Thich Nhat Hanh
1926 - 2022

Thay was the second-youngest of six children, with three older brothers, an elder sister, and a younger brother born soon after him. He lived until aged five with his extended family, including uncles, aunts, and cousins, at the home of his paternal grandmother — a large house with a traditional courtyard and garden, with a lotus pond and bamboo grove, within the old imperial city walls. 

When Thay was four, his father was assigned to work in the northern province of Thanh Hoa, about 500 kilometers north in the mountains. A year later, the family moved up to join him. As a boy, Thay began to eagerly read the Buddhist books and magazines brought home by his elder brother Nho, whom he loved and admired. He registered for a nearby informal homeschool, with the family name “Nguyen Dinh Lang.”

In his later talks and lectures, Thay often recalled a pivotal moment when, perhaps as early as age nine, he was captivated by a peaceful image of the Buddha on the cover of one of Nho’s Buddhist magazines. The illustration of the Buddha sitting on the grass, naturally at ease and smiling, captured his imagination and left a lasting impression of peace and tranquility. It was a stark contrast to the injustice and suffering he saw around him under French colonial rule. The image awakened a clear and strong desire in him to become just like that Buddha: someone who embodied calm, peace, and ease, and who could help others around him also be calm, peaceful, and at ease.

A year or so later, Thay and his brothers and friends were talking about what they wanted to be when they grew up. His elder brother Nho was the first to say he wanted to become a monk. The boys discussed it for a long time and finally all agreed to become monks. 
 

The magazine was called Duoc Tue (“Torch of Wisdom”). This story is told in Thich Nhat Hanh’s book A Pebble for Your Pocket: Mindful Stories for Children and Grown-ups (2001).

In 1942, at the age of sixteen, with his parents’ permission, Thay returned to Hue to begin novice training at Tu Hieu Temple, under Zen Master Thich Chan That (1884-1968), entering the Vietnamese Zen Buddhist tradition in the lineage of the renowned Master Linji (Rinzai) and Master Lieu Quan.

Thay’s teacher, Thich Chan That, belonged to the 41st generation of the Linji School (臨濟宗, Vietnamese: Tông Lâm Tế, Japanese: Rinzai) and seventh generation of the Lieu Quan Dharma line. Zen Master Thich Chan That had the Lineage name Thanh Quý 清季; Dharma name Cứu Cánh 究竟; and Dharma title Chan That 真寔.

According to Vietnamese Buddhist tradition every practitioner receives a lineage name when first committing to practice the Five Precepts; on becoming a monk they receive a monastic Dharma name. Later, monks may take or be given by their teacher or community one or many Dharma titles, marking the development of their career. Every monastic member in the Vietnamese Buddhist tradition has a name which begins with Thích, which represents the Buddha’s family name “Shakya” (釋迦). It can be considered a family name or surname for Buddhist monastics in Vietnam.

After three years of instruction, Thay formally received the novice precepts in the early morning of the full moon of the ninth lunar month of 1945 (21 October). He was initially given the aspirant name “Sung” and was known as “Điệu Sung.” Điệu means “aspirant” and Sung comes from the words sung túc, meaning “prosperity” or “to prosper.” When he received the Five Precepts he was given the Lineage name Trừng Quang (澄光, “Calm Light”), marking his generation in this particular Buddhist school; and when he received the Ten Novice Precepts, he was given the monastic Dharma name Phùng Xuân (逢春, “Meeting Spring”), the name by which was known in the temple.

Note: The story of Thay’s novice years come from his book My Master’s Robe (2002).

Despite the tension beyond the temple walls, with the Japanese occupation of Vietnam (1940-45), and the scarcity of food during the catastrophic 1945 famine, Thay recalled his novicehood as a happy time.

His years at Tu Hieu Temple were a time of rustic simplicity. There was no electricity or running water and no toilets. As a young novice in training, his daily tasks included chopping wood, carrying water from the well, sweeping the courtyard, working in the garden, tending the cows, and, when the season came, helping to harvest, thresh, and mill the rice. Whenever Thay had a chance to be his teacher’s attendant, he would wake before dawn to light a fire and boil water to prepare his tea.

The temple followed the Zen principle of “no work, no food,” which applied to everyone from the highest monk to the newest member. In the spirit of the Zen lineage of Master Linji, Thay was taught to become fully present and concentrated in every task, whether washing the dishes, closing the door, sounding the temple bell, or offering incense at the altar. He was given a little book, Essential Vinaya for Daily Use* — forty-five short verses in Sino-Vietnamese which he had to memorize and recite silently during every act of daily life to maintain concentration.

When the French returned to reclaim Vietnam in 1945, the violence only increased. Although many young monks were tempted by the Marxist pamphlets’ call to arms, Thay was convinced that Buddhism, if updated and restored to its core teachings and practices, could truly help relieve suffering in society, and offer a nonviolent path to peace, prosperity, and independence from colonizing powers, just as it had during the renowned Ly and Tran dynasties in medieval Vietnam.*

In 1947, Thay’s teacher sent him to study and live at the nearby Bao Quoc Institute of Buddhist Studies in Hue. His studies took place against the backdrop of the First Indochina War (1946-54), as, following the withdrawal of the Japanese, a violent struggle emerged between the French forces and the nationalist Viet Minh engaging in guerrilla warfare to end colonial rule.

Over 50,000 people would die in the fighting, as the Vietnamese fought for the kind of independence India would win from the British. The skirmishes and violence did not spare the monks or temples. They became a place of sanctuary and refuge for revolutionaries fleeing the French.

Although unarmed and nonviolent, many monks, including some of Thay’s close friends such as Thich Tam Thuong , were shot and killed. French soldiers frequently raided the temples, searching for resistance fighters or food. Thay vividly recalled one raid where soldiers demanded the last of their rice.

At Bao Quoc, Thay continued to read progressive Buddhist magazines which explored ideas for a “socially conscious” Buddhism that was concerned not only with transforming the mind, but also the wider environment and conditions in society, including the economic and political roots of poverty, oppression, and war. For example, Tien Hoa Buddhist magazine published articles on the importance of studying science and economics in order to understand the actual roots of suffering, and not rely only on chanting and prayer.

The story elements above were compiled from the following sources: My Master’s Robe (2002).  Thich Nhat Hanh’s letter, “The Magical Sound of the Sitar,” October 13, 2009, Inside the Now (2015), and At Home in the World: Stories and Essential Teachings from a Monk’s Life (2016).

Unfortunately the Bao Quoc Institute’s records are no longer extant. They were deliberately burned in 1975 and what remained was lost in a later accidental fire.

In addition to Tien Hoa magazine, Thay was also inspired by the writings of Zen Master Thich Mat The (1912-1961) and the author Nguyen Trong Thuat (1883–1940). Both figures saw the deep riches in Vietnamese Zen history and the capacity of Buddhism to bring about “a new spring” for Vietnam, the kind of Buddhist renewal also being proposed by other reformers and modernists elsewhere, for example, the Chinese Master Taixu (1890-1947). Thich Mat The studied with Master Tinh Nghiem (Qing Yan) in China, and brought back his ideas to Hue.

*For more on Thay describing being tempted by the communist path himself, see the Mindfulness Bell, issue #34, Autumn 2003.

In 1955, the regime of Vietnamese Catholic leader Ngo Dinh Diem began to consolidate power, using every means possible. Catholics were explicitly favoured and Buddhists increasingly suppressed and marginalized. Hopes for democratic elections soon faded as guerrilla fighters continued to gain ground, and the government — under foreign influence — did everything they could to stymie a free ballot.

According to Thay’s private papers (published in 1955) he was asked to write a series of ten high-profile articles for the politically-neutral daily newspaper, Democracy (Dân Chủ). They asked him to show the strength of Vietnam’s own Buddhist heritage, and prove that Buddhism was not irrelevant or obsolete, as many were claiming. 

And so, in the turmoil and pressure of the division of the country, Thay’s vision for engaged Buddhism crystallised. Published on the front page, under the pen name Thac Duc, and entitled Dao Phat Qua Nhan Thuc Moi (A Fresh Look at Buddhism), Thay’s daring articles proposed a new way forward in terms of democracy, freedom, human rights, religion, and education. They sent shock-waves across the country.

The tenth and final article was a bold Buddhist critique of President Diệm’s doctrine of “personalism” — his alternative to liberalism and communism which every government employee was required to follow.

The story of Thay’s of writing for the Democracy newspaper was related, in part, in his 6 May, 2008 Dharma Talk  

According to Thay’s unpublished private papers, he made his first trip back to Hue, to his home temple and family in 1955 — seven years after leaving. He received a warm welcome at his Root Temple and at the Bao Quoc Institute they organized a talk for him with the students. Thay also enjoyed a happy visit with his parents. It would be the last time he saw his mother in good health.

As his recognition and standing grew, in 1956 Thay was appointed Editor in Chief of Vietnamese Buddhism (Phat Giao Viet Nam), the official magazine of the new National Buddhist Association. He used a dozen pseudonyms to author articles on Vietnamese history, international literature (including Tolstoy, Albert Camus, Victor Hugo), philosophy, Buddhist texts, current affairs, short stories, and even folk poetry — doing everything he could to promote reconciliation and a spirit of togetherness between Buddhists of North and South.

He dug deep into Vietnam’s own history to propose a truly Vietnamese way out of the situation, drawing on the very engaged role Buddhism had played during the Trần and Lý Dynasties between the 11th and 13th Centuries, that had so inspired him as a young monk.

Thay’s pseudonyms included Hoàng Hoa (poetry), Thạc Ðức (philosophy, Engaged Buddhism, current affairs and reconciliation), Nguyễn Lang, (history of Buddhism), Dã Thảo (renewing Buddhism, role of Buddhism in society, influence of Buddhism on Western philosophy; critique of Buddhist institutions), Tâm Kiên (modern folk poetry), Minh Hạnh (literary commentary, French literature, cultural critiques), Phương Bối (deep Buddhism, message to youth), B’su Danglu (renewed Buddhism), Tuệ Uyển (Buddhist ethics), Minh Thư and Thiều Chi (Buddhism, short stories, interviews with leading monks). He edited as Nhất Hạnh, and also wrote Buddhist commentary and some poems as Nhất Hạnh.

Towards the end of 1956, Thay began to spend more time in B’lao, a remote tea-growing region in the central highlands. There, he retreated to a small thatched hut built among the tea trees in the grounds of Phưoc Hue Temple. It was a simple hut, at the end of a little path through the tea plantation, with just a bed and a table — and stacks of books.

Thay dreamed of creating a monastic community there in the mountains, and was soon joined by a number of young monastic brothers and students from An Quang and BAo Quoc. It was from here that he wrote and edited articles for the national Vietnamese Buddhism magazine over the next two years, while teaching the young monks. And it was also here that Thay had a memorable dream, recorded in his writings, in which he saw his late mother.

On 7 August, 1957, Thay and his friends found sixty acres of land available to buy from K’Briu and K’Broi in the heart of the Dai Lao Forest, in a quiet spot near the Montagnard village of B’su Danlu, about 10km from B’lao and Phuoc Hue Temple. In January 1958 they began clearing the land, and that summer started erecting some simple wooden structures.

They called this new community “Phuong Boi” (Fragrant Palm Leaves), after the name of Thay’s hut in the tea field of Phuoc Hue. Thay recalled that Phuong Boi “offered us her untamed hills as an enormous soft cradle, blanketed with wildflowers, grasses, and forest. Here, for the first time, we were sheltered from the harshness of worldly affairs.

With this new dream of a “rural practice center” Thay definitively broke free of the mould of the traditional Buddhist temple with its ceremonies and rituals, and created an environment exclusively dedicated to spiritual practice, study, healing, music, poetry, and community-building. They enjoyed sitting meditation in the early morning, tea meditation in the afternoons, and sitting meditation in the evenings. Phuong Boi was an experimental model for the renewal and reinvigoration of Buddhism. Though few may have foreseen it, Phuong Boii became a prototype for Thay’s many “mindfulness practice centers” that would flourish around the world by the end of the century. 

Thay put great effort into editing Vietnamese Buddhism magazine. But in 1958, after just two years of publication, its funding was discontinued. Thay felt that it wasn’t just about a lack of funds, but also resistance in the Buddhist hierarchy to his bold articles. He felt he had failed in his effort to renew and unify Vietnamese Buddhism.
 

Stories in the section were related in Thich Nhat Hanh’s book Fragrant Palm Leaves (1999).

With the Vietnamese Buddhism setback, still grieving his mother’s death, and enduring the painful division of the country, Thay struggled to keep his hope alive. He fell sick and was hospitalized for almost a month in Grall Hospital in Saigon, where he was treated by French doctors. His body was weak and he suffered from chronic insomnia. Even the doctors were unable to help, and his spirits were lower than ever.

Thay later described this period as a time of deep depression. In a Dharma Talk in Plum Village, on 20 June, 2014 Thay said “…after my mother died, and the country [had been] divided, and the war continued, I had depression… The doctors could not help. It was by the practice of mindful walking and mindful breathing that I could heal myself. 

When you practice sitting or walking, you can know whether your breathing is healing or not. You can see the effect of healing right away when you breathe in. And when you walk, if every step brings you happiness and joy, …that is very nourishing and healing, and you know it. And with your depression, if you breathe and walk like that for one week, I know that you can transform. That is the practice of stopping and healing — stopping the running, stopping the fact that you are being carried away. You resist, you do not want to be carried away; you want to live your life, and you have your [own] insight as to how to do it.”

In spring 1959, known for his work as the Editor of Vietnamese Buddhism magazine, Thay was invited to attend the international Buddha’s birthday celebrations in Japan. Although his health was still weak (for part of the trip he was hospitalized in Tokyo), it proved to be an important journey that expanded his horizons. It was Thay’s first trip outside of Vietnam and the first to expose him to the network of the wider Buddhist community, who had gathered from around the world. From the other delegates, Thay heard about the great Buddhist collections in libraries in the west; and he realised the importance of learning English. On his return, he resolved to master the language within a year.

In November 1959, at a weekly lecture series he started giving for Saigon university students at Xa Loi Temple, Thay met many young people eager to help him in his work. Among them was Cao Ngoc Phuong, a young biology student, who became one of his “Thirteen Cedars,” a group of passionate young activists who studied with him and supported his vision for a modernized Buddhism. 

Known simply as “Phuong,” Cao Ngoc Phuong was already actively leading social work programs in the Saigon slums and urged Thay to develop spiritual practices that could support such engaged action. He accepted the challenge, and it was in the process of guiding Phuog and “the thirteen cedars,” in social work, education, and relief projects, that Thay’s teaching — captured in his articles, books, and lectures — found its practical application and field of action for the first time. As Thay reflected later, “It was not easy because the tradition does not directly offer Engaged Buddhism. So we had to do it by ourselves.”

Phuong went on to become his principal collaborator over the next six decades, later becoming known as Sister Chan Khong — today a renowned and much-loved teacher in her own right.

The story of Thay first meeting Sister Chan Khong comes from a Shambhala Sun interview published 1 July, 2003.