74. Design & Zen: Buddha’s Design

UnMind: Zen Moments With Great Cloud

What did he intend —

the design intent of Zen?

We are still learning.

* * *

In the last episode of UnMind we closed with comments that Zen and design both entail individual effort as well as group collaboration, and that designing the most efficacious processes in each requires experimentation and creativity. We will continue this line of thinking in this episode, around design and Zen. We also suggested taking another look at what Buddha did, from this perspective. What problem did Buddha solve, would you say? Or what problem did he define?

Shinjin sensei, a senior teacher at Atlanta Soto Zen Center responded,

Well, the problem started when he was still living at home, at the palace. He left the palace and saw a sick person, a corpse, a mendicant monk, and an old person, and that started the problem. Why do we have to go through this at all? What’s the point, if that’s how we are going to wind up? That was the problem that was put in front of him. We are taught that his solution was essentially the Four Noble Truths, the lecture that he gave at Deer Park.

Yes, according to tradition, he defined the problem as “suffering.” But, the problem of what? I don’t’ think a client came to him, and said, “I got this problem I want you to solve.” Right? He defined the problem, according to the way it is interpreted — and I have some pushback on this — as suffering. The problem — of what? — is suffering? What would you fill in the blank with, there?

“I would say the problem of existence is suffering,” commented Shinjin.

So the problem of existence is suffering. Then we can deconstruct this statement, taking the last word “suffering” and ask, What did the Sanskrit dukkha really mean? We translate it into suffering, and then say OMG, Buddhism is so pessimistic. But I think dukkha simply means “change.” I am not a scholar, but I am pretty sure that if you look up the Sanskrit, it is going to have fifteen, twenty or thirty meanings. I think very simply he defined the problem of existence as change. From our human perspective, yes, we would tend to emphasize the suffering aspect of it. Things that we would love to change won’t change, and things that we don’t want to change keep changing.

In interfaith dialog around the themes of prophecy, we discover that the Abrahamic theistic religions, such as Christianity and Islam, agree that it is all going to come down to Armageddon, and it is all going to be different from then on. We are all going to live without aging, sickness and death, we will live forever in the presence of God, and there will be no change. I keep coming back at them on the panel, asking How can that work? How does that work, I mean? And the answer is always, “God’s mysterious ways.” It’s not logical; it does not make any sense. Not to mention that God supposedly set things up the way they function now. So why change all the rules all of a sudden?

Buddha’s definition of the problem, even though they were living in much more primitive or simpler times, would still be the same today. He would say, “No, no, that’s not it. That’s all ignorance.” The universe will continue to operate on the same basic principles of physics — or Dharma — that it always has. The proximate human problem is still the same as it was then: Ignorance of the primordial sort. Human aspiration to something less ambiguous is understandable, but founded on self-centered ignorance.

One aspect of Buddha’s definition of the problem is this reification of the constructed self. We have this myth, or this idea, of this “self” that we prop up and support, and identify with, self-identify, and redefine as we mature and age. “That’s the difference between me and you!” is the catchphrase. Praising myself at the expense of others. The Precepts come into play in these social interchanges. But Buddha looked at it and said, You know, I’ve checked this out thoroughly, and I find no evidence of the existence of this Atman, this so-called self, or soul. Sorry, I know you’re not going to like that, but that’s my testimony.

I think Buddha basically did a very fundamental exercise in problem definition. In doing so, he applied this method that we still apply, which is meditation: Sitting still; paying strict attention; going beyond thought; going deeper; and so forth. If there were no Buddhism, if there were no religion, if there were no philosophy, and you found yourself on this planet, you would have to come up with something like this. You would have to figure it out. In fact, everyone is practicing Zen whether they know it or not. They just may not be doing a very good job of it.

We are fortunate to have teachers who have refined the definition of the problem, and the prescription for practicing its solution over two and a half millennia.

When we think about Buddhism in the context of design or problem-solving, Buddha, from the story we are told, looked at the same life you and I are living — setting aside a lot of differences in 2,500 years — but the fundamentals are the same: aging, sickness and death. He went through a thoroughgoing process that we call “problem definition” in design circles.

Buddha saw a problem. For him, the problem was existence itself. The story goes that the suffering he witnessed estranged him from existence itself. In his mid-thirties — in what we may regard as a kind of extended adolescence, having been overly protected by his parents — he rebelled. He didn’t want to do what daddy wanted — to take over the family business as a warrior leader — and went off on a spiritual quest instead. We think of it as a net-positive thing that occurred, because although at the end of six years he sat down in desperation and resolved to die, he didn’t actually die. He survived. Then he began his career of teaching others to do likewise, about which he apparently felt some ambivalence as to whether he really had anything to teach or not. This reflects a kind of humility in the face of what had to be an overwhelming experience of transformation of world view. There is also a kind of humility around creativity in design. I think we find the same sense of humility in Zen.

Buddha’s story is an example of breaking the rules and going against the societal norms of his time. Had he not been of a high caste, he probably would not have gotten away with it. In design, we isolate and identify such syndromes of behavior, and codify them as legitimate techniques in creativity. We intentionally “break the rules,” for example by including chance processes we cannot control.

Considering what Buddha actually did, he defined the problem of human existence by thoroughly examining it in practice, as Master Dogen would later express it. He analyzed his experience and translated it into a coherent message for his fellow travelers and followers, including the prescription to “do thou likewise.” But also not to simply take his word for his conclusions. Check them out for yourself. And do not confuse the map for the territory. Be prepared to innovate, to improvise. To break the rules of Zen.

In zazen we say, Sit still. Sit for a long time. Quiet the mind. Or, as I repeatedly say, Sit still enough, for long enough. With the proviso that you alone can know what is still enough, and long enough. As long as you have any doubts about it, it is probably not yet enough. But we might also say, Oh really? What if I don’t sit still? What if I decide I am going to move at any time, or even all the time, when I am sitting? As another of our senior teachers often says, with her ironic smile, the Zen police are not going to arrest you! In other words, contrary to the received wisdom, improvise. See what happens. Give yourself permission to improvise and experiment. Buddha did, I guarantee you.

Breaking the rules. We approach Zen meditation, Buddhist studies and protocols as if we have to follow all these rules. You may say, Well, okay, but I have to sit still, don’t I? If you allow yourself permission, you may say, Wait a minute. Who am I to be telling myself I have to sit still? I am going to give myself permission to move. Then you might sit there, secretly moving for the whole period. Just pulsating, not forcing yourself to sit completely still. So you don’t start developing resistance in your knees, your back, and so forth. Coping with it as you go. What may happen is that you find out why it is that we sit still — by not sitting still.

Then there is that relative versus absolute stillness. Where is it?

People coming to the Zen center frequently say, “I didn’t know what zazen was until I stopped doing it. Then I figured out, Oh, that’s what it is, and started doing it again. When your world starts falling apart. But there is a middle way between the extremes of motion and stillness, called mokurai in Sino-Japanese, meaning something like motion in stillness and/or stillness in motion. Relative stillness is what we are going for, to enter into absolute nonduality. Same for all the measurables around zazen.

Sit for a long time, an hour, half-hour, sit as long as you can. Not necessarily at the same time. Maybe sit 10 minutes. Maybe try interval training all day long. Take 10 minutes at the desk. Take a deep breath and sit there. No one will notice. And then get back to work again. Or sit all day, one day.

Matsuoka Roshi captured this agile approach to zazen with his trademark economy of language, “Sit five minutes, five minutes buddha. Sit a half-hour, buddha for half an hour. But wouldn’t you rather be buddha all day?” Of course, we cannot sit 24/7. But we can adopt creative tactics to approximate it.

In the morning when you rise (shout out to Crosby, Stills and Nash) sit up on the bed for a while. Rather than panicking and running around like a chicken with your head off, as usual. Or when you are going to bed, just sit on the side for a while. As Bucky Fuller commented, all the questions you have been asking all day long, when the answers come flooding in at night, you can’t even remember the questions. Let them settle down. Then you can sleep. Perchance to dream.

As Master Dogen reminds us, when we rise from zazen to begin walking meditation — kinhin in Japanese — don’t rise “violently.” Rise gently and slowly, keeping attention in the belly, focused on the still point called the tanden. Negotiate the transition intentionally and attentionally, maintaining equilibrium while shifting from sitting to walking. Standing and bowing to each other, as we do in the zendo, makes the transition even more gradual and smooth. Same thing when you are going to sleep at night. Sitting on the bed and moving slowly, smoothly into lying down, segueing into sleep, horizontal zazen.

These kinds of transitions are built into Zen practice. We segue into the intensity of the still and silent meditation coming in from the chaotic and noisy street. Then, through chanting the service at the end of the sitting period, segueing back into the vehicle, and getting back on the expressway. The chanting helps with these transitions, Matsuoka Roshi explained. You can continue chanting on the commute.

You can be creative in how you approach everything, or anything. Somebody had to make this Zen thing up, at some point in time, after all. Buddha was probably taught meditation by somebody, some sort of yogic meditation. But then he likely made changes in he way he approached it, the way he taught it to others, and how he interpreted its meaning. He had to experiment in order to make those changes.

We have to have the flexibility of mind to imitate our teachers in the beginning. You have to trust them, putting yourself at their disposal. This doesn’t make any sense to me, but s/he said do this, so I am going to do this. At a later time, we have to have the flexibility of mind to innovate. I know at first I was just trying to imitate Matsuoka Roshi when I came to Atlanta and set up the first Zen center here. After a while it became very clear to me that not only was I not Matsuoka; my students were not me. I had to figure out ways to innovate approaches to training so that it worked with the situation. You know, you don’t practice Zen with the sangha you want; you practice Zen with the sangha you have!

Next time we will take a little deeper dive into design thinking, relating more of its method and techniques to those of Zen practice and Zen praxis. There is a difference in these two similar-sounding terms, which hopefully will become clear. In the meantime, look it up.

* * *

Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”

UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to [e-mail]. Gassho.

Producer: Kyōsaku Jon Mitchell