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Overview
Zheng Zeng was a graduate in science from Beijing University, a wife, a mother, and a Communist Party member. After a difficult emotional period, she found comfort in a spiritual practice known as Falun Gong, a form of qigong rooted in exercise and meditation and based on simple tenets of Truth, Compassion, and Forbearance. It quickly improved her life—and then shattered it, when the government began a crackdown on Falun Gong and arrested her.
After twice being held at a detention center and refusing to recant, she was sentenced without trial to reeducation through forced labor. Her “enlightenment”—in part undertaken by fellow prisoners incarcerated for prostitution, pornography, and drug addiction—took the form of beatings, torture with electric prods, starvation, sleep deprivation, and forced labor. She was compelled to knit for days at a time, her hands bleeding, to produce goods contracted for sale in the US market. Many Falun Gong practitioners died under the harsh conditions. Zheng Zeng was lucky.
Thousands of others have been deprived by an oppressive Chinese government of their freedom of speech and assembly and the freedom to believe as they choose. This is a testament to her ordeal and theirs.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781569477885 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Soho Press, Incorporated |
| Publication date: | 07/01/2018 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 368 |
| File size: | 967 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
THE MISTS OF BELIEF
I WAS ONE OF THOSE docile grade A students who were criticized so roundly during the Cultural Revolution. From primary school through senior middle school, I was always first in my class, head of my grade, and at the top in every test. I remember myself as exceptionally obedient, sensible and disciplined. However, at that time in China, there were two very famous revolutionary slogans: 'The more knowledge you have, the more anti-revolutionary you are' and 'To rebel against the authorities is encouraged'! So grade A students were regarded as out of date and no good.
In the small factory in Han Wang where my father worked our family was classed as intellectuals. This placed us ninth on the list of class enemies, and we weren't really able to identify with what were called the 'laboring people'. To forestall any quarrels, my mother discouraged my playing with the other children, so I spent most of my time after school reading anything I could get my hands on. I went to endless trouble to read: I would read by flashlight under my quilt, on summer nights tucked up safely under my mosquito net, and would even feign illness to get out of gym class so that I could sit in the classroom reading. I would use a length of bamboo to jiggle books off the top shelf where my father had put them out of reach of childish hands. I would read during class through the cracks in my desk and use my lunch money to borrow books. Reading was my greatest pleasure, but there were so few books to read.
Yet despite all my reading I developed little worldliness, and had no greater plan in my head than studying hard to become a scientist.
Beijing University, one of the most famous institutions of higher learning in the country, opened my eyes to the whole world around me. The greatest thing for me about 'Beida', as Beijing University is affectionately known, was the opportunity it afforded its students for independent thought and the chance to be ahead of the times. I began to awaken in that environment and, like so many others who had attended Beida before me, I began to ponder many things, especially my place in the world.
From the beginning of time, philosophers have contemplated questions such as 'Who am I?', 'Where did I come from?' or 'Where am I going?' I took to the magnificent collection of texts in Beijing University Library like a fish to water, and I dipped into every book of philosophy I could find — Rousseau, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Kant, Hegel, Sartre, Freud, Socrates, Aristotle, the cynics ... these giants of philosophy were leading me into uncharted waters: my understanding was growing but, as time went on, I felt as confused as ever. I still had no satisfactory answers to life's fundamental questions. Our graduating class wrote a few parting words to each other in a book and my own comments sum up how I felt then: 'Growing older day by day, and day by day realising how little I know; I don't understand why we are here.'
CHINA'S QIGONG CRAZE
Ever since I was little I had wanted to be an outstanding scientist, just like Marie Curie. After studying science at the university, however, I began to think that science had not really achieved any substantial leaps forward since Einstein, and that much of our recent progress has been in technology rather than science. I was convinced that any qualitative scientific leaps in the new century would have to be in the life sciences because, while we 'can ascend to the highest heavens and embrace the moon, plumb the depths of the five oceans and catch the soft-shelled turtle', we know too little about ourselves. I believed, and still believe, that this is the direction in which we can achieve the greatest development precisely because we still understand so little.
It so happened that at that time in China, there was a surge of interest in extraordinary human abilities — what Westerners would probably call the 'paranormal'— and qigong (the practice of mind and body improvement through exercise and meditation). Two professors in the Biology Department at Beida had begun researching such things in 1979, when the first case of 'recognising written characters by ear' occurred in China.
This phenomenon involves a character being written on a piece of paper, without the test subject seeing the character. The piece of paper is then rolled up into a little ball and placed in the subject's ear. The subject is then asked to 'read' the paper, without moving it or touching it in any way. The case in 1979 involved a young boy, so the Beida professors decided to focus on primary school children, as being old enough to concentrate, but not old enough that their minds were starting to close. Rather than putting the pieces of paper in the children's ears, they asked them to hold the ball of paper between their two palms and concentrate on visualising the characters on the paper. Exhaustive research showed that over 60 per cent of the children were able to concentrate enough to 'read' the word with their hands.
They pursued their rigorous scientific research for over ten years, accumulating a great deal of first-hand data and scouring a great many ancient books. Then they offered 'The study of the paranormal and qigong' as an elective subject open to all students; I took it while I was a graduate student. The meticulous scholarship of these two professors impressed me greatly, and to this day I can still see them shaking with anger as they stand at the lectern, denouncing the degenerate frauds who were discrediting the good name of qigong. Along with the other students taking this elective, I was part of a number of well-designed experiments that indicated the existence of the paranormal; these experiments also showed that such powers could be induced in subjects in a particular age group – confirming their research at the primary school. They also carried out many other experiments on mental telepathy, telekinesis, remote vision and hypnotism.
Their many experiments may have proved the existence of the paranormal but they did not make any significant theoretical breakthroughs and in their classes they relied mainly on records of the paranormal contained in a few ancient books. I recall them telling us quite frankly that they were unable to come up with a theory that could explain paranormal capabilities so they had concentrated on the preliminary stage of collecting a body of authentic first-hand material for later researchers to work with. Their enthusiasm, and commitment, inspired a spirit of scientific endeavour in their student. I studied several styles of qigong, writing up my qigong practice diary every day to provide authentic first-hand data.
These experiences showed me how marvellous we humans are and confirmed my belief that the next major scientific breakthrough would be in the life sciences. I also realised that current scientific theory is seriously lacking in really penetrating, satisfactory explanations.
This was all about science per se, but at some stage I began to have thoughts of a different kind about science. I began to think about the social function of science. I thought that science should be done not for the sake of science alone but for the sake of humankind, in the pursuit of the greater happiness of humankind. It is true that people have always enjoyed the material comforts and convenience of technological advances, which today are happening ever more rapidly. But do these advances ever bring true happiness? Over a thousand years ago the poet Tao Yuanming wrote: 'Gathering chrysanthemums by the east hedge, my lazy eyes meet South Mountain.' But what do we sing of today? There was a time when almost everyone was echoing the famous rock and roll star Cui Jian's song: 'It's not that I don't understand, it's just that the world is changing too rapidly'. Our pop songs are all 'I'm so lonely', 'I'm so sad', 'I'm so heartbroken'. We no longer possess the leisure, comfort, tranquillity, harmony and grace revealed in the literature, music and art of the ancients. People today are anxious and uneasy, worried about the world and what lies ahead. Family relationships are fraught as never before and the pace of society places enormous pressure on everybody. Traditional social ethics and moral values are being seriously challenged, making it difficult to establish a new equilibrium because of the new problems that are constantly emerging. I remember those popular T-shirts with 'So tired' printed on them or 'I'm edgy. Don't mess with me.' Such pithy comments really summed up what people were feeling.
Have scientific developments really given humankind a corresponding degree of happiness? Indeed, could any scientific or technological advance bring with it true happiness? Happiness ought to be deeply felt, not just a matter of material possessions or technologies. If science has not made people happier, what do we want with science? By this point I had become deeply sceptical about science and its benefits.
* * *
The first Buddhist text I came across was a handwritten copy in regular script of the Diamond Sutra; I used it when I was practising calligraphy. As I copied this sacred scripture over and over, the words 'All beings are led by me to the final Nirvana for the extinction of reincarnation' drifted through my consciousness like wisps of mist but I could never quite grasp the substance behind the mist.
I also roamed the world of Daoism, poring over texts like the Daodejing (also known as the Tao Te Ching). The perfection of the unique Oriental wisdom and art of Laozi and Zhuangzi took my breath away. As a graduate student I developed an interest in the Yijing (generally known in the West as the I Ching). I bought heaps of reference books and had begun to delve into them seriously, an obsession that lasted until I had my baby.
Three times during my pregnancy I consulted the Yijing, wanting to know how the birth would go, and each time the hexagrams indicated great peril. I didn't take much notice though, let alone consider how I might avoid this peril, because at that stage I was really only dabbling. I was still unsure whether I believed that everything can be foretold and whether a person's fate is decided at birth. These were big issues that brought into question my whole worldview, and for the moment I was unable to take a stand.
Things did indeed go wrong during Shitan's birth and I very nearly died. I was overwhelmed by fear of the gods of fate then, and willing to acknowledge allegiance to them: I had no choice but to believe that destiny had a hand in everything. The next question, of course, was: If there really is a certain inevitability about our destiny, are we able to change it at all?
While thus afflicted I met the Chair of the Taiwan Daoist Association, who advised me to study Qi Men Dun Jia, one of the three most amazing divination learnings in ancient China. It is believed that by mastering Qi Men Dun Jia you can not only foretell both good luck and bad luck in aspects of time and space (direction), but can also manage to change them — and that this is the only way to change one's fate. I bought a lot of books and off I went, but became dispirited very quickly and abandoned the whole thing. My years of delving into the tortuous arts of prophecy based on the interaction of yin and yang suddenly wearied me with their over-elaborate jargon and their tedious and complicated calculations.
Quite early on in my philosophical journey, I had begun to think in the following way: the universe moves in a regular fashion, everything from a galaxy to a microscopic particle following its own orbit; we can even write the molecular formula for mud. So, why is it that human beings are so chaotic? I believed that the cosmos remained stable and in harmony because everything in it followed certain common laws. In other words, the universe must contain an ultimate truth. And this truth must be simple yet profound.
It took Buddha Shakyamuni (Siddhartha Gautama) six years before he suddenly perceived that deliberately seeking hardship and punishing oneself was not the path to enlightment; then he renounced it. I, too, came to the realisation that it was futile to seek the truth of the universe through studying the yin–yang arts of prophecy. It was not the way, so I renounced it.
My search for the truth of the universe and my musings about life came to a standstill. Preoccupied with trying to get through each pain-filled day, I gave these seemingly irrelevant questions no further thought. Over all, however, my worldview gradually became more and more Buddhist. I had a vague feeling that this was where the truth of the cosmos lay but I was still unable to find out what was behind those mists.
CHAPTER 2ZHUAN FALUN
I SHALL NEVER FORGET JULY 2, 1997. Hong Kong had been handed back to China the day before which had been declared a national holiday. When I returned to work, a colleague said as she placed a set of books in a broken package on my desk, 'Here you are. Zhuan Falun!'The package was from my younger sister back home in Sichuan. I had rung her a few days earlier when she told me she had started practising Falun Gong. The name sounded vaguely familiar; I may have seen books in the bookstalls or people may even have recommended it to me, but it hadn't really registered. So when my sister said she would send me some Falun Gong books I didn't say no. I had once been very keen on qigong and was actually still practising one form for the sake of my health.
I opened the package and found four books: Zhuan Falun; Zhuan Falun: Volume II; Essentials for Further Advancement; and Explaining the Content of Falun Dafa. My sister suggested I start with Zhuan Falun; I took her advice.
I was one of those people described in Zhuan Falun who had learnt many forms of qigong, who had a stack of certificates to prove it, and who felt they knew all there was to know about it. I thought I'd have a look at the book anyway. I started reading the first few pages: the author, Li Hongzhi, began to describe the origins of human life and I was immediately captivated.
Over the next two weeks I read all four books through twice, muttering to myself all the while, 'Good heavens! So that's it!'
It's no exaggeration to say that these four books shook me more than all the other books I had ever read put together. I felt like a blind person suddenly given the gift of sight, as if a paper window had been pierced and the endless panorama of nature's mysteries revealed to me. I thought my head would burst. I had the solution to all those questions I had agonised over for so many years, and all those things I had never understood were suddenly clear to me.
Zhuan Falun explained very clearly, for example, the paranormal and qigong mechanisms that had perplexed my two professors at Beida and that I had felt were so inexplicable — the third eye, remote vision, telekinesis, mental telepathy and the healing power of qigong. It also clarified the relationship between matter and consciousness, an issue that philosophers and scientists had long wrestled with. Another thing I had never been able to work out was how Shakyamuni attained supreme understanding after sitting beneath the bodhi tree for 49 days: if I sat for 49 days, could I attain supreme understanding, too? Just what was supreme understanding? Was it something that only Shakyamuni had, or was it something that we ordinary mortals could attain if we used certain methods? What did Daoists mean when they spoke of how 'the conscious soul dies, the true soul is born'? Have we had previous incarnations and is there an afterlife? Can we vanquish sickness, senility, ignorance and death? Is there a universal ultimate truth? What is the ultimate truth? And so on and so on. I had found the solution to all these questions.
I also discovered that I was gazing upon the whole of humanity and human history with new eyes, as if from a great height — the history of human civilisation, of religion, of social systems. Take religion, for instance. Like so many people who had grown up under Marxist dialectical materialism, I believed that gods were artificial constructs, that people who knew little about science had imagined these idols into existence for the purpose of providing spiritual sustenance. Religion to us was simply an intensification of this sort of group consciousness that then became 'a tool in the hands of the ruling class to hoodwink and anaesthetise the masses'. But now I understood: 'In fact, a religion has two aims: one is to really make those who are good rise by cultivating the proper way of living; the other is to maintain the morality of human society on a high level. These are the two things a religion has to do.' (Zhuan Falun: Volume II). So that's what a true religion is, I thought to myself!
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Witnessing History"
by .
Copyright © 2005 Jennifer Zeng.
Excerpted by permission of Soho Press, Inc..
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Table of Contents
Preface,
Part I A new existence,
Prologue,
1 The mists of belief,
2 Zhuan Falun reveals nature's mysteries,
Part II The crackdown,
1 The fires of envy,
2 Mass arrests,
3 From small 'self ' to Great Way,
Part III Three stretches in the detention centre,
1 The nightmare begins,
2 'Let life display its splendour in Fa-Rectification',
3 All living beings have Buddha-nature,
4 Shoot the arrow first, then draw the bull's-eye,
Part IV Re-education through forced labour: tears of blood,
1 Hell on earth,
2 I am incarcerated in Tiantanghe,
3 A perilous time,
4 Reform,
5 Stormy seas,
6 'Coercion cannot change people's hearts',
Part V Exile,
1 Stating the facts,
2 A sacred mission,
Postscript,
Falun Gong chronology,
Appendix: Open letter to the media,
Notes,