Customer Reviews

Road to Heaven: Encounters with Chinese Hermits

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Unlike most books on Taoism, Buddhism and Zen this book is not philosophically cute, it doesn't warm the mind, and it's photographs don't make you wish you were on the next plane to China. This book just is. It taught me that being a Chinese hermit is sitting on a dirt floor in a cold, damp, stone hut with a leaky roof and snow, not rose petals, blowing around outside. Where other books left me with images of silk robes, and sitting cross-legged on bamboo mats in beautiful pagodas, this book slapped me in the face with a muddy, wet rag. Even the pictures were in black and white and although the hermits radiated an inner beauty and peace, their surroundings looked so bleak and inhospitable. I got a bang out of their disdain and boredom with tourists, and I now respect these wise and wonderful hermits all the more for the physical harshness of their living conditions and the clarity of their minds. As it was with one brilliantly in-tune hermit: "While he was talking, the gruel boiled over, and the watchdog was invited in to clean it up". He then concluded his fascinating discourse with the author with these words, "I'm just a mountain man, you know. I just string words together. They don't necessarily make any sense. How about some hot peppers in your potatoes?" For my little, insignificant mind anyway, raw Zen and raw Taoism.

Bill Porter,a.k.a. Red Pine is a wonderful tranlator of poetry. His collected songs of Cold mOuntain and Stone House are cherished companions. When I came upon this book, it intrigued me: hermits STILL living in China? Well Red Pine and his friend Steven Johnson go forth into some extraordinary parts of China{including a heavily fortified area near the main nuclear works of China} to find some astonishing people. Some of the temples were still functioning,most had been decimated by Maos cadres during the Cultural revolution. Still the air of hope is there. Old Taoists' lving alone for years upon years,almost completely disassocaited from the turbulence of the past 50 years. Mostly it is a remarkable story of hope,of faith and belief held together through some of the most horrific suffering ever inflicted on a civilization. The cover Photograph , of an aged nun praying is haunting and quite beautiful, as are most of the photos which accompany the text. Bill Porter lets these remakable people do the talking, and does not posture or place himself unduly into the stories{which is refreshing in and of itself} Highly recommneded!

What a great book! An American expatriate living at a Buddhist monastery in Taiwan takes advantage of the lifting of travel restrictions to see if China's legendary tradition of hermits still endures. He arrives in 1989, during the student demonstrations in Tienanmen Square. The officials assure him that the decadent hermits have been completely wiped out long ago. In spite of this, the scholar presses inland to the heart of China. He finds himself drawn to the Chungnan mountains- the mighty spine of the dragon, the bones of China itself, dividing the Yangtze country in the south from the Yellow river country to the north. He doesn't realize that this is where shamanism first arose in China, if not in the human world. This was where the Immortals lived. This was where Lao-tzu wrote the Tao te Ching. Here, he finds his hermits, Buddhist and Taoist, young and old, male and female. I think that the best part in the entire book was when one ancient hermit, who had been living in the mountains since 1939, asked the author, "Who is this "Mao" that you speak of?"

After his initial contact with Chungnan hermits (he would return) the author heads back down into modern China. He finds that the Tienanmen Massacre has occurred.

Upon reading this book I got a sense that the true bones of China were untouched by Communism, as they will no doubt be left untouched by Corporatism. I found this book to be inspiring- you could not invent a piece of fiction this good. However, I also found myself wishing that the author had brought that ancient hermit back with him to face down the butchers of Tienanmen.

One man centered in the Tao can do much....

Bill Porter's account of his forays in the mountains of China is simply wonderful. It is a perfect blend of travelogue, local history, and interviews with hermits of the region (who are making a comeback in numbers after the Cultural Revolution). If you are looking for this sort of blend, rather than simply one of these focuses, then this is the book for you. Porter writes with an informed and deep appreciation for his subject. The real jewel of this book, however (and in my own opinion,) is the collection of interviews with people you would only meet if you went there. Hermits tend not to travel. And their insights into the spiritual life are very, very deep--even if they sound simple on the surface. This is *the* book I would take with me if I knew I'd be stranded on a desert island. And I work in a bookstore.

"You can't be in a hurry. You have to be prepared to devote your whole life to your practice," says Master Hsueh T'ai-li after forty-five years on the slopes and summits of Huashan. "This is what's meant by religion. It's not a matter of spending money. You have to spend your life."
"Road to Heaven, Encounters with Chinese Hermits" by Bill Porter provides a fleeting image of the cloud people, the Chinese hermits who have turned their backs on this world of red dust - and survived.
There is a stark, and sad, contrast between the monks and hermits, and the busy American writer who is rushing about asking homely questions like: "Were you upset when the Red Guards burned your library?" or "Do you get any mail?"
"Taoism is very deep. There's a great del to learn, and you can't do it quickly. The Tao isn't something that can be put into words. You have to practice before you can understand," reiterates Master Hsueh.
And yet I find myself returning to this "Road to Heaven" because it captures a few anecdotes, gems and asides about famous and unknown hermits that makes it worthwhile reading. Searching for a lost quote, I return to the hasty interviews with abbots and nuns standing guard at old temples and crumbling shrines. And I find more layers to their brief stories than first meets the eye.
There is stillness and tranquility in the frugal lives of these Chinese hermits, and a firm and unwavering grip on the essentials of a religion. They represent the last living flicker of the spiritual wisdom originating with Lao-tzu thousands of years ago. And now their world is vanishing into the darkness, like the last sparks from a windswept fire.

I read this book over the fall of 2002. I read it very slowly to match the books own pace.I am rereading it now and again find it to be one of the most enjoyable books ever. I love Bill Porter's translations of Stonehouse et al and I think we owe a lot to these guys in Port Townsend and other obscure places for taking the time to share this quiet wabi-sabi stuff with us. In this book Bill ventures into the remote Chung-nan mountains looking for any left-over Buddhist and Taoist hermits from the Cultural revolution of Mao tse tung and he finds a surprisingly resiliant culture indeed. His talks,shared cigars& koolaid teas with the assorted hermits are a delight to hear about. All of us Taoist Zen afficianados wonder if any of these guys suvived and they have. This book was written in the late eighties early ninties however and now I wonder if they still do as many were quite old.
Anyway again all praise to Bill Porter.

This book provide a fleeting image of cloud people, the Chinese hermits who have turned their backs on this world of red dust. There is a stark contrast between the monks and hermits, and the busy American, rushing about asking homely questions like "Were you upset when the Red Guards burned your library?" or "Do you get any mail?"
Yet, I find myself returning to "Road to Heaven" because there are a few anecdotes, gems and asides about famous hermits that make it worthwhile reading. Searching for a lost quote, I return to the hasty interviews with abbots and nuns standing guard at old temples and shrines. And I find more to their stories than first meets the eye.
There is stillness and tranquility in the frugal lives of the Chinese hermits, and a firm unwavering grip on the essentials of religion. They represent the last living flicker of the spiritual wisdom originating with Lao-tzu. And now their world vanishes into the darkness, like sparks from a windswept fire.

This is the book that got me started on Taoism and Chinese Buddhism. I had just finished Peter France's Hermits, on Western hermits but with a tantalizing reference to Lao Tzu and Chinese hermits. The only single intro to Chinese hermits was (still is) Porter's. Yes, it's a travelogue, with personal idiosyncrasies, but crammed with historical anecdotes and information. The spare interviews are, upon later investigation of Chinese hermits throughout history, just right. The book is a travel guide because Porter's knowledge is invaluable; like a travel guide, it assumes only your curiosity and empathy. After this beginner's encounter, the reader wants more, and I recommend Porter's own translations of Han-shan and Stonehouse as follow-up.

For the most part I found this book to be an excellent rendition of the author's and photographer's trips through China, visiting with Taoist and Buddhist monks. The photographs blend in well with the text, and the two combine to give quite a good sense of the places and the people encountered. My only complaint was that the narrative seemed a bit rushed at time, almost as if the author had a quota of hermits to hook up with in a certain number of days - so no time to hang around. I think an in depth examination of the lives of 2 or 3 hermits might be another approach that could possibly yield more depth, as opposed to the greater breadth of this book.

Anyway - a very enjoyable read. I would recommend it to anyone with an interest in religion, China, Buddhism, or Taoism.

It is impossible to study Chinese history without encountering hermit anecdotes. Any mandarin worthy of his station would have been familiar with taoist/buddhist lore; the best generals and emperors had teachers amongst recluses; some hermits had kingdoms thrust upon them. It may not be an exaggeration to say that the hermit embodies what is (used to be) the best about China: wisdom, passion, ruthless work and a continuous tradition that stretches back into the neolithic. Porter, a Taiwan/Hong Kong-based translator was curious whether hermits survived the insane maoist decades so he invested a few years into traveling the Chingling mountain area around Xian in the heart of contemporary China. Chingling mountains (together with the Emeishan and Qingchengshan areas) have been a refuge for taoists and buddhists for thousands of years. Beautiful places that used to house hundreds of temples most of which were destroyed by Mao, or (if they were lucky) allowed to pass into disrepair. While passing crumbling temples and huts along ancient paths and trails, Porter ruminates about events from Han, Tang, Chin, Zhou dynasties, recites famous poems about misty mountains and mossy bridges and talks (fluently) to the locals.

The monks, nuns and laymen he meets are impressive, far removed from the pushiness, greed and survival games played out in the rest of the country. I was touched by their wisdom, lack of guile and inner beauty. Loved those people.

Yuan-chao, a 88 years old nun living in an adobe hut on a mountain: "tantric practice is closer to zen. It's the pinnacle of zen. But it's not for ordinary people. It's like flying an airplane". Porter asked her to write down the essence of Buddhist practice; She put the paper aside and did not raise the subject again. Two months later he received a sheet of paper from her in the mail with 4 words: "goodwill, compassion, joy, detachment."

Kuo-shan, an old monk encountered on the trail and asked how he can survive the hardship: "It's all the same to me. It just looks hard to you. [...] I cant read. I never went to school. I just meditate. [...] I'm a monk. I've seen through the world of red dust. As long as i have enough to eat, I stay on the mountain."

Te-Cheng: "You can't practice just one kind of dharma. That's a mistake. The Dharma isn't one-sided. And you've got to practice the precepts. If you don't, your life will be a mess. It's like making a fire. You need more than a spark. You need wood and air too. It's the same with enlightenment. It's a system. All practices are related. The mind has to be one. In Zen, you have no thought. In Pure Land, you have one thought. They're both the same. "

Master Chen: "People lose the Tao when they try to find it. They confuse existence with nonexistence. All we can do is cultivate "Te" (virtue, spiritual power). Te includes our spirit, mind, thoughts. True Te leads to true tao. But most people cultivate powers and thoughts, and they think they've realized the Tao. But they're wrong. To cultivate true Te is to get rid of all powers and thoughts, to be like a baby, to see without seeing. Tao comes naturally."

And, finally, an encounter with Master Su (who Porter had wanted to meet for years). "...another monk came out of the tent. Chou said this was Master Su. I bowed and introduced myself. Without pausing, Su said I had the wrong man, that his name was Hua, as in Huashan. Then he walked off, flapping his long sleeves as if he were about to fly away." :)

An interesting book. Well chosen history tidbits. Pearls amongst the ordinariness of casual encounters. I felt sad reading about the destruction of numberless temples by the Red Guards, about wanton cutting down of thousand year old sacred trees, book burnings, of systematic destruction of the noblest, most profound and deep wisdom of the Chinese people. In a few crazed & hysterical years the flower of Chinese spirit, architecture and people was cut. The few souls who survived are not in it for the glamor - they live difficult, hungry lives that are always in the danger of party cadres and, increasingly, tourist hordes channeled into the ancient temples by county tourist office. And yet the monks go on because they love meditation, solitude, the insights and the mountains.