UnMind 109. Teacher vs Student — Atlanta Soto Zen Center

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Asymmetrical.
Of necessity it is —
But need not stay so

Welcome back to UnMind, the podcast in which we tap into Design Thinking to inform our approach to Zen practice and daily life in modern times, especially in America. After the last series posted at midsummer last year — five episodes in which we summarized thirty-two prior segments on the intersection of Design Thinking and Zen — we decided to take a much-needed hiatus to reconsider the overall direction of the podcast itself.

The prior three segments on the Three Treasures of Buddhism — Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha — were the inaugural series of the reboot, examining what we would refer to as their “design intent.” That is, how “Buddha practice,” interpreted primarily as time in meditation, is designed; what effect it is intended to have; and the same analysis applied to Dharma and Sangha. These ancient concepts are subject to misunderstanding in a culture underpinned by Judaic and Christian memes. I chose to approach them from a “form follows function” perspective, an established meme in Design circles. An evolutionary biologist tells me this is reversed in biology: function follows form, sans Designer.

In the next series of segments we will take up various pairs of associated concepts to likewise hopefully shed some light on the connections between them that I glean from both Zen and Design angles. With this week’s installment we will examine the most dispositive and determinative — and often fraught — relationships within the professional field of Design as well as that of formal Zen training, those you enjoy with your mentors. AKA the teacher-student/student-teacher relationship.

In “Follow the Meander – An Indirect Route to a More Creative Life,” by Keisei Andrew Dietz, a long-time member of Atlanta Soto Zen Center (ASZC) who is a creativity and branding consultant as well as an excellent writer, he relates that following a long and feckless interview of my teacher, Matsuoka Roshi, by an FBI interrogator, the Enemy Alien Board of WWII in 1944 concludes by recommending:

The Board particularly wants to point out to the Department that in their opinion this subject is a dangerous alien enemy.

In the years leading up to the declaration of war with Japan, incoming Zen priests were suspected of being spies, as was eventually the entire Japanese population, which led to their infamous internment. When you read the text of the interview, especially if you knew Sensei, you can see that he was just honestly answering loaded questions by questioning why he would do any such thing as the interrogation suggested, such as going to Mexico, if such an order came from Japan. Why would he?

That the interrogator concluded that Sensei posed a threat is truly laughable. His intent in coming to America was entirely altruistic, bringing the compassionate teachings of Zen and its practical method of meditation, zazen, to the people of his adopted country.

The FBI agent did not understand that Sensei was, indeed, a “dangerous alien enemy,” but on a whole ‘nother level. His mission to America was indeed dangerous, in that it was intended to inculcate — in those Americans who became his students — an independence of thought, combined with an interdependence of action, that is truly subversive to any governmental effort to propagandize, or brainwash, its citizens. Political or ideological systems require dependent thought and codependent action on the part of their subscribers to be effective. Thus, introducing Zen to any society is the most subversive thing you can do. But no harm no foul. Sensei harbored no ill will.

Zen’s subversive influence has little to do directly with the social dimension, other than as a side-effect, but instead operates on the personal level. The nesting spheres model puts this in context (see diagram). Matsuoka Roshi would often say, “The Zen person has no trouble following the sidewalks.” In other words, it is not necessary to be nonconformists on the social level, e.g. fomenting a political movement as such, because Zen practitioners constitute such radical anomalies on the personal level.

The propagation of Zen in America is taking place on a near-subliminal level, like the innovative selling of Tupperware through invitational parties in peoples’ homes, instead of through retail stores. Zen followers do not usually make a public display of their practice, and its values do not provide a basis on which we would mount a campaign to reform society in our image. The real revolution begins at home, remaining virtually undetectable on the surface. True independence is as alien to conventional society as you can get. After all, society itself is subject to the three cardinal marks of Buddhism’s dukkha: impermanence, imperfection, and insubstantiality. Further, any society’s intentional evolution is exacerbated by human venality, as we witness on a daily basis here in the USA and all over the globe. Zen’s embrace of this kind of humility is illustrated in the closing lines of an ancient Ch’an poem, Hokyo Zammai—Precious Mirror Samadhi, by Tozan Ryokai, founder of Soto Zen in 9th century China:

Ministers serve their lords; children obey their parents
Not obeying is not filial; failure to serve is no help
With practice hidden, function secretly like a fool like an idiot
Just to continue in this way
is called the host within the host

Very Confucian, the take on serving and obeying in the first two lines, but this does not amount to an unthinking endorsement of mindless conformity. “Fool” here is akin to “God’s fool,” which does not constitute a pejorative but indicates the highest praise. The term “idiot” in the modern idiom denotes “a person of low intelligence,” an “ignorant person,” or simple, abject stupidity. But the Greek root term stresses the “private person,” the aspect of simply being a layperson. The “host within the host” is the most intimate sphere of conscious awareness, being the person within the person, having little to do with any social interaction. Both can be true at the same time, as in “inner person vs. outer person.”

In Andrew’s estimable book, which lays out his recommended nonlinear approach to the creative life, he emphasizes the importance of finding and appreciating one’s mentors. After noting that he considers himself a “subversive in training,” he quotes my latest online Dharma Byte of that time (https://storder.org/dharma-bytes/), in which I wrote about Zen and revolution:

Zen is countercultural. The main social or political issue with Zen practice, fully understood, is that it leads to true independence. Not only of thinking, but even of motive. The personal revolution that zazen can bring about can also knock the supports out from under our unthinking obedience to the dictates of the culture.

“Follow the meander.” Highly recommended, both the book and the process. Admittedly it is a bit odd to be quoting another writer quoting myself. But Keisei is here treating me as a mentor, his mentor, one of several he mentions in the book. His sweeping account of the meandering role of mentors includes some interesting factoids about R. Buckminster Fuller, and my encounters with the great man, including one that a fellow Institute of Design student, studying photography under the direction of Harry Callahan and Aaron Siskind — two of my erstwhile and estimable mentors — captured on film (see photo).

Andrew notes the starburst clock apparently emanating from my skull while talking with Bucky, an intentional capture by my photographer friend, Steve Hale. Bucky always had this effect of blowing the minds of his audience, and still does. Search and find his recorded monologs in the cloud to see for yourself.

In training, in both Design and Zen, your relationships to your mentors become all-important, shaping your views of the profession, as well as the practice and meaning of Zen and meditation, respectively. Of course, there are many other fields in which this holds true, basically for any apprentice mode of training with a journeyman or master of the trade. But in Zen, mentors are regarded as familial-level relations of some degree of intimacy, such as “dharma-father” or -mother, -sister, -brother, -grandfather, -uncle, et cetera. Shakyamuni himself was said to regard others as his “children,” and not in a condescending way, and would often refer to his followers as “good sons,” if we are to believe the written record.

But Buddha was also known for not suffering fools gladly — “fool” being defined as “a person who acts unwisely or imprudently” or “a silly person” — in contrast to the “fool” in the great Zen poem above, where it connotes “a person devoted to a particular activity,” in this case, the secret practice of Zen. This point was illustrated several times in Buddhism’s early history, when upon one occasion — ostensibly the last major teaching that Buddha gave, now referred to as the Lotus Sutra — he was told that certain pundits had come to debate. He is said to have said something like, “They are free to go.” Even Buddha realized that he would not reach everyone with his message, and as Matsuoka Roshi would often say, “Zen is not up for debate.”

Buddha also explained — when asked by his devout followers why it was that some people did not show him the respect they thought he deserved — that these recalcitrant seekers had been his students in past lives, and that he had treated them badly, and so they were unwilling to follow him in this lifetime. Master Dogen likewise admonishes senior monks not to treat juniors unfairly, a more modern variation on this same theme, from 13th Century Japan.

Perhaps the most neutral comment Buddha is said to have made on the teacher-student relationship arose from a confrontation he had with a young man he met on the road. This wannabe monk pressed the Great Sage to answer the “Ten Cosmic Questions,” as they were known — such as how it all began, how it will all end — et cetera. But Buddha demurred, explaining that these questions were really beside the point, irrelevant as well as hopelessly speculative, and bore no relation to the problem at hand, that of the suffering prevalent in this life.

The young man insisted that unless the Buddha answered these questions, he, the young man, could not consider him, the Buddha, to be his teacher. Buddha responded with a clarification that should be the hallmark of all mentoring relationships. He told the earnest but misguided youth that he, the young man, was under no obligation to be his student; and he, Buddha, was under no obligation to be his teacher.

This resonates with a contemporary teaching from Fritz Perls, the founder of Gestalt therapy, expressed in the so-called “Gestalt Prayer”:

I do my thing and you do your thing. I am not in this world to live up to your expectations, and you are not in this world to live up to mine.

I witnessed one memorable example of such an exchange in person, while pursuing my undergraduate degree at the Institute of Design at Illinois Tech. One of my most influential design mentors, the independent thinker, designer and education innovator, Ken Isaacs, had been invited to lead a special class, on the industrial design side of the program. As I was on the graphic design side, I had to jump through some hoops in order to be able to cross over and take his class. But I was determined to do so, knowing some of Ken’s history, and having read a cover story in Life Magazine on his work, specifically the “Knowledge Box” that he later installed at ID+IIT (see photo). My persistence had the side effect of opening up the ID curriculum for future students to custom design their curriculum across disciplines and moving away from specialization, and so turned out to be worth the hassle, on both personal and social levels.

In the eclectic class, which was held in a small auditorium in the basement of Crown Hall, the famous steel-and-glass architectural innovation by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe (see photo), Ken put us through a series of mind-bending exercises he called “set-breakers.” Meaning not only thinking out of the box, but within the box, over and above and beyond the box, redefining and redesigning the box itself, so to speak. The first assignment was to “Translate yourself into terms other than verbal and present them to the class.” The second was to translate someone you knew in the class into terms other than verbal, and present that. As you might imagine, this led to considerable introspection on the personal level, and presenting a fellow student, a serious aspiring artist and my closest friend, led to some upheaval in our student-student relationship. But back to the teacher-student thing.

Another student in the class, with whom I had become close, and will refer to as JJ, was the son of a colonel in the army, if memory serves. In that familiar groove of rebellion against strong parental influence, he was a sincere and decent folk-singer and guitar-player who had hitchhiked from the far West to attend ID. With the long, unruly hair to finish the portrait. His attitude was also unruly, leading him to frequently and repeatedly interrupt Ken’s penetrating lectures and commentaries, with well-meaning but somewhat snarky comments of a critical nature. This he saw as his duty to truth, and speaking it to power, I assume.

Finally one day, about midway through the term, Ken stopped abruptly in mid-sentence with one of JJ’s remarks, and walked gracefully over to where he sat, standing in front of him. He leaned down face-to-face with his arms on the back of JJ’s front-row auditorium chair and said, very quietly and sympathetically, that he could try to address all of JJ’s problems directly, and would probably be able to help him out with them. But in order to do that, it would consume all of his time and — indicating the rest of us with a sweep of his head — he would have to turn his back on all the other students in the room. And that, unfortunately, he could not in good conscience do that. So he said I have no choice but to ask you to leave. Talking with JJ later, it was apparent that he had learned his lesson, a painful one, but too late.

In the next segment we will continue this discussion of the all-important mentoring relationship of teachers to students, and that of students to teachers, pivoting to the asymmetrical relationship in Zen training.