I thought I was being sooooo clever using the title "This is Austin Not L.A.!" since I just arrived in Austin. Then I went looking for an image for the piece and found out I'd used that title a year ago, the last time I came to Austin.Fuck it. What else is there except for maybe an Austin Powers reference? So I'm just recycling the old title. It's good for the environment!
So I gave my talk in Houston, stayed there with the amazing and wonderful Gaelyn Godwin, who runs the show down there, then got driven up here by Vicky from the Zen Center. And now here I am in the Austin Zen Center library typing this for y'all.
But the big news is that a friend of mine got tickets to see MOTORHEAD tonight. Wooo-hoooo! They're here for South By Southwest apparently. I didn't even know there still was a Motorhead. I hope they play Ace of Spades and Iron Fist. Motorhead were the first metal band the punk rockers accepted. Now you can't even tell the difference between the two genres.
So anyway, when I was in Houston the talk I gave was about my growing conviction that Zen teaching should not be seen as a form of religious instruction but as a form of art instruction. I admit it's an uneasy fit. But so is considering it religious instruction.
The general public doesn’t really have a clue as to what a Zen teacher is. So the model they usually chose to base their assumptions about what a Zen teacher ought to be is that of a religious instructor.
And it isn’t just the uninformed masses who do this. A great many Zen teachers conceive of it this way themselves. This is especially true in Japan. The modern Japanese Soto School is essentially an imitation of the Roman Catholic Church. In the Meiji Era, the Japanese looked to the West to provide a framework for understanding the world. They adopted the Western classifications of various forms of knowledge and the divisions thereof, such as science, philosophy and religion.
It’s important to recall that even in our own culture there was a very long time during which there were no such divisions of human knowledge and understanding. There wasn’t really a category of philosophy that was separate from religion. And even aspects of what we now recognize as the scientific view were mixed into a generalized stew of knowledge that included religion and philosophy. Other aspects of human understanding such as mathematics, law, art and a whole lot of other forms of understanding that we now look upon as fundamentally incompatible with each other were also mixed into this stew.
But by the time the Japanese were ready to adopt the Western outlook and way of life, these classifications had already been well established in our culture. These classifications were not, however, nearly so well established in Japan or in the rest of Asia.
So when the Meiji Era Japanese needed a place in which to classify Zen Buddhism, it seemed like the best fit was in the category the Westerners called “religion.”
Once it was decided that Zen was a religion, Japanese scholars and clergy people alike began to look for the commonalities Zen had with Western religions and largely downplay those aspects that did not fit the established Western mold.
And so the idea has come down to us a hundred and some years later that Zen is a religion. I’m aware that there has been considerable debate about this. But mostly the debate has been framed in terms of the question: “Is Zen a religion or a philosophy?” I used to side with the faction that said it was a philosophy. But I’m not so sure this is even the right question anymore.
It has occurred to me lately that Zen is not a religion or a philosophy, but might better be seen as a form of art.
One aspect of religious instruction is that as a representative of some specific religion you usually have an institution behind you. They decide what their reps can and cannot say and how their reps should dress and behave. The institution takes responsibility for the individuals they choose as their representatives. Thus if a parish priest in Des Moines is caught fondling choir boys, the main office in Rome is held responsible.
The Zen model doesn't really function that way except perhaps when it comes to large institutions such as the Soto-shu of Japan and maybe a few others in the West who follow their model -- which, in turn, is based on the Catholic Church, ironically .
Art instruction works differently. I am a competent enough guitarist that I could teach someone the basics of the instrument. I can show you the chords, the blues scale, how to hold your pick real tight and make that squeaky sound like the guy from ZZ Top and so forth. Once I have instructed you, how you use that knowledge isn't really my business. You may choose to use it for good, or you can use what I've taught you for evil purposes, like playing guitar in a Julio Iglesias cover band, for example.
It's really up to you. Furthermore, beyond the basics I teach you, it's up to you to come up with your own style of playing. Your style will be influenced by what I've taught you. But if you're any good at all you'll be able to incorporate those influences into something uniquely your own.
I think that's how good Zen teaching should function as well. Good Zen teachers shouldn't try to unify what they teach any more than poets should try to make their poems all sound the same or novelists should try to write the same book. That would be counter to their art.
As for institutions, I think they kill Zen. Or they can. Which is why Dogen Sangha is such a loose organization (or disorganization) without any of the hallmarks of a religious institution. And I plan on keeping it that way.
Good? OK. Now I gotta go sit some Zen with these Texans and then get ready for MOTORHEAD!
