74 Systemizing Martial Practice
dhist units that contributed to the piracy campaign, including eighteen Hang-
zhou clerics who challenged the leadership of the Shaolin monk Tianyuan.
Perhaps the distant memory of a monk turned emperor contributed to the
late Ming vogue of fighting monks. Zhu Yuanzhang (1328–1398), founder of
the Ming dynasty, began his career as a novice at the Huang jue Monastery, in
Fengyang, Anhui. There is no evidence that Zhu, who entered the monastery
when he was sixteen, practiced the martial arts there. Still, we do know that
after leaving the monastery at twenty-three, he became the commander of an
army that took over the Chinese empire.^65 Zhu’s example might have inspired
other monks, or at least facilitated government tolerance of them.
Be that as it may, late Ming fighting monks were so common that they
aroused criticism within monastic circles. The renowned Buddhist thinker
from Fujian, Yuanxian (1578–1657) condemned their disregard for the reli-
gion’s prohibition of killing. “During the Yuan period upheaval in Quanzhou
[Fujian],” the eminent monk wrote, “the officials were corrupt. They forced
monks to become soldiers.... Alas! Among today’s monks there are many who
do not wait to be coerced, but become soldiers of their own accord. This is a sign
that the Buddhist Dharma is being extinguished!”^66 Yuanxian proceeded to
vent his frustration in a dramatic verse titled “Lament on Monastic Troops”
(“Sengbing tan”):
The Sentient Sovereign’s [the Buddha] first rule prohibits killing,
Animal slaughter is also reprimanded.
The ancients warned us not to uproot living grass,
How much more so join armies for mass slaughter.
Heads uplifted, shoulders flexed, they emerge from their monasteries
Only longing for battle, like the Asura Devils.
Their monastic robes they easily discard forever,
Clad in armor, they wield battle-axes.
.....
Loyalty and courage, they have none whatsoever,
Out of obsessive craving only they bring disaster.
Sword-mountains, dagger-trees, spread before their eyes,
White bones strewn over shriveled-grass slopes.
Even worse, the acute pains of the three torture realms,^67
Lasting for a thousand lives, a hundred eons.
Alas! Alas! Why aren’t they enlightened,
Destroying themselves, like moths flying into fire.
At Morning, when you wake and scratch your head, examine yourself,
The Sentient Ruler may sermon forever, yet he alone can’t save you.^68