The Secret of National Strength

Golden afternoon sunlight bathed the red flags with yellow stars fluttering in the courtyard of Lao Bao Prison. The wind from the ancient, wild forests still carried the cool breath of the western border mountains. The resonant chanting of sutras from a memorial service for the departed merged into the space, like an invisible thread connecting a heroic past with a peaceful present.

Venerable Tu Luan, who had come to spread the Dharma in this land marked by war, lifted a hot cup of tea and placed a handful of green tea leaves into the pot. He watched the Buddhists bowing reverently before turning to his honored guest, Most Venerable Thich Chan Quang, who had spent the entire afternoon delivering a dharma talk on "Where does the strength of a nation come from?"

"Dear Teacher," Tu Luan said in a warm, deep voice, "many Buddhists wonder why our country, though poor and its people hardworking, managed to win wars that seemed impossible."

The Most Venerable smiled, his gentle eyes gazing out at the courtyard now steeped in evening light. He set down his cup and spoke slowly:

"That is a great question. But before answering, we must understand that the strength of a nation lies not only in money, armies, or technology. There is an element even higher than both material and spiritual factors—it is the spiritual element."

Tu Luan nodded, remembering how an elderly man once told him that when French colonists built this prison, they chose Lao Bao because no one could escape. The jungle was too thick, the rivers too wild. Yet somehow, Vietnamese political prisoners still found ways to resist and maintain their spirit, even in the darkest cells.

"Teacher," Tu Luan continued, "what does that spiritual element consist of?"

Most Venerable Thich Chan Quang took a small sip of tea, then set it down, his gaze seeming to pierce through the courtyard toward the distant forests:

"The spiritual element of a nation comprises three things. First is the morality of the entire people. If everyone lives ethically, our nation naturally possesses inner strength. Second is a genuine faith—and we are fortunate to have Buddhism accompanying us. But the third thing is the secret," he emphasized, "which is the divine quality of a nation."

Tu Luan leaned forward slightly, his hand unconsciously gripping his teacup. Nearby, several Buddhists listened intently, their eyes filled with curiosity.

"Divine quality," Tu Luan repeated, "means we can achieve what seems impossible. The two holy resistance wars are proof. A country where food was scarce, clothes were lacking, and two million people starved to death, yet defeated the most powerful empires in the world."

The Most Venerable nodded, his eyes shining with deep pride:

"And why do we possess this divine quality? Because we have talented heroes revered by the people—from Father Lac Long Quan and Mother Au Co, to the Hung Kings, and countless generations of martyrs who fell so our homeland could rise. And we have profound gratitude toward those heroes."

At this point, the Most Venerable paused, looking out at the winding path leading up the hill, where the silhouette of a martyr’s monument appeared among lush green leaves.

"I once passed through a cemetery of martyrs between Can Tho and Hau Giang provinces. Every time I went by, I bought cakes, incense, and candles, stopping the whole group to offer incense at each grave. It is a small gesture, but it creates a spiritual connection between the living and those who sacrificed their lives."

Tu Luan felt his heart tighten. He remembered nights of meditation in the small temple near the border, recalling the figures of soldiers who lay forever in these sacred jungles and wild waters.

"And," the Most Venerable continued, "to maintain that divine quality, our people must perform extraordinary deeds even in peacetime. Heroes in production—producing more to lower costs, so the people may live abundantly. Heroes in technical innovation—so our country never becomes enslaved by having to buy foreign goods. And especially, heroes in cultivation."

He turned to Tu Luan, his eyes full of respect:

"Like Teacher Tu Luan here—who came to this remote border region, where there were no roads back in the old days, to expand the Dharma. This is heroism in practice. We must applaud him for doing what few dare to do."

The Buddhists applauded loudly. Tu Luan bowed his head, his cheeks flushing pink. He felt the fire of compassion and responsibility in his heart burn more intensely than ever before.

The sun had lowered, casting its last rays on the silver hair of the Most Venerable. The wind grew cooler, carrying the scent of incense from the recently concluded memorial service.

"But," the Most Venerable’s voice dropped suddenly, creating a mysterious silence, "the true secret of our national strength lies even deeper. It is a national secret we should not reveal to outsiders."

Tu Luan and the Buddhists held their breath, waiting.

"It is the way of being a child."

The Most Venerable pronounced each word clearly and strongly:

"In a Vietnamese family, even if parents scold or strike, the child must still love and respect them. At school, even if teachers reprimand, students must still show reverence. A well-behaved child accepts discipline and obedience, even amidst pain or humiliation. And precisely this quality, when entering the army, becomes absolute discipline—the strength of every powerful military."

He recounted a childhood memory, when he forgot his English book and was slapped three times by his teacher in front of the class, then pushed out into the hallway. He had to borrow a seat in another class. But the next time they met, the teacher looked at him with loving eyes, and he cherished that teacher for life.

"That is the strength of our nation," the Most Venerable concluded. "In other countries, parents spoil their children; those children grow up with a huge ego, unable to obey orders or accept discipline in the army. But we, from a young age, are taught to be obedient, to listen to our parents and teachers. That quality creates discipline—the foundation of all victories."

Tu Luan bowed his head, pressing his palms together at his chest. He clearly sensed that the extraordinary strength of the nation was not some miracle from heaven, but forged right within humble families, by well-behaved children who accepted discipline and loved their parents and teachers.

"And," the Most Venerable added, "the divine quality also lies in our people knowing how to live altruistically, kindly, without clinging to merit. Helping each other in difficult times, not competing when prosperous. This is a quality we must preserve."

Dusk had fully settled. Electric lights in the courtyard of Lao Bao Prison switched on, illuminating the reverent faces of each Buddhist. Crickets began to chirp in the grass. The Most Venerable stood up, joined his palms in prayer, recited the Buddha’s name, and turned to Tu Luan with trusting eyes:

"Teacher Tu Luan, you are doing a very sacred work. Please continue to uphold moral standards and genuine faith for this border region. That contributes to the divine quality of our nation."

Tu Luan bowed deeply, tears welling in his eyes:

"I will strive my utmost, Teacher. I will be a hero in practice, as you teach."

Night fell over the Lao Bao border region, silent and peaceful. The wind still blew, carrying the scent of incense and teachings that echoed in the hearts of every Vietnamese person—the secret of strength lies right within the beautiful traditions of the nation: the way of being a child, gratitude, and the divine quality forged from the simplest things.

**The Meaning of the Story**

The true strength of a nation lies not only in money, armies, or technology, but most profoundly in the spiritual element—including the morality of the entire people, genuine faith, and divine quality. That divine quality is created from the tradition of filial piety: a well-behaved child obeys parents and teachers, accepts discipline, and forms the qualities of a soldier with absolute discipline from a young age. Simultaneously, the nation needs deep gratitude toward martyrs, lives altruistically without clinging to merit, and each person—whether a worker, innovator, or monastic—must strive to perform extraordinary deeds in peacetime to contribute to the collective strength of the nation.

Compiled from the dharma talk of Most Venerable Thich Chan Quang