Other
Books written or edited by Sulak Sivaraksa
Seeds ofPeace:A
Buddhist Vision for Renewing Society Siamese Resurgence.-,4 Thai Voice on Asia
in a World of Change A Socially Engaged Buddhism: By a Controversial Siamese
Siam in Crisis ENGAGED Demands
A Buddhist Vision for
Renewing Society: CollectedArticles by a Thai Intellectual BUDDHIST Dissent
Religion and
Development
Radical Conservatism.
Buddhism in the Contemporary World
Search forAsian
Cultural Integrity
Modern Thai Monarchy
and Cultural Politics
Buddhist Perception
for Desirable Societies in the Future
SULAK SIVARAKSA
Foreword by
His Holiness the
Dalai Lama
PARALLAX
PRESS
PARALLAX PRESS
BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA
Other Books written
or edited by Sulak Sivaraksa AUTOBIOGRAPHY
OFAI'J
Seeds ofPeace:A
Buddhist Vision for Renewing Society ENGAGED
Siamese
Resurgence.-,4 Thai Voice on Asia in a World of Change BUDDHIST
A Socially Engaged
Buddhism: By a Controversial Siamese Siam in Crisis
A Buddhist Vision for
Renewing Society: CollectedArticles by a Thai Intellectual
Religion and
Development
Radical Conservatism:
Buddhism in the Contemporary World
SearchforAsian
Cultural Integrity
Modern Thai Monarchy
and Cultural Politics
Buddhist Perception
for Desirable Societies in the Future
Loyalty
demands dissent: autobiography of an engaged Buddhist /
by
Sulak Sivaraksa.
Foreword VII
Editors'Introductjon
Ylil
Acknowledgments XIII
I Early Years 3
2 L?fèasa Novice Monk 16
3 School Days 24
4 An English
Education 30
S Living in London 57
C Back in Siam 72
V' 7 Working with the
Monks 07
1"J Forging
Relations 93
Clashes 101
Organizing 100
Getting Married 121
Political Unrest 134
In Exile 141
Back to Work 152
Interfaith
Connections 159
16 Lèse-majesté 165
17 Traveling 174
71 More Organizing 191
,19 Lèse-majesteAgain
192
20
SeekingAlternatives 207
21 Reflections 211
APPENDICES
APPENDIX I Siamese
Calendar 217
APPENDIX 2 Siamese
Government 210
APPENDIX 3 Regression
ofDemocracy in Siam 221
Ch2 LIFE
AS A NOVICE MONK 117
I'd always found
school oppressive. We were supposed to be on time
to line up and salute
the flag. The teachers never smiled, and I nat-
urally wanted to
outsmart them. If they asked me to write from A to Z for homework, I just wrote
"A to Z." At the Christian schools, they taught that Christ was the
Lamb of God, but I'd never seen a lamb, and it didn't mean much to me. I didnt
mind making friends, but the kids my age liked going to the movies, reading
comics, and other things I didn't particularly care for. I felt different. I
liked traditional music, dance, drama, and going to the temples to listen to
sermons. I liked being with older people; I could sit and listen to them for
hours.
Being in the
monastery was the first time I really enjoyed life. Once you were ordained as a
novice, a samanera, you were treated as an adult. In our culture, different
pronouns are used when talking to children. Kids are looked down upon. But when
I was ordained, although I was only twelve years old, twenty-five and
thirty-year-old monks used adult pronouns when they spoke to me. My master,
Phra Bhadramuni, had a strong influence on me. He was a great astrologer, and
his life was kindness itself. He was sometimes very stern to the other
students, but he was always kind to me. When I was a novice, I used to go and
massage him, and he would teach me. He told me that I must always do my best
and not settle for anything mediocre. Instead of seeking fame and riches, I
should
16
My teacher Phra
Bhadramuni
As novice monks (I'm in the center)
strive for
excellency. Other monks in the temple were also important influences on my
life. I loved the whole monastic atmosphere.
The temple gave me
liberty. I could study whatever I wanted, and I became addicted to reading.
Before, because I had been forced to read, I never got into it. But at the
temple I would pick out books, even large volumes, and read them from cover to
cover. I read all kinds of books—religion, history, literature. I've loved
books ever since. I also became interested in traditional medicine,
fortune-telling, and arts and crafts, which at school we'd been told were
old-fashioned. I learned to meditate from a lay teacher who was well known for
his insight-meditation technique.
As a novice you have
to be observant. I was very good in this way, and my teacher gave me the sort of
acknowledgment I never got at school. At school, if you learn your lessons by
rote, you are considered capable. But in the temple you have to observe
ceremonies and other monks' behavior in order to learn. You must be attuned to
your own culture. Most of my contemporaries stayed at the temple for only a few
months. They found the life too antiquated, but I felt like a fish in water. I
wanted to stay for good. In school I never got to the top of the class, but at
the temple my teacher felt that I was smart. I was the only one who dared to
ask the abbot questions. In our culture, children and even grown-ups are not
encouraged to ask questions, especially of an abbot. The abbot looked very
formal and severe, but I asked him all kinds of questions, and he liked that,
too.
Although I was the
youngest, the superior of my house felt that I was special, and of course I
liked that. In our temple, Wat Thong-
18 I LOYALTY DEMANDS
DISSENT LIFE AS A NOVICE MONK 19
nopphakhun, there
were thirteen houses, each headed by a superior, with five or ten monks, as
well as novices and lay attendants. Our superior, Phra Bhadramuni, later became
the abbot. When he was ill and had to go to the hospital, he gave the house key
to me. I was twelve years old and in charge. I got senior monks to help, and
together we had the house properly cleaned and everything carefully arranged.
When he returned from the hospital, my master was very pleased that I had done
as he would have wished.
At home, my father
had treated me specially, and I was spoiled. He always felt a little guilty;
that I was like an orphan because my mother had walked out on him. We slept in
the same bed, and he told me tales. I enjoyed his company, but I treated other people
badly. I never made my bed. I demanded whatever sort of food I wanted. My
father would consult with me and tell the cook what I wanted. If the rice was
too hard, I would complain and not eat it. If it was too soft, I wouldn't eat
it either. I was a terror. At the temple, there were no servants. I had to make
my own bed, wash my own dishes and clothes, and go out to beg for alms every
morning. The culture of the temple was wonderful, and we were very proud to
follow the rules established by the Buddha. Everyone was equal. Even my master
washed his own dishes.
I attuned myself to
the temple's system, but I also rebelled. Every morning and evening we were
supposed to go to the consecrated assembly hall for prayers and meditation. One
morning when we went, the hall was locked. The monk who was secretary of the
temple wasn't there to unlock it. Nobody complained openly, but they gossiped
about him. So I complained openly. I even wrote notices and posted them on the
temple—that this monk was no good, that he was corrupt. He was furious. I was a
troublemaker.
This life was
Buddhism with a capital "B." I began to understand the distinction
between Buddhism for educated people and popular Buddhism. I learned that a
spirit house, which is said to house the guardian spirit of every household, is
not quite Buddhism. In the temple, we are supposed to preserve the pristine
teachings of the Buddha. Of course, some monks also become astrologers and so
on—not for pay, just to help people. Buddhism and culture are intertwined.
During the Second
World War there was bombing all around the temple because of the Japanese
factory next door. Fortunately, bombs never hit the temple, but it was
dangerous. The abbot asked us, "Since there's bombing here, would you like
to leave?" One monk said he wasn't sure. Another lay attendant said he
might leave. The abbot asked me, and I said, "Wherever the master is, I'll
go along with him." He was pleased with my answer, but still decided that
I should evacuate first. He felt that the children should be safe, and he would
follow later. We moved about eight miles from our temple. In those days we had
to go by rowboat, and it seemed far away. Although this temple was just on the
outskirts of Bangkok, it was quite rural. The people were very devout. When we
went out for alms, they offered a lot of food. It was a different atmosphere.
On the full moon, new moon, and half moon, we walked all the way back to our
temple in the city to perform the ceremonies.
I came from an
upper-middle-class family and had only known people from that class. At the
temple I met people of all classes. Because Phra Bhadramuni was a well-known
astrologer, all kinds of people came to see him: princes, nobles, merchants,
rich, and poor. Although he treated them each according to their rank, he was
very polite and kind to everyone. At the end of the war, King Ananda Mahidol
returned from Switzerland, where he was educated. There were big ceremonies and
great joy. My teacher was invited to arrange the flowers for the altar in front
of one of the large Buddha images at Bangkok's Marble Temple, and he invited me
to help him. The king walked by to pay his respects. Had I not been a monk, I
would never have seen the king face to face like that. When you became a
Wat Thongnopphakhun school,
built by and named after my great-aunt Lom Hemajayati
20 LOYALTY DEMANDS DISSENT LIFE AS A NOVICE MONK 121
monk, all social
barriers were removed. I felt that I could go anywhere. I've felt very close to
the monkhood ever since.
In the early morning,
as soon as there was enough light to see the lines on the palms of our hands,
we went out to beg for almsfood, sometimes walking together in a long line,
sometimes walking alone or with a senior monk. There were many people offering
food then. Traditionally, the monks would eat together first, the novices would
eat after, and the boys who looked after the temple would eat last. We had
prayers and chants to promote mindfulness about the simple acts of daily life.
At mealtimes, we cultivated the awareness that meals are only to prevent hunger
from arising and to keep the body strong. The monks recited this in Pali at
every meal. Every time monks put on their robes, they recited "These robes
are not put on for beauty but to protect us from cold, heat, and insects. Do
not be attached to the robes." When going to sleep, the monks recited,
"This is our house. It is only temporary, just to protect us from cold,
wind, and rain. Do not be attached to its beauty." When taking medicine:
"It is only to keep us well so we may help others." Food, clothing,
shelter, and medicine—these are known as the four requisites.
When we finished our
meal, we would express our gratitude to all who offered food to help us
survive. In turn, we would help them by offering the teaching, the Dhamma. If
we didn't offer the Dhamma or if we misbehaved, we would be considered thieves,
and our food would burn like hot iron in our throats. But the merit of giving
and receiving was not just for ourselves. It was shared among all beings,
living and dead. Following the morning meal, we had prayers in Pali, taking
refuge in the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha. Then we would recite other
verses from the scriptures. Afterwards, we had sitting meditation. The novices
did cleaning work for a short time before the day's last meal at eleven in the
morning. Sometimes the monks were invited out. Since my master was well-known,
many people came to offer food at lunchtime. All of us at the temple benefited
from this, so that despite the war, we were not starving. After lunch, there
was a little time to rest. Then we had formal teaching. For several hours we
studied the life of the Buddha, Buddhist history, the discipline (vinaya), and
the discourses (suttas).
Pleasures of the
Rains Retreat
For the three months
of the rainy season, monks don't travel. This is called the Rains Retreat.
Throughout most of the year monks are encouraged to travel freely and to
propagate the teachings. Traditionally, monks walk everywhere, but in the rainy
season they might step on and harm the sprouting plants, so from July through
September we were not allowed to travel or to spend the night outside the
temple without special dispensation. And so, during the rains, all the monks
would assemble, and many laypeople would also come to the temple for the
preaching and ceremonies each night. Young men were often ordained while the
best teachers were in residence. The Rains Retreat is also called the Buddhist
Lent, because some laypeople would give up smoking, drinking, rude speech, fishing,
and so on for this time. Others would vow to do good things. It was a good
opportunity to practice Buddhism, to be mindful.
During the Rains
Retreat, we had a sermon every night. Usually we heard Jataka Tales of the
Buddha's earlier lives. In Buddhism you are not required to believe in previous
lives if you dont think it's helpful to you, but the stories are still
wonderful. Our culture is an oral tradition, and many people came to
listen—mostly older women and young people.
There was no
television in those days, but we had this preaching.
I went to listen to
sermons every night in the sala, the preaching hall. This is how I came to know
Buddhist culture at its best. There was
a nun, about eighty
years old, wearing white, who noticed me. She
said, "It's wonderful
how this twelve-year-old boy comes to listen every night. At the end of the
Rains Retreat we must invite him to preach." She proposed it to all the
ladies, and they accepted. The abbot said, "Okay, give it a try, but you
have to learn to sing and chant." So they gave me a small part in the
story of the Buddha's next-to-last life as Prince Vessantara, one suitable for
a young novice. I had to recite the verses telling how beautiful the forest
was, what kinds of animals and plants lived there. I learned all about ecology
and even some tricks to train the voice, like swallowing a whole boiled egg.
That year I collected
more money than any other preacher, not because of my ability—to be honest I
chanted very badly—but because
LOYALTY DEMANDS
DISSENT
I was so young. Most
boys my age hardly read, much less preached to the public. They had to carry me
up to the high pulpit. People offered all kinds of delicious fruit—bananas,
pomeloes, oranges, coconuts.
The end of the Rains
Retreat is followed by the Kathina ceremony. The village offers robes to the
whole community of monks. They offer other things as well and make donations to
repair monastery buildings. Often two villages would collaborate.
The monks go their
own separate ways at the end of the Rains Retreat. Those still in the temple on
the last day perform a ceremony known as Pavarana. Once a year, each monk must
come forward in order of seniority—beginning with whoever was ordained first,
not by age or rank—to request of the whole assembly: "Out of pity for me,
out of your generosity and kindness, if you have heard, or seen, or suspected
that I have done anything wrong, please speak so that I will have an
opportunity to change and behave properly." This was a helpful ceremony
for me. I have used it in some of our groups: "Please tell us what we have
done wrong so we can change." In the temples today, this sincere request
is often just a formality. The same with the Kathina. Now the abbot usually
receives the robes instead of the monks who are most skillful or whose robes
are in rags. The Pali Canon spells out the meaning of these ceremonies very
clearly, and it is wonderful when we can create the essence from the form.
Unfortunately, they are now often performed as empty rituals.
When schools reopened
in 1945 after the war, my brother left the temple. I stayed for one more year
even though my father wanted me to come home. I had needed his permission to be
ordained and leave home, but once one joins the monkhood, nobody can ask you to
leave unless you are expelled. I enjoyed life at the temple so much that I
didn't want to leave. I hated the thought of going back to school, wearing
shorts, and being treated like a child. My father said, "I have land for
you; I will build you a house." He would invite me every evening to see
the house being built. But I was not interested in houses. I was interested
only in the monkhood.
British troops came
to Bangkok after the Japanese. There were also lots of Indians and Pakistanis,
British and Dutch. There were bars for the foreign troops, and outside the bars
were noodle shops
LIFE AS A NOVICE MONK
23
for the taxi drivers
and chauffeurs who drove the officers. Each evening I had to walk back to my
temple past these shops. I had never been especially interested in food before,
but now it smelled so good. I began to think, "Perhaps going back to
school and my family might not be too bad after all."
My father continued
his pleas: "What happens if you want to leave the monkhood at the age of
twenty or twenty-five? What will you do for a living? In this competitive
world, you need to have some skills. By the time you are twenty, I may be gone.
Who will support you? After your education, if you want to rejoin the monkhood,
I won't object." Finally I agreed. I left the temple and returned home to
be with my father in the house he had built for me.
22
Our house on the
Bangrak Canal
86 LOYALTY DEMANDS DISSENT CHAPTER
in that style all the
time. I was more or less his unofficial secretary. He asked me to do some
writing for him. I would type things and send them to him to be edited.
Though Prince Damrong
died before I ever met him, he had twenty-five children by his eight wives, and
I had come to know his eldest daughter, Princess Jongjit, quite well, partly
through having published their correspondence. She was a woman of great
character. She was also a great cook. She invited me to have lunch with her
every Sunday, and I would bring along various friends—English, American, anyone
else. The only condition was that we enjoy her food. She was almost eighty at
that time. While we ate, she would talk about King Chulalongkorn and his
various queens, her father, the good old days, and life in the palaces.
Princess Jongjit's sister, Princess Poon, later complained that her sister
should not have told
me all the family
secrets. Princess Jongjit told me everything she
was very honest and sincere, and she trusted
me. At first I thought I would write about all this, but she trusted me so much
that I found it hard to write. I had become one of the family.
Ch7
Working with the Monks
During this period I
started working with the monks, aiming to make them more aware of social
issues, conservation, and peace. These included such radical monks as
Buddhadasa Bhikkhu and Bhikkhu P. A. Payutto. The Sangha was acquiring a more
visibly active role in the contemporary world. This work began in 1962, in
collaboration with Don Sweetbaum, a Peace Corps teacher at Mahachula-longkorn
Buddhist University in Bangkok I presented his idea to the Asia Foundation for
a training program to make monks more aware of social issues. But the Asia
Foundation had no money and recommended another foundation. I suspected it was
a CIA foundation but didn't know for sure. They gave us a lot of money to train
student monks up and down the country in social work We also invited monks to
attend courses at the university dealing with social injustice. The monks asked
me, "Is this CIA money?" I said, "I have no idea, but even if it
is CIA money, it doesn't matter, because we are left to do whatever we
want." Eventually, it was revealed to be CIA money.
There was a lot of
communist activity in the countryside, so I described Buddhism as the only
safeguard against communism. With this language, we got support even from the
supreme commander of the armed forces, General Saiyud Kerdphol, who was in
charge of the anticommunism unit. He was the most enlightened of all the
generals. When I wanted to take our donors from America to visit the young
graduates in the remote provinces, the army provided us with a helicopter. They
sent one colonel along with us, and as we talked, he became convinced of the
value of our work. He said, "You know, we've been fighting the Communists
and spend too much money on weapons; instead, at least a percentage of that
money should be given to you to help these monks. It would be much more
effective." Later on, I got money from the government to support the monks.
I was very ambitious.
I wanted all the monks to be concerned about
conservation, peace,
and society. I felt we should teach them at the universities where they
studied. I didn't want the training to be limited only to Mahachulalongkorn
Buddhist University but to include Mahamakut University, belonging to a second
Buddhist sect. The first time we sent the monks up to the northeast, those from
both sects stayed in one temple together. They became very friendly and began
to trust each other. Although these two Buddhist universities were teaching
modern subjects, I thought they were too big and too much in imitation of
secular institutions. I wanted to start a new college at our Wat
Thongnopphakhun to teach Buddhist philosophy, Sanskrit, and Pall. We would
study Mahayana Buddhism, integrate meditation with education, and help with
social awareness.
A bright, young
novice named Sathirapong Wannapok came to our temple. He was the first novice
to complete the grade-nine Pali examination during the reign of the present
king. Since 1782, only two novices before him had done so, and both eventually
became Sangharaja, supreme patriarch. Grade nine is a kind of doctorate. I
talked to the abbot of my temple, a great Pali scholar himself, and told him
that this novice was very bright, and that we should send him abroad to study
Sanskrit and get a college education in England. I argued that our monasteries
had to become more modern, and our monks needed to understand the West. We
can't keep Buddhism as it is. It has to change to meet the modern world. Young
monks should be encouraged to study abroad. Perhaps Sathirapong can help reform
the system of education and make the Sangha more active in the contemporary
world. The abbot agreed, and a friend of mine secured him
a place at Trinity
College, Cambridge. Sathirapong became the first Siamese monk to study in
Cambridge, get his degree, and return
home. I told him I
wanted him to help teach at our temple, but he wanted to disrobe and get
married. He became a lay professor at a university in Siam and a fairly
well-known journalist. He was also appointed a royal academician.
Buddhadasa Bhikkhu
At that time,
Buddhadasa Bhikkhu was the most important Buddhist thinker in Siam. I had read
some of his work as a student, but he was too advanced and radical for me since
I had been brought up con-
WORKING WITH THE
MONKS 189
servatively and my
temple was conservative. Buddhadasa was very
pro-democracy. He
wanted to rewrite the history of the Buddha without using royal language. That
was very progressive for the time, and
for me. He shocked a
lot of people. He was the first monk to stand
up at a podium and
use his hands when he lectured. Traditionally, monks must sit down and preach
quietly without emotion. They must
not try to convince
people by arguments or actions but merely make the teachings available for
people to take as they wish. That is the form, and I was very much for form and
formality.
One of Buddhadasa
Bhikkhu's lectures was a real bombshell. He said that the Buddha image could be
a hindrance to the Path, to the
Buddhadhamma, because
a lot of people become attached to the
image. He said that
the Buddha discouraged images. During the time of the Buddha, there were no
images at all. Images came much later,
from the Greeks. To
provoke people, he said that if he had absolute power, he would order all
images dumped into the river! I became upset because in our temple we paid
respect to the images every morning. A lot of people were attacking Buddhadasa
Bhikkhu, and I did-nt like him either.
After my return from
England, when I was more mature, I began reading his books in a new light. His
most important book was
Following the
Footsteps of the Buddha. It was very sensible and taught
me a great deal. I
went to visit him at Suan Mokkhabalarama, the Garden of Liberation. I was just
starting the Social Science Review
and was surprised to
find that Buddhadasa Bhikkhu had read my magazine. By that time he was a very
well-known and controversial monk, but he treated me as an equal. He gave me a
good interview, and we had a long chat. I barely knew him, but he invited me to
go with him to visit all the islands as a kind of pilgrimage. I thought he was
an intellectual and provocative monk, but when I followed him, I found him to
be very humble. He prostrated at all the images and said that the Buddha image
could also be a help if you paid respect not to the image but to the Buddha. He
also paid respect to the senior country monks, some of whom were illiterate,
prostrating to them as if he were prostrating to the Buddha image. He explained
to me that he did not prostrate to a monk as a man but as a representative of
the Sangha.
We traveled with
Khantipalo, the English monk whom I had been responsible for getting from India
to Bangkok. I was asked to be the interpreter. Buddhadasa encouraged the
English monk to speak, despite the fact that Buddhadasa himself was much more
senior and all the people had really come to listen to him. He even allowed me
to speak. He allowed everyone to participate. We went by steamer, and people
came out in canoes when they saw him. it was wonderful traveling with a famous
monk. Everywhere we went there was a beautiful reception. People came offering
food and fruit, and he would preach to them. He ate only one meal a day, of
course, and he ate very little, so we ate what was left over.
Buddhadasa Bhikkhu's
books, writings, and thinking became a great inspiration for me, in particular
his book on Dhammic socialism. He found socialism and even communism in Buddhist
teachings. Sangha means commune or community. The monks do not own anything
except one alms bowl, three robes, and one needle and thread. The rest they own
jointly, or it belongs to the community. I think if we used this model for
laypeople, it would be something wonderful.
Bhikkhu I? A. Pay
utto
Although my abbot had
been disappointed in Sathirapong, his adopted son who left the order, another
monk, Bhikkhu P. A. Payutto, became the second novice in the present reign to
reach grade nine in Pali before his higher ordination. This monk was very
humble. At the early age of twenty-five, he became deputy secretary general of
Mahachulalongkorn Buddhist University. He more or less ran it. I
WORKING WITH THE
MONKS 91
worked closely with
him from the time he was a newly ordained monk He was very active at the
university, and I realized he was very talented. I told him not to spend his
time on administration but to do more creative work. Buddhadasa was then the
only one doing creative work in Buddhism, and we needed more young monks to
capture the minds of the younger generation.
In the sixties,
Buddhadasa Bhikkhu had come to debate with the well-known writer Kukrit Pramoj.
Kukrit said that Buddhist thought is a good way to cultivate personal
happiness, but to develop the country, there must be greed. "Greed is a
wonderful ingredient in development. In Buddhism, you say greed is bad; that is
okay for monks. But in lay society, I want my bank to be bigger, my salary to
be higher." They debated. Although Buddhadasa was very good, he could not
outdo the wit of Kukrit, who was much more versatile. But in the seventies,
this young monk Bhikkhu Payutto was even sharper than Buddhadasa, in a humble
way. His remarks stirred everyone up. He used Buddhist terms to help us understand
things properly. In response to a book on development by American scholars
condemning Buddhism's attitude, he pointed out that they ignored the
destruction that development caused to the environment. He was very eloquent,
very scholarly.
In 1974 as part of
Prince Wan's eightieth birthday celebration, we asked people to write articles
for a book to be published in his honor. Bhikkhu Payutto wrote an article on
Buddhadhamma. It was the best of them all, and we invited him to give a lecture
at Thammasat University. His lecture captured the essence of the Buddha's
teaching and captivated the whole audience. His article was translated into
English and later expanded to ten times its original length. It could be
considered the whole corpus on Theravada Buddhism. It is very scholarly and
convincing, written in beautiful language. Since then Bhikkhu Payutto has
become a great Buddhist writer and inspiration to many people. Years later,
when I was working to organize monks around environmental and social issues, I
asked him to name our group. He chose Sekhiyadhamma, meaning "to make the
teachings of the Buddha relevant for the modern world." I got most of my
own ideas from him and Buddhadasa.
90
With Buddhadasa
Bhikkhu in 1991
92 1 LOYALTY DEMANDS
DISSENT
Abbot Dhammacetiya
I worked with the
monks via Mahachulalongkorn Buddhist University all through the 196os when
Bhikkhu Payutto was in charge, but I switched when he left the university. Phra
Dhammacetiya, the abbot of Wat Thongnopphakhun, which my family has supported
for five generations, was promoted to ecclesiastical governor of the Thonburi
Sangha across the river from Bangkok. I followed him, moving from an academic
involvement to a more practical involvement. Teaching at the university was
mainly theoretical and had no real power to direct the monkhood. The abbot, in
his new position, had the authority to tell the monks what to do.
I began working
closely with the abbot, acting more or less as his lay secretary. I gave him a
lot of ideas about administration. I told him we must look after the art in all
the temples; we must use our money wisely and keep a record of our expenses; we
must preserve the buildings, and any new buildings should have his approval;
and we must train the monks to be aware of social issues. Monks must understand
larger social issues and be involved in society. We were no longer living in
villages. He agreed, so we formed lay and monks' committees that were very
effective.
The 1971 coup
consolidated Thonburi and Bangkok into one big city, and the abbot lost his
position. He was asked to become governor general of the fourth region in the
center of the country. The patriarch of the entire northern region also wanted
him in charge of training and educating monks throughout this area. The abbot
asked me if he should accept. I said yes, and against the advice of many other
people, he did. I got money from a Christian foundation from Germany, Bread for
the World, to support his work on conservation within the Buddhist Sangha. The
Sangha had no conservation policy. The monks were not proud of their temples.
They liked building new ones. I felt we had to teach them about architecture,
art histo-
ry, and preservation.
We became very active. The abbot's work as a scholar and administrator was very
much appreciated. Unfortunately, he worked very hard—unlike most monks—and died
when he was only about seventy-one. I worked with the Sangha until his death in
'979.
