many other countries as well. "Throughout history it is the same: religion must respect the emperor, respect the government. If a religion doesn't respect the government, it will have difficulty surviving," he says. "We have to rely on the government to publicise and promote us. The government has a lot of power and it's difficult to promote ourselves without it."
There he goes again, speaking like an executive from a global marketing firm.
As the waiters place a fried eggplant and tofu dish called "blossoming smile of enlightenment" in front of us, I ask him how he responds to the critics who say he is too fond of mixing the sacred and the profane.
"Our aim is to promote Buddhist culture, to baptise human souls and purify people's minds," the abbot says. "What we have done so far [in terms of commercialisation] is actually quite conservative because we don't want to get too mixed up in the affairs of society or over-exploit Shaolin Temple." He describes how a proposal in 2009 by the local government to list the temple on a domestic or international stock exchange was abandoned after he and the other monks voiced strong objections.
On the abbot's instructions, the flow of dishes has slowed and most of his plates have been cleared without him tasting more than a spoonful or two. Throughout our lunch it feels as if he is trying to convince me that he is not the materialistic villain he is often portrayed as in China. More than once he mentions the fact that he and each of his monks live a plain existence, normally surviving on just Rmb 7 (70p) per day.
His explanation of the pressures he faces in a modern Chinese society is, however, persuasive. "We hope we can improve the bad atmosphere of modern society through the influence of the Shaolin Temple; over the years we have seen society pollute the earth and overexploit resources and people's desires continuously grow," he says. "We wish everyone could lead a simple life like us monks and not chase after famous brands and luxury lifestyles in the way the awful nouveau riche in our country do."
One of the last dishes is laid in front of us and the abbot breaks into a beatific smile in appreciation at the irony of its name. It is a vegetarian version of "Buddha jumps over the wall", an oily soup that usually includes meat and seafood and is supposed to taste so good that it can tempt even devout monks to jump the monastery wall and renounce their monastic vows.
"See, that shows you how open and sympathetic Chinese Buddhism is," he says. "In other cultures or religions, if somebody used this kind of name for such a sacrilegious dish there would be a huge fight."
Coming from a religion where monks who have sworn not to harm sentient beings wield swords and practise cracking skulls with their fists, this too is persuasive. For the abbot, temporal dealings – including business – appear merely a necessary diversion on the path towards enlightenment.
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Samadhi restaurant
Shaolin Temple,Henan Province, China
'Three treasures to welcome guests': with bran, pickled radish and shredded dried tofu
'Vegetarian shark fin soup': with pumpkin and bean flour noodles
'Rose salad roll': spring rolls with melon, radish and vegetarian ham
'Floating fragrance in a Buddhist pot': with cabbage and tofu
'Blossoming smile of enlightenment': with fried eggplants, tofu, vegetables
'Buddha jumps over the wall with Zen in his heart': oily soup with ginseng, mushrooms, wolfberry
Set menu price: approx £80 per person
(After negotiations that lasted almost an hour, I was allowed to pay the bill, as per the rules of the Lunch with the FT. This was a breach of Chinese etiquette but the transgression was eventually forgiven)
1 条评论:
令人期待！这将会是一个很好的人生经验！
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