UnMind 80. Processes & Outcomes — Atlanta Soto Zen Center

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Process is the thing —
Outcomes only the result —
Some tweaking required

Matsuoka Roshi’s expression that “You have to work your way through every bone in your body” implies a kind of thoroughgoing process of potentially hundreds of micro-adjustments to the posture of zazen. While this may seem daunting, and an unnecessarily complicated way of looking at meditation, it is meant to be encouraging. It reminds me of the old cowboy tune, “Home on the Range,” where “never is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day.” Life on the range was not easy. Zen may promote a sunny view of reality, but it is one that is informed by the ever-present realities of aging, sickness and death, as were dependably present out there “where the deer and the antelope play.” And the cattle drive is endless.

Allow me to get a couple of pet peeves off my chest before proceeding to deconstruct processes versus outcomes. Along with the aforementioned overuse of “methodology,” where a simple reference to “method” would suffice, another attempt at sounding more intelligent or professional is the mispronunciation of the plural for process, which is “processes.” More and more we hear self-styled experts in public media refer to “pro-cess-es,” long “o,” long “e.” This mildly irritating but contagious tic is probably a kind of backformation from Greek-derived terms such as “thesis,” the plural for which is “theses.” Its effect on English usage is akin to the grammarians’ rule to not split an infinitive (which I just did), because it cannot be done in Latin.

This compulsion appears to stem from a preference for older languages with haughtier pedigrees over the vernacular, such as Chinese once was for Japanese, or Greek and Latin, and even French, for English-speaking peoples. Such foreign lingos were esteemed as official language of court systems, diplomacy, and government in general. Its use supposedly reflected the refinement, education and sophistication of the speaker, as well as implying some disdain for the street language of the hoi polloi. Similarly, malaprop pronunciations suggest an underlying urge to lend more credence to our utterings. They may represent vestigial remains of class distinctions, a kind of compensation artifice.

“Process” is also used as a kind of avoidance maneuver, a go-to default response to any challenge to due diligence, or demand for a report of progress, especially in the context of lagging behind schedule, or being over budget, for anticipated deliverables in any project, but again, notably predictable in military and government work. “We are in the process of…” say, “evaluating the situation…” is the kneejerk preamble to whatever excuses or real-world reasons may explain any delay or failure to meet expectations. This dodge is prevalent in political, military or policing operations in particular, in our highly fraught society. It is intended to make those who are called on the carpet at the moment to appear and sound competent, however egregious the complaint brought against them for dropping the ball. It amounts to a more professional, politesse circumlocution, meaning “it’s not my fault,” basic CYA.

With that aside, both Zen and Design emphasize process over outcomes, in getting to the heart of the matter, defining and hopefully solving problems du jour. A given outcome, such as a new software application, may be released for beta-testing in a less-than-perfect edition, with the understanding that users will help identify glitches to debug subsequent releases. A pre-digital-revolution example would be the “some assembly required” syndrome of the archetypal Christmas bicycle, or the inexpensive furniture from the discount store. Transferring the assembly part of the manufacturing process into the home and out of the factory, with more compact shipping thrown into the bargain, reduces cost to the customer. Whether this is a false economy depends upon the value the purchaser assigns to their time.

Similarly in pursuing spirituality, if you have the means and can afford the outlay, you can enjoy a luxury resort type of experience in an exotic locale, all your needs catered to by retreat center staffing. Or, you can enjoy the “shabby-chic” experience of do-it-yourself approaches more characteristic of Zen centers, where work (J. samu) and cleaning (J. soji) are a part of the experience. In the latter case, you help staff the necessary tasks entailed in staging a retreat, such as feeding and housing guests, emptying trash, etc., as well as facilitating program presentations such as dharma talks, and meditation itself. This communal approach embraces the social dimension with a do-it-yourself mentality.

If instead you practice Zen as a daily routine in your life, it does not exempt you from taking care of business, such as upkeep, maintenance and fulfillment of your personal needs as well as those of your family and friends, and your environment, as a householder. There is no escaping this practical demand. Thus, process is a feature of life, whether or not we are aware of it as such. Once we become aware of the process of living, whether in context of everyday life, or special circumstances such as the intentional community of a Zen center, or on an extended retreat, dependency on one or the other circumstance diminishes. Being in retreat in the mountains is not all that different from Zen at home.

The process of meditation, in particular, is precisely the same in both cases, or should be. The main difference is that on traditional retreat, all aspects of daily life are subjugated, or should be, to the opportunity to delve deeply into meditation. While the refrigerator turning on and off at home may remind you that you need to defrost it soon. The pluses and minuses of each situation can be taken as a challenge to be overcome, or allowed to interfere with our positive attitude in approaching Zen practice. Your choice.

Similarly, if we get over the hump in regard to the process of meditation and its relationship to external circumstances, we can do the same with expectations regarding outcomes. Each meditation session can be free of judgment as to its relative success or failure. In Design as well as in Zen, there is no success without failure. Somewhere Master Dogen makes the point that hitting the bullseye depends upon the hundreds of misses that preceded it. “Fall down seven times, get up eight” is apparently an old saying that Dogen co-opted. This is the attitude we inculcate in approaching zazen. The bigger the opponent, the harder the fall, as in the martial arts. Lowering our expectations favors the long view.

In Design, a failure indicates its own correction. We actually design for failure, that is, to control the extent and impact of any anticipated glitches, so as to salvage the project. This fosters an attitude of losing the various battles along the way, in order to win the war. Progress defined as one long series of mistakes, while paying strict attention so as to avoid making them again, a process of elimination of unneeded secondary operations, as well as sequencing of steps in the most efficient order. Concept sketches, models, and prototypes to test proof-of-concept are examples of strategies to minimize risk and cost, while allowing for human error and material failure. End-user considerations come into play as well. User-friendly operation must be anticipated. If we apply such thinking to our zazen practice, we may see that we may be doing certain things backward, and open up our minds to experimenting with process, setting aside for the moment any specific definitions of outcomes.

The expression often used in Design circles is, “What if?” What if we tried this a different way, for example doing an exercise program before sitting, rather than after, or before or after eating, or bathing, as has been our habit. What might be the outcome? Like any open-ended experiment, we don’t know until we try. And the first test of a new approach may not be definitive, or determinative of the go-forward. We may want to try the new approach again and again, keeping the new sequence of workout first, zazen last; but tweaking the workout itself so that the cool-down exercises segue more gradually and naturally into the stillness of zazen. Or we may modify zazen to fit other demands on our time.

What if we sat at a different time of day, in a different spot, and for a different length of time? What if we tried this over a period of weeks, or months, noting any differences, until we settle into a new zazen routine that we would never have imagined, without experimentation. What if we assume that all the ancestors of Zen had to go through some such winnowing process, in the evolution of the method over time, which resulted in certain notions about how to do zazen — and how not to do zazen — which were handed down as holy writ. What if specific instructions are revealed, through our experimentation, to have been embedded in the external circumstances of their day and time, and mostly irrelevant to ours? Or what if, instead, we find that we come to largely the same conclusions, and design decisions, that they did? Either way, we would never know, without trying. And our practice may not be as vital.

Another common usage of process may derive from the jargon of psychology. We, or they, speak of “processing” events that once happened to us, or that we anticipate, such as traumatic transactions like injury, death, divorce, change of employment, moving our residency, et cetera. In fact, meditation has become one of the default recommendations to “process” our experience, along with talking it out with our partners, or a professional. I suppose that we could say that when we settle into zazen, we are processing all the incoming data in our lives. It does seem to function like a great clearing-house, sorting and reorganizing the various conflicting dimensions of our worldview, and its disjunctions with reality. This is probably why many practitioners choose to sit first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

Zazen, like Design, is one of the most integrative processes available. Many or most of the methods we learn in the normal course of education tend to be analytical, divisive rather than combinatorial. Zen and Design both emphasize putting things together, or building back better, as our current POTUS would have it. Of course, in order to rebuild, we have to tear down. But the latter process need not be negative. Recognition of this fact is represented in Design solutions by such common practices as knockdown (KD) furniture, which enables a more flexible approach to staging our lives, quickly setting up and taking down everything from Shakespeare in the park and rock concerts to the humble sleeping pallets in a Japanese home or hotel (J. futon), or the over-engineered Western equivalent, the Murphy bed. Building practices pre-engineered in Japanese architecture allow for future deconstruction and rebuilding of whole edifices, whereas Western construction usually requires total demolition.

If we imagine how this framework can be applied to zazen, we might contemplate how we can adapt to the inevitable onset of aging, if not sickness and death, in our future. How can we design our approach to simply sitting upright and comfortably so that physical and mental decline are mitigated to the degree possible? Most of the strategies that occur to me are pretty pedestrian and obvious, more a matter of attitude adjustments and regarding change not as compromise, but as innovation. The simplest adaptation may be just sitting in a chair. Ditch the crossed legs. Not essential.

Others include more blue-sky invention, such as “Zen bondage.” Developing straps, harnesses, and hammock-like devices that reinforce the tensional net of musculature holding the compressional struts of the skeleton in the upright posture. Future clothing for meditation may follow the current trend of engineered spandex for elite competition in sports, where garments are designed to be ever-more custom fitted to the body, supporting the specific dynamics of the sport. Old-fashioned body armor was heavy and cumbersome, but the metal-smiths tried to approximate the needs of the warrior’s body, like a human tin man. Future rigid costuming may include servo-motors and smart chips to reinforce aging joints. Inchoate inching toward this accomplishment is illustrated by today’s primitive knee- and back-braces. As a designer, I look for what kind of minimal support system might distribute stress more evenly along the length of the spine, rather than creating undue pressure on our aging lower backs.

Zen was an invention, and a process of discovery, from the very beginning. The ancestors manifested a willingness to challenge and change the received wisdom from prior generations, while not throwing the buddha-baby out with the used bathwater. They say that the difference between a good designer and a mediocre designer is that the former can still get excited. I am still excited about Zen, and look forward to reinventing it on the fly, in future. I encourage you to join us in this adventure.