Author: dorakuan

Well, if the two of us were to just sit here completely silent, staring into each other’s eyes … do you think I could deceive you?

But once we turn it into words, and then, further, when those words are written down, it gets easier and easier to trick people. Even if you aren’t looking at the person you are communicating with, it’s still possible to write things. That’s not true speaking.
 
And then, when you add computers, there’s even more possibility for cheating.

The Japanese potter, anti-nuclear organiser, anarchist, community educator and father San Oizumi, quoted in the marvellous book A different Kind of Luxury, Japanese Lessons in Simple Living and Inner Abundance by Andy Couturier.

As a young student, more than half a life ago, I shared a spacious old flat with a few endearing fellows. We spent nights and days sitting around our kitchen table with our friends and friends’ friends discussing all issues of life and death and beyond. Though, regardless which oh so important matter was at the start of our discussion marathons, inevitably we ended up with our two ever favourite topics, namely “I, me, and myself”, or “conjectures concerning others”.

One reason why against all odds I eventually completed my academic education and spent almost two decades touring around the world meeting distinguished fellow researchers lies in the observation how rare and valuable a particular characteristic of trained scientists is: the ability and willingness to discuss a certain topic to come to a conclusion sooner or later, a conclusion which for most (if not all) disputants is agreeable. That is quite the opposite of what we celebrated while sitting around our kitchen table. The development of science, I realised, is not merely a means for producing amazing machines (such as the computer I employ for writing this text), it is the endeavour stretching over centuries conducted by generations of radically honest people dedicated to successfully discuss questions towards mutual agreement.

Consequently, any attempt to pit science and religion against each other must not neglect to take into account the different traditions of communication within both fields: a doctrinal system of fixed believes imparted top down within a strictly vertical hierarchy versus a democratic culture of skilled communication producing the transient truth called science. I was recently asked:

How can you be a scientist and practice Buddhism at the same time?

No problem, my understanding of Zen-Buddhism is by all means a secular (*) one. No disposition whatsoever to trade in a polite scientific discourse against a bundle of doctrinal believes.

The only other way of communication I cherish is radically individual, not aiming at any achievement or consensus while turning the inside out: communication through art. It is not very likely I will ever again in my life join a mutual exchange at the kitchen table, even when kitchen and table are virtual installations lost in the vast space of the world wide web …

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(*) my interpretation of the term secular maybe deserves some clarification, as I learned from the feed-back to this article. In an earlier version I wrote “my understanding of Zen-Buddhism is by no means a religious one”. The term “religious” apparently caused even more confusion …

I understand secular from it’s Latin root, saecularis, meaning both “worldly” and “temporal”. A secular understanding (e.g. of Zen-Buddhism) is therefore this-worldly, that means, not engaging in speculations about what was before, what will come after or what is beyond this life in this world, it is (as Zen always is) dealing with what is here and now. The second aspect temporal I read equivalent to contemporary in a way that it is up to date with science and society of the 21st century. That does not imply I completely disregard a teaching which was suitable for parts of the Indian society 2500 years ago or what developed from this root over the centuries in contact with various cultures. By no means I restrict myself to what has been said and written far away and long ago.

I am well aware there is a relatively young movement called “Secular Buddhism“. I don’t know enough about it to say if my view of “secular” and the one of the Secular Buddhists are similar, yet I have the impression there might be a certain, if not significant overlap … I explained elsewhere why I want to call what I am doing simply “Raku Zen”.

My calligraphy brushes are hanging on the brush stand, dry, collecting dust. My shakuhachi is lying in the corner, dry, collecting dust. In the morning I have been too tired and sleepy to get up early and practice Zazen, at night I am not sleeping well, and not enough … all because of reading and writing too much this month.

While working with my former teacher for 13 years I never had time for soaring flights of intellect, every moment was filled with praxis, awareness, doing. Said that, I much enjoy intellectual effort and don’t buy into the construction of some Western scholars based on the mistranslation of

 
教外別傳   a special transmission outside the teachings
不立文字   not laid down in writing
直指人心   directly pointing to the human heart
見性成佛   seeing one’s nature to become Buddha

that Zen is an anti-intellectual approach which is totally rejecting reading and writing. Though, as soon as reading and writing starts eating up all the time and energy better spent with practise, it feels like backing the wrong horse.

Today Paco de Lucia, the master of flamenco guitar passed away with just 66 years. While listening now to his wonderful music, I feel sad … life is fragile and short, no time to waste.

 

Almost three decades ago I began to study Physics and Philosophy in an ardent quest for understanding the world. I was driven by the hope there must be an enormous amount of well organised wisdom somewhere out there which, if thoroughly acquired, will provide a proper insight into what and how things are. Everything.

In a graduate course on Philosophy of Language I met a Professor who explained to his puzzled audience that his teaching will be more like an intellectual garbage collection, his goal is that we leave the room with less than what we brought in. We studied Wittgenstein’s Tractatus and I remember I refused to accept Wittgenstein’s idea comparing his text with a ladder we should throw away after climbing up. I wanted to have something to take home, make use of what I understood, employ the new understanding as a kind of intellectual tool-box. The idea that it just brought me somewhere else, and after getting there, I can safely forget my vehicle seemed unacceptable.

The Pali-Canon, the old text collection compiling what is believed to be Buddha’s words, contains a dialogue where the Buddha compares his teaching (the Dharma) to a raft. “Should I not lift this raft on my head or put it on my shoulders, and go where I like?” he asks, provoking the obvious answer: of course we should leave behind the raft “bound together by reeds, sticks, branches and foliage” (what a metaphor for the Dharma!) after we crossed the river and reached the other shore (Alagaddupama Sutta, MN22).

Once the teaching served it’s duty, we can safely leave it behind. Be it a ladder, a raft or the Dharma, no need to carry it with us …

In living Zen scholarly wisdom does not play an important role. There is no intention using our clever brains to put another brick into the wall of burbling ignorance, or insert another spoke into the over-full wheel of accumulated erudition. Yet it is worth while employing scholarly wisdom to pull down such walls or pull out some spokes from weisenheimer’s spinning wheel …

I vividly remember a party I visited decades ago, where someone was telling me of the “Gateless Gate”, a book full of mysterious wisdom she apparently just read. Asking about the obvious contradiction in the title, I was told Zen (she pronounced “Tsenn”) is always that way, to the outsider it sounds all contradictory. I have to transcend the “Gateless Gate”, then all issues of life will be resolved and I won’t ask such ignorant questions. Well … I decided to desert the Guardian Angel of the Gateless Gate with the excuse to get me another beerless beer, and filed “Tsenn” under “that sort of nonsense” for the time being …

Who ever had the idea to translate “Mumonkan” (無門關) with “Gateless Gate”, making Zen sound so … ohhh… mysterious and enigmatic? Let’s see how the title of this famous collection of Zen dialogues was probably meant to be understood by the author:

The last character, kan (關), means mountain pass. It evokes the image of a small and steep road climbing up the mountain to reach the other side. Such a mountain pass was of vital importance in ancient China, one had to control who comes in over the pass and who wants to escape. Therefore massive two- or three story gates, called mon (門) were often built for protecting a mountain pass. These gates or checkpoints had names patterned SuchandSuch-Gate-Pass, as Sword-Gate-Pass (劍門關), Goose-Gate-Pass (雁門關) or Strong-Gate-Pass (鐵門關).

“Mumonkan” (無門關) is playing with evoking the image of such a massive gate guarding a mountain pass, and at the same time, with it’s very name Mumon (無門) saying there is no gate. Literally translating Mumonkan would read “Mountain Pass without a Gate”, yet the text in the introduction of the Mumonkan says this Mumon is the gate to the law, to the way how things are (無門爲法門). In a wonderful ambiguity which is only possible in Chinese language we are asked: “since there is [no gate]/[this gate called Mumon], how will you pass through (既是無門、且作麼生透)?” This Mumon sounds to me a bit like Peter Pan’s “Neverland”, a “Nevergate”. And it is not just the gate which isn’t there or the gate called “Mumon”, it is also Mumon’s gate, since the author’s name is Mumon Ekai (無門慧開). I can almost see him whimsically smiling …

How couldn’t we see this way (豈不見道) Mumon asks, and continues with his much quoted verse stating the Great Way (大道) is without Gate (無門), the Great Way (大道) passes through this Nevergate (無門): 大道無門.
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(Not only) Scholarly Appendix: “Weisenheimer” is my ever favourite German sounding word in the English language. It is not really a Germanism, since this word is yet not (or not yet?) part of the German language. Talking of German language, the novelist Franz Kafka was telling us of just another gate in his parable “Vor dem Gesetz (Before the Law)”. Kafka’s gate to the law (法門) stands wide open and won’t be closed by the gatekeeper until the life of the very person for whom the gate was made to pass through ended, waiting outside. I read this (my ever favourite Zen story) as a warning, 豈不見道? Let’s go!

I know several fine Zen practitioners who probably have only a vague idea (if at all) what could be meant by the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold Path, not to mention any of the canonical texts or Sutras. They are content with their practice, joyful community members and their helpful hand usually finished a task before others discover there might be some work to do. I just want to live with them …

I’ve encountered others who got an upset brain from trying to digest too many spoiled translations of the old classics. These people often sound like a living encyclopaedia of misunderstandings, and at times display an irritating amount of pride about the accumulated confusion inside their heads. Investigating the source of a potential mistranslation of an old text is quickly mistaken by these faithful yet pitiable believers as an attempt to break through their firmly masoned walls of misconceptions protecting a castle of religious adopted creed they inhabit. Not the kind of people I want to live with, though I’d welcome them at my Dojo …

To experience how quick one can get lost in translation, let’s for example have a look at a piece from the Mumonkan (無門關), a collection of Zen dialogues compiled in the 13th century by Mumon Ekai (無門慧開). Case 8 tells us about a wagon fabricated by Keichu (the legendary Chinese craftsman) which is counting 100 spokes (dividing up into 50 spokes per wheel for the at his time common two-wheel model).

Doesn’t this sound like a ridiculous number of spokes? Considering the Buddhist wheel (法輪) has just eight spokes, and the famous wheel mentioned in the Tao Te Ching (道德經) is satisfied with 30 spokes, yet making a point on not the spokes but the empty hub make the wheel functioning. For sure, this masterpiece of a wheel with 50 spokes, which (according to Mumon) when rotating even makes a master feel dizzy (機輪轉處/達者猶迷), it has far too many spokes!

You probably now can easily guess what this cleverly fabricated but unnecessary and potentially confusing bunch of spokes stands for, what you should best do with it and what you get after mission completed … we shall leave this little exercise to the reader.

To get back to our topic, how is the ancient Chinese text (which in the original reads 奚仲造車一百輻) often translated? “Keichu made one hundred carts“. Well, he didn’t … and lost you get with all the speculations built on such mistranslation.
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Scholarly Appendix: I assume this common misunderstanding is caused by mistakenly reading 輻 as an ancient classifier for counting carts, which is instead written (quite similar) as 輛. I was at first thrown off the scent by Chinese versions of the text which employed both characters in a bit random fashion, supporting the “one hundred carts” reading, yet I could not find any hint that the character 輻 has ever been used as a classifier for counting equivalent to 輛.

Could it be an erroneous reading from the ancient hand-written original? Until recently a 15th century Japanese woodblock print was considered the eldest version available, almost all English translations are based on it. After some research I found that around 2006 a much elder handwritten version was discovered, dating back to the 13th century. Alas, the Taipei based museum which once displayed a facsimile on-line ceased to exist, and it took me some precious time to find a copy in the depths of the world wide web. It very clearly reads 造車一百輻, no doubt is possible. So far, I guess we have good reason to believe Mumon talked of a wagon with hundred spokes, and not one hundred wagon.

I’d be most happy to hear comments by scholars of Classical Chinese on this very crucial point!

I stole the title for this post from a discussion in a Buddhist on-line forum I shared the other day. In a previous post I explained why I don’t like having public discussions with strangers on the web. And as I often do after forming an “opinion” on this or that, I go out and see if the opposite might not be true as well …

I read a lot in the forum for the past couple of days, posts from very educated people, kind and helpful messages, off-topic stuff and a lot of opinions on this or that. I saw the fires of greed, aversion and delusion burning high and passionately being fired in some threads. So far, “discussing with strangers on the web” was a better experience than expected, though the few things I contributed were occasionally misunderstood (and quickly clarified), and one exchange completely derailed …

What makes me consider to unsubscribe after my short visit is the time a sincere interaction requires. An interaction with a random selection of strangers I happen to meet on-line, whom I don’t know and who I most likely will never meet in person. Time is so precious … and carefully reading and answering the two active discussions I joined took so much of my time.

What makes me consider to not unsubscribe for the time being is feeling ever grateful for the positive experience I made with yet another online-forum several years ago, though just as a passive reader and learner.

The eminently competent people there were never tired to share their experience concerning their ancient art in the most friendly way. They were particularly kind to beginners posting their troubles and failures, which occurred in spite of a sufficiently complete introduction section to the subject. And they had a very productive exchange going on amongst their experienced peers, including some professionals. These people seemed ever curious about learning something new, doing something old in a new or better way, though they clearly had distinct preferences in taste and style which could not differ more. All of them seemed to enjoy what they do, and their life in general. And they shared a common deep believe: you don’t need to add yeast to bake delicious bread. It was a forum on sour-dough baking … and I wonder ever since if baking bread turns someone into a joyful companion, or joyful people start baking bread.

Another idea I want to realise one day: teaching a seminar on “Zen and the Art of Sourdough Bread Baking”, it’s just waiting for the logistics to be sorted out …

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Add on (Sep. 2014): While cleaning up my spam folder these days, I found several e-mail messages concerning discussions in the above mentioned Buddhist on-line forum I was participating for a few weeks around early spring. Not long after joining, I have to admit, I completely lost interest to exchange with people who take such little effort into maintaining a minimum politeness level when publicly communicating with strangers. I remember I sent a farewell-message to the friendly and always caring moderator, and did not log in ever since …

Was it a complete waste of time? I don’t think so. My short random walk in the twilight of the German speaking corner of the Buddhist world wide web helped me to much better understand why it is a really good idea to avoid idle chatter.

I received several questions why I do not enable commenting for my blog, if I want to avoid discussions about what I am writing here.

Well, no … I love discussions. But I restrict them to the group of people I either know, or I meet in person. I don’t like public discussions with strangers on the web for good reason. When I meet someone in person and enjoy polite small-talk while preparing a coup of tea for my guest, and he suddenly displays a weird expression on his face and starts shouting at me, I know what to do. Have a coup of tea (喫茶去).

The world wide web is a different story … it is a place where often sad and lonely people, who likely did not receive their share of invitations for a coup of tea, troll around shouting loudly. But we cannot see the weird expression on their faces until the mess is public, the insult written down for the world to read. Though I feel genuinely sorry for someone who has to spread his pain to others, my first ennobling truth is to keep some safety distance. Please have your cup of cyber-tea somewhere else!

Last year I discovered on the web-page of some American Zen group a calligraphy I had painted and put on-line more than a decade ago. I felt half pleased they seemed to like my old sketch, half disappointed they didn’t ask me if it was o.k. to use it. I guess it’s something related to Buddhist percepts, but I might have to go back to their page to find a correct reference which number of which set of percepts is related to “take only what is given to you”. Anyway, I’m not greedy and usually happy if I can help with what I’m doing!

My former teacher, who makes a certain portion of his living by selling his extraordinary Zen-Artwork, had always been less pleased finding other people using his masterpieces without asking, giving credits and maybe an appropriate donation. Particularly his Enso or Zen circles became very popular copy&paste victims, which is partially my fault since I put some of them on-line on his web-page and gallery. Today you can find many unauthorised versions of his Enso on the web, on any kind of material from paper to skin, in all variations from a plain copy to rotated or coloured ones plus additional image or text (and usually with a new copyright notice).

Below just a random selection I found by google today:

Looking at this disgraceful collection, I feel genuinely sorry there is nothing more I can do for my former teacher. Though, considering the obvious popularity and demand for Zen circles, I had another idea:

My daughter initiated a cute local charity project before Christmas last year and collected a respectable amount of donations by that. I was honestly impressed and felt embarrassed I never thought about starting something similar myself. What can I do, but drawing empty circles? Maybe not as nice as my former teacher’s, but usually not completely bad either … I do it every day ever since I’ve first met him almost 15 years ago.

I’m thinking of a “charity deal”: you do a donation to whatever charity project you have in mind, and in return I will draw an Enso for you. You provide the material (and a stamped back-envelope), I do my daily Enso practice on whatever you sent me and send it back (including copyright transfer). Maybe you get an original hand-calligraphed Enso you’d like, and you can do with it whatever you want! Just an idea, I’ll think about it…

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P.S.: Only in case you found “your” artwork displayed above: before complaining or considering to take me to court for copyright infringement, maybe you think for a moment of the modest old Japanese Zen monk who provided the basis for all that … and refund him properly for his efforts. Here is the web-page with the original Enso (including original copyright notice).

This is no surprise. Mr.Gautama, whom we call “The Buddha” and who (if we believe the Pali Canon) preferred to call himself “Thathagata” (the one who is thus come/gone), peacefully passed away almost 2500 years ago.

From the old texts we can get the impression Mr.Gautama was an incredibly talented psychologist, who had a very deep understanding of the human condition, the pains and sufferings of every day life, which he found to be originated in greed, aversion and illusion.

Fortunately, Mr.Gautama was kind enough to share his experiences with lots of other people, so successfully that we can excavate and study his ideas even today, hundreds of generations after his death. The discourses we find in the old texts are direct, clear and eminently practical. So much, that lots of it can easily bridge the gap of 2500 years and continents and speak to us 21st century global citizens. And if we are lucky enough, we might even meet and study with someone who is living up to all this, and such spares us the effort to learn ancient north Indian dialects and work through thousands of pages of old text.

Why then did it become a religion, called Buddhism (a word most likely coined by 19th century Western scholars)? Why do we have Monks, Nuns, Priests, Temples and all that …?

The Indian society 2500 years ago was strictly organised in terms of social stratification. You were born into your cast, had a life-long obligation to follow your cast’s rules and rituals, merry within your cast and die as a member of your cast. No way to go on-line and browse a bit for “other religions”, no way to dream of  “I chose my own beliefs from now on”. Either you were in, one hundred percent committed, or you had to leave. Not just leave your cast, but also your home, your family, your social group, the town you were living in … and go to dwell in the forests.

This is what Mr.Gautama did, leaving home to live in the forest, and so were the people who became his initial audience: the out-casts of Indian society, living in the forests. They supported themselves by begging and sharing and had no significant possession  … Mr.Gautamas attempts of getting this bunch of people around him a bit more organised ended up 2500 years later with priests living in luxurious temples wearing brocade robes and making a living by performing funeral services (and occasionally handing down enlightenment certificates). And most recently it lead to an increasing number of Westerners who attempt to integrate a more or less authentic copy&paste version of all this into their daily life as a school teacher, scientist, lawyer or Christian priest.

But aren’t we lucky today, compared to a 2500 years ago Indian who was unhappy with the destiny he or she was born into, who’s only chance was to stay and obey or escape into the forests? We are free to chose our beliefs and way of life, we have free access to an enormous amount of any kind of information and teaching, and usually we have enough spare time every day to study and practise (if we cut down a bit watching TV or working overtime). No need to leave a repressive family, home, social group and society to live in the forest in order to find and go our way!

Isn’t that an excellent perspective? We can just do it! Right here, right now …

Maybe it is this total freedom we did not yet learn to really appreciate, which makes us instead try to import some rules made for ancient Indian people who had to live in the forests – or robes, ranks, titles and rituals employed by professional funeral parlours in modern society Japan? Instead of just freely studying and living Mr.Gautamas insights … what a pity!