A monk seeking guidance from Zhao Zhou, the master of a Zen
monastery, asks Zhao Zhou if he will teach him the way to
enlightenment. In response, Zhao Zhou asks the monk, “Have you eaten your
meal?” The monk replies, “Yes, I have.” “Then go wash your
bowl,” says Zhao Zhou. At that moment, the monk was enlightened.
Right off the bat, you might find this anecdote to be
abrupt and confusing. With further thought, you might try to
figure out why; what the meal and the bowl might represent and
what the metaphoric lesson might be. After more thought, you
might conclude that it all appears to have no point. With this,
you would be correct. It doesn’t. However, in this discovery,
you would have realized the point; the point being to not have
one. So I guess technically, you would have also been wrong. You
might find THIS completely contradictory and foolish. Again,
you’d be correct. This is also the point. With only a little dissection, this simple,
seemingly pointless riddle reveals to be a whirlwind
of regressive contradictions and confusions when put through
the analytical mind. How can it have a point by not having
one? How can it mean anything by not meaning anything? How can
one argue for it and against it at the same time? This paradoxical
and brain-breaking riddle is known as a Kōan.
A Kōan is a riddle or dialectic meditation device used in
Zen Buddhist practice that is intentionally designed to, at
least on the surface, be unclear and obscure. Its point is not
to provide a conclusion or answer to the question presented, but
rather, to disregard the relevance of the answer. To detach
itself from the functions of conclusion and singular resolution.
Ironically, with this, it actually seems to provide a more
accurate answer. There are over a thousand known Kōans that
follow this format, used to test and challenge Zen Buddhists,
and reveal the obscurity and limits of the mind.
In general, life is uncertain, confusing, and paradoxical.
As hard as we work against this, it mostly remains so. No matter
our efforts, every time we believe we have some understanding or
control over life, like water in the palm of the hand, the
tighter we squeeze, the further it eludes our grip. Sciences,
religions, and philosophies make sense of the world through
various methods, some more successful than others, but
nonetheless, all face the inevitable limits of themselves, the
human mind, and the time in which they are erected.
By shear lack of alternatives, we understand the world with
thoughts and words. Through which, we can create systems of
order and understanding like logic, story, social structure, and
material interaction. This can greatly assist our ability to
survive, coexist, communicate, deal with physical stuff, and so
on. However, thoughts and words, of course, can only describe
and understand the world with thoughts and words. As a result,
they cannot make sense of what exists beyond thoughts and words,
which a great measure of life arguably does. Like any tool,
thinking and language are limited to the confines of their
abilities. Like a hammer cannot screw in a screw, and a nail
cannot cut a board of wood, the human mind cannot make sense of
the mindless. A hammer can perhaps smash a screw in and a nail
can perhaps split a board of wood, like the mind can perhaps
consider life, but none of these items or tools fully suit the
jobs they are carrying out, and thus, will fall short in their
abilities to properly complete them. A Kōan embodies this notion. As opposed
to most stories, ideas, and answers that attempt to fight against the concept of obscurity
and absurdity in life by using defined structure, logic, and resolutions, the Kōan harmonizes
with the obscurity of life and disregards the need for conclusive answers. In rough
terms, Zen Buddhism, in general, is founded on this synchronization with the obscure and
abstract. To put it in context, Zen is a subset of Buddhism, which was founded and initially
practiced somewhere around the 6th century in China, and then further popularize in Japan
thereafter. Buddhism is consider by many to be a religion, but unlike most religions and
even most philosophies, Zen Buddhism is not concerned with
concrete ideas and concepts and thus, is not really much of a
belief system at all. Rather, it is considered to be more of a
state of being. In other terms, it is living in accordance with
one’s limitations to articulate and understand things in any
absolute sense and living more off intuition and spontaneity,
which even here misses the mark by attempting to use words to
describe it. Paradoxically, in the attempt to define Zen, you
have already incorrectly defined it. Alan Watts, a famous popularizer and philosopher
of eastern ideas, especially that of Zen Buddhism, explained
that, “Zen is trying to point to the physical universe so
that you can look at it without forming ideas about it.” Instead
of saying life is this or that; Zen says life is... and what
is is unclear and always changing, at least in terms of words
and ideas. Which is to say, the universe is not to be packaged
or structured in some human or rational way, even if it could be,
but rather it is to be experienced from the perspective of a passenger
to it, flowing with it, and avoiding attachment to
things within it that might make one stuck or rigid. It’s
as if we are all swimming or floating down a river. In which,
there are rocks that extrude out of this river’s surface.
These rocks represent various things and ideas that might be appealing
or seem reasonable to grab a hold of and stop ourselves
from going further down the river. However, if we stop
to hold onto a rock,
we stop moving. The water continues to flow beneath us, yet we
remain stuck and rigid. Zen suggests that in this, we will begin
to experience an increased pain and suffering that arises from
being attached to something and disconnected from the fluid
movement of activity happening around us. In Zen, this movement
is referred to as the Dao, or the way. At risk of adding further confusion and paradox
to an already confusing and paradoxical thought
experiment, a Kōan does not appear to suggest that we should
cease asking questions or thinking about the answers to questions
or anything of that sort. Kōans did not spring up out of lack
of thought or contemplation, but out of a specific sort
of contemplation; a self-referential thinking that denies its
ability to be a single, concrete, and universal thought that
answers or understands what might exist beyond itself.
Zen and the lesson of the Kōans suggests that we should flow
with life, ask questions, contemplate them, but not become
tricked by any singular idea or answer that might tempt us
into a final resolution, for it is likely nothing more
than mirage of the mind.
This is, of course, extremely difficult, especially since
we tend to extract our identities out of our beliefs and ideas,
and thus our mind works very hard to hold onto them. Arguably,
it is unlikely that we will ever be able to fully avoid being
tricked by this function of the mind and ego. Even holding on to
the idea of not holding onto any ideas is in fact holding onto
an idea. However, perhaps by considering the lesson of the
Kōans, the more practical point is to help reminds ourselves of
the playfulness of most things, see through the contrived, take
ourselves a little less seriously, and open up to the
possibility of new ideas, experiences, and people that we might
otherwise feel disconnected from or in conflict with. Just like
how the center of a tornado is calm with little to no motion
despite it being surrounded by a coil of rapid violent winds, we
can live in the center of the tornado of knowing and unknowing,
and still remain calm and at ease despite the surrounding storm
of contradictions and paradoxes. Regardless of our religious, philosophical,
or spiritual beliefs; perhaps the lesson presented by the
Kōans apply to all. All our sciences, philosophies, religions,
and everyday questions inevitably will face the limits
of themselves. A Kōan and Zen in general, let us know that this
is ok and points us to the bigger picture. The riddle of which all
riddles and stories emerge. And like all great riddles, this bigger
picture must remain unclear, funny, ambiguous, and open
to interpretation to be it at all.