The Path of Selfless Compassion: An Interview with the Venerable Tianren

This is a record of an interview with the Venerable Tianren, who sought deliverance at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. This account reflects upon his life approximately three hundred and twenty years ago. It was recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fajing, on May 5, 2019.

Venerable Tianren speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. I am Tianren. In the life I reflect upon today, I was one of ten children. My mother once held a large, round candy in her hand and told us, 'Whoever finishes their chores first shall receive this delicious treat.' My brothers immediately buried their heads in their work, desperate to finish. I was the first to complete my tasks, but instead of rushing to claim the prize, I continued to help my brothers finish theirs so that we could all share in the joy of the candy together. I felt that the collective happiness of my siblings was far more significant than the fleeting pleasure of a single sweet.

The Misunderstood Act of Kindness

My actions were entirely without ulterior motive, yet my nine brothers mocked me. 'Since you finished first, why not just take the candy? Why pretend to be kind and help us? Do you think you are trying to win more praise from Mother?' I shook my head and told them, 'I have no such intention. I only hoped that we could all finish our work and enjoy the candy together.' They laughed at me. My eldest brother sneered, 'How are we supposed to share one candy? Do you really expect us to each take a lick? Don't be ridiculous!' I lowered my head, said nothing more, and silently returned to my work. I did not feel resentment; I simply accepted their reaction as a reflection of their own state of mind.

There were ten of us in that home. The first nine were my mother's biological children; I was the only one she had found by the roadside. I was just a newborn, abandoned by my birth mother in the freezing winter near a pile of rubbish on the street. My mother happened to pass by, heard my cries, and without a moment's hesitation, scooped me up. She brought me home, fed me warm rice soup to heat my body, and dressed me in the hand-me-downs of my ninth brother to keep me warm. She treated me as her own, but my brothers could not stand it. They did not want their mother caring for a child who did not belong to them. She told them, 'Tianren is a life, too. Whether born of me or another, every child needs care. There should be no distinction between one's own and another's.' My brothers refused to listen; they insisted that she should not waste a single grain of rice or a drop of water on me. I understood their perspective, yet I remained grateful for the life I had been given.

A Life of Silent Service

My ninth brother was closest to me in age, only a year apart, yet he never once played with me. Although I lived among them, I was an outsider, never given the chance to truly belong. Even so, I maintained a simple, sincere heart. I gradually became accustomed to their coldness, viewing it as a natural occurrence in the world of ordinary people. I did not seek their approval, nor did I feel the sting of their exclusion, for my heart was already beginning to find its own quiet centre.

'The peanuts are roasted! Come and eat!' Mother would call out. Hearing this, my brothers would drop their play and rush to the living room, their hands still covered in dirt, grabbing the peanuts and stuffing them into their mouths. I, however, would be by the well, washing the family's clothes. When Mother called for me, I would quickly set aside my work and run to the living room. But by the time I arrived, the plate was empty. Mother would have returned to the kitchen, and my brothers would have vanished, leaving only an empty dish for me to clean. When I took the plate to the kitchen, Mother would ask, 'Were the peanuts good today?' I would smile and nod. Seeing my smile, she would say happily, 'I am glad! I will roast more for you all next time!' This happened often. At first, I felt a sting of sadness, but eventually, I felt nothing at all. I learned not to calculate or hold onto such things; as long as everyone else was happy, that was enough for me. I had learned to let go of the desire for personal reward.

The Joy of Unseen Labour

One day, Father brought home a pile of vegetables from the fields and told my brothers, 'Help pick through these so we can stir-fry them for dinner, and we can give the rest away tomorrow.' He then returned to the fields. I had just finished my chores in the kitchen and saw the pile of fresh vegetables in the courtyard, unattended. I immediately pulled up a small stool and began to sort them. There was a great quantity, and it took me a long time. By evening, when Father returned, Mother had already turned them into a feast. Father praised my brothers, 'You did a wonderful job sorting these today.' They replied, 'It took us a long time, Father. You certainly picked a lot today!' Father laughed, 'Indeed! With you children here, I can pick more than I could alone.' Seeing them smile and eat with such joy, I felt a deep sense of peace. I did not care who had actually done the work; the harmony of the family was all that mattered. I found satisfaction in the act of service itself, rather than in the recognition of it.

In my life, although this body was born with emotions, they were never intense. I knew clearly that I was a child unwanted by my birth mother. From the moment I was abandoned in the snow, I had already begun to view worldly emotions with detachment. This was an ability I carried from past lives, not merely a result of my upbringing. Because of this, I did not care how others treated me. I did not crave their affection or protection, for I understood that such desires are merely dependencies. A heart filled with worldly love is narrow, capable only of holding one's own kin. But when the heart is no longer filled with these worldly attachments, it can hold compassion for the immeasurable beings of the six realms of existence. At that point, the heart is no longer the heart of an ordinary person; it is a Bodhi heart, like that of a Buddha—a heart of great compassion and no-self.

Sacrifice and Redemption

I lived with gratitude, thankful that my environment shaped my heart to give without seeking reward. Even when my father fell gravely ill at seventeen—abandoned by the other children who had already divided his assets—I stayed by his side day and night. To me, helping him was no different from helping any other sentient being. When he thanked me, I could only respond that it was my duty. It was my mission. I served him with the same diligence and care that I would offer to any being in need, without the burden of personal attachment or expectation.

When my second brother committed a grave crime and framed me, I felt no hatred. Kneeling at the execution ground, I looked at him with pity. I had no fear; I only hoped that my sacrifice might awaken his conscience. The executioner raised his blade, but when I opened my eyes, I saw my brother kneeling before the magistrate, confessing everything. We were both thrown into the dungeon. He asked me, 'Why did you not defend yourself? Have we not hurt you enough?' I sat in meditation and replied, 'No-self.' My heart was no longer of this world. If my life could save him, I was willing to give it. To exchange a life for the redemption of a soul—what a bargain that was! My brother wept, 'I will bear my own sins. Your compassion can save so many more people than I ever could. You should stay in this world to help others.' In the end, the truth was revealed, and we were both released. My brother changed his ways, learning to live with the same great love and compassion I had tried to share. I introduced him to the Buddha’s teachings, and he began his own journey of practice. He was astonished that I had been studying the Dharma since childhood, but I told him that the Causal Conditions had simply matured at the right time.

A Call to the Modern World

After my brother was saved, I committed myself fully to the monastic life, practising diligently. I left the world behind with a light heart, stepping onto the lotus to return to the Western Pure Land. Today, people are bound by the changes of society and their own internal ropes. They cannot open their hearts, and they suffer in the struggle of their own making. The Buddha now teaches us to set the heart at ease. The solution lies in the single, sacred name of Namo Amituofo.

Practitioner Su teaches us how to adjust the heart, unlocking the chains that bind us. Only when the heart is open can one truly live. The bound heart is controlled by endless spirits, unable to be its own master. Learn from Practitioner Su: be selfless, serve all beings, and let go of the self. When there is no 'self' to lock away, the heart is naturally open and free. Namo Amituofo."

This interview was recorded by the disciple Shi Fajing.