UnMind 81. Discovery & Invention — Atlanta Soto Zen Center

SUBSCRIBE TO UNMIND:

RSS FEED | APPLE PODCASTS | GOOGLE PODCASTS | SPOTIFY

Discovery now.
Invention follows later —
in Design or Zen.

One more point about process in general may be worth noting before considering the processes of discovery and invention in particular. Like most words, “processing” can be used as a euphemism. The last message on the evening news was that this night was going to be the worst of the current invasion of Ukraine by the Russian military. Turning on the news this morning, the first station was talking about sports; the second about methane emissions from raising cattle. I did not dwell for long on the sports commentary, feeling that familiar frisson of disorientation that comes with the sense of living in two different worlds. Imagining rockets and tank shells landing in my cozy neighborhood in Atlanta, while somewhere on the other side of the world, local attention is raptly focused on today’s soccer game.

The methane discussion, while at least focused on a real problem, that of global warming, was not that much more rational. It hinged around the idea of raising so many million head of grass-fed versus grain-fed cattle, in order to reduce the amount of methane in cow “burps.” The additional cost associated with the former, according to the rancher and self-proclaimed scientist being interviewed, does not result from the manner of feeding, but that of “processing” the cattle. The fact that factory-farming allows for geographically compact organization of feed lots close to processing plants — the slaughterhouse, in more honest words — is the sum total of the problem definition, at least from the perspective of the interests committed to producing a grass-fed product to meet the demand of the market for beef. His proposed solution is to invest in building processing plants close to the pastures. The rest of the dialog was all about adding things like oregano and kelp to the diet of the cattle, as serious proposals to solve the problem.

By this time, a similar sense of losing my bearings from a focus on sports made me slightly dizzy. That these “products” to be “processed” are living beings was not once mentioned, nor the processing called out for what it actually is. Needless to say, any suggestion around reducing the consumption of beef, an obvious solution to the problem, crossed no one’s lips. This may be taken as yet another lively example of the tragedy of the commons, so common to our times, but from a deadly bovine perspective. Bossy is not likely to ever die of natural causes, whatever the method of feeding. Shout out to Big Mac.

Picking up the thread of how Design thinking may be related to Zen, as parallel processes of discovery and invention, the notion that what we call Buddhism or Zen originally had to be discovered or invented, may qualify as a radical departure from how most religions are regarded as originating in revelation, i.e. from a creator god. Then the apostolic imperative becomes convincing others of the validity of the claim, through performance of miracles, proof of prophecy, et cetera. In other words, propagation of the faith does not rely upon individual converts experiencing some such epiphany for themselves, with the notable exceptions of the recognized saints, but only believing the gospel, as interpreted by its messengers, prophets and priests.

In Buddha’s case, he took the contrarian approach that his claims depended on no one else, no authority from God — the Hindu Brahman or Ishvara — and no reliance on doctrine or scripture handed down from antiquity. This has to be the ultimate in personal responsibility, though Buddha did not claim exclusivity. Anyone could accede to the same revelation. There are stories of his performing miracles, but we have to take them with a dollop of… honey. Video recording was not ubiquitous in those days.

In a very real sense, Zen calls upon us to rediscover and/or reinvent the findings of Buddha for ourselves, then draw our own conclusions from our own experience, and base any recommendations upon that body of evidence, rather than from belief in what others tell us. Thus the record of Buddhism amounts to testimony of the ancestors, rather than holy writ. But it does not stint on the potential implications, for their times and social milieu, but also for ours. Zen is always contemporary.

Design, on the highest levels of the discipline, operates on a similar premise. Each of us is trained and encouraged to redefine the problem before us, rediscover its underlying raison d’etre, and to reinvent the best approach to resolving it. We cannot rely upon solutions from the past, merely adapting details to the current realities. Usually, any invention worthy of the name requires a wholesale revision of multiple dimensions of the process. Contemporary Design is an amalgam of the old and the new.

One of the main points I am trying to make in this present series is that the principles of both Design and Zen are ever-present in all dimensions of living, from the most trivial and mundane on the personal level, to the most crucial on social, natural and universal levels. We have clever sayings, like “Don’t sweat the small stuff” and “It’s all small stuff.” But the small stuff is not disconnected from the big stuff, as it turns out.

A mundane example: Spreading pine straw on our walkways, I realized that I used to do it differently. I would drop clumps of straw on the ground and then come back and spread them with a rake. But I noticed — discovered — that the professional lawn and garden crews in the neighborhood shake the clumps so that thin layers of straw fall on the surface, more like the natural process in a forest. Which results in a smoother, more tightly-woven layer on the ground. Since the walkways are underlaid with poly sheeting, which helps to suppress weeds without using chemicals, the straw tends to separate when it rains, revealing open areas of exposed poly. Adding more straw, I simply fill those spots in. But I do it by shaking thin layers over each other. It takes a little longer, but totally eliminates the secondary operation of raking. Which is a Design principle. Any time you can eliminate a secondary task, you do. You invest more time on the frontend but make it up on the backend.

I think zazen functions similarly. The more time we invest in the beginning, when the going is pretty rocky and we do not have much experience under our belt, the more patience we can practice with our initial resistance, the less we will have to deal with in future, generally speaking. Exceptions include major changes in living patterns, such as adapting to changing working or living situations, which entails an overabundance of stress, and the sledding in zazen proportionately rougher. Midlife crises would provide the poster-boy for this category of circumstance. However, if we did not have the advantage of doing zazen, the tough times might be even tougher. When the going gets tough, the wise get sitting.

References to “Zen bondage” made elsewhere are only partially tongue-in-cheek. We are in bondage already, if only to our own limited imagination. Bondage is known to have a comforting effect, along with its more unseemly connotations. Babies in swaddling cloths, cats in tight boxes, and dogs in calming sweaters are examples. We do have a blanket recommendation in Zen circles, to wear something comfortable and unrestricting, such as sweatsuits, or the newer stretch athletic clothing. But there is something akin to Victorian modesty in the mix as well. Clothing that is too revealing, or overly colorful, displaying distracting messages, such as some tee-shirts and sweatshirts, are generally discouraged, at least in public meditation sessions. In private, you are on your own. Which is where my suggestions of experimenting with support systems such as slings and strapping come into play.

You should feel free, in the privacy or your own home, to sit zazen like no one is watching. And to play with the gear, the costumes and equipment. We sure know how to have fun, as my mother used to say.

Again, Buddhism was inventive, and a process of discovery, from the very beginning. Buddha taught his followers to “Do thou likewise,” essentially. Understanding, I am sure, that no two instances of human practice-experience can possibly be the same. So I do not believe that the design intent of his instructions was for us to try to emulate his life, either as a young prince, or as the sage of the Shakya clan, to the letter. He encouraged all to find the middle way between the extremes, as he had done. Knowing that no one of those three paths would be the same, for any two people in history.

What Buddha handed down was like a jazz chart, containing the basic chord progression and melody. But as the musician performing the piece, we are expected to improvise, and fill in the blanks. Claude Debussy, whose “Claire de Lune” is the first and only piece of sheet music I ever taught myself to play on the piano, said “Music is the space between the notes.” John Cage, the modernist American composer and music theorist, said something similar, and backed it up with his “4’33’’,” a piano concert consisting of four minutes and thirty-three seconds of silence from the piano. The audience and other ambient sources provide the sound.

Similarly, the ancestors of Zen were quite willing to improvise as needed, while grounding their teaching and practice on the legacy of their forebears, in particular their immediate progenitor. The lineage of Zen is a bit like that of music and the arts. Where, for example, the great classical and jazz greats had students and followers who inherited their mastery and philosophy, but then extended it into the next generation, allowing it to evolve with the changing circumstances of the time. Including developments in the technology of instrument-making. This universal process finds perhaps its clearest manifestation in Zen, where the instrument is this very body-mind, with which we have been born.

Of course, any position of authority in any field can be misused and abused. A robe can hide a lot of sins, whether in the form of a Catholic priest, a choir master, an Oxford don, or a Zen master. Mastery of a method to the degree that it impresses others is no guarantee that one has mastered oneself. We hold to the truism that we do not master Zen. Zen masters us. And we cast a wary eye on the outer trappings of the tradition for these reasons, as well as the inescapable fact that the overt, outer form of the profession or guild, school or sect, creates a recognizable boundary between oneself and others. While such a division can be useful and is perhaps necessary — as the dividing boundary between the stage and the audience — over-emphasis on appearance and protocol can add to confusion. Such as implying that unless you, too, get a robe, your practice of Zen is not genuine. The Zen robe has a wonderful draping effect, of anchoring you to the ground, or on the cushion, and imposes no restriction on the legs arrayed in the lotus posture. But it can become a kind of sanctimonious symbol. As the old saying has it, there is no stench of holiness in Zen.

Please consider the design of your Zen practice creatively. Do not be afraid to experiment. When you take this intentional approach, any imagined failure is not possible in reality. All malfunctions, whether of costume, gear, or monkey-mind, are temporary setbacks, from which you will recover quickly if you but pay attention and learn from them. And make any necessary adjustments. Or simply try something different. In this way, you engage your practice as YOUR practice. You broke it, you own it.