By: Bob Zeglovitch
In our sangha’s study/practice of the Fukanzazengi, we have reached what may be the key passage: “Think of not-thinking. How do you think of not-thinking? Non-thinking. This in itself is the essential art of zazen.”
In a further play on “thinking,” the somewhat enigmatic nature of Dogen’s language makes it clear that we cannot simply “think” our way through this portion of the text. Instead, it is our task to realize it through practice. We can, however, perhaps use our thinking to clear away some of the brambles so as to have some appreciation for the starting gate for the practice, or the general nature of the field in which we are playing. I offer some preliminary and tentative thoughts here. I use the word “tentative” because this feels like the best attitude to take in response to working with an instruction such as this, in a translated text from another culture and another time. This attitude can help us remain open to different possibilities, to see complexity and paradox, to keep from getting stuck on an initial conclusion, and to have a spirit of experimentation and flexibility in our practice. Because the topic has much depth and possibility, I’ll follow with some additional posts.
I do think it is fair to say that the consensus view of modern teachers and scholars is that Dogen is not telling us to deliberately attempt to cut off all thoughts. Dogen is not offering instructions aimed at entry into a deep state of concentration where thoughts are not present (referred to in the early Buddhist tradition as a “jhana” state). There is some evidence from drafts of the Fukanzazengi and from Dogen’s other writings that helps to flesh this out, which I hope to develop in a later post.
It is also seems clear that Dogen is not advising that we actively engage our thoughts. We can intuitively see that getting involved in our thoughts or deliberately thinking during zazen is most likely not what he means by “nonthinking.”
Even if we understand intellectually that stopping our thinking mind is not the point of Zen practice, there still may be a tendency for us to be disappointed, critical of ourselves, or even disregulated by the thoughts that arise during our zazen. If we tend to encounter a significant amount of thinking in our practice, we may struggle with it and try to get rid of it, thinking that we are “not good at meditation.” We may report that a peaceful and relatively quiet session was a “good” one and be less charitable toward ourself if there has been considerable thinking during our meditation. Why is this? Principally I suspect it is because the quiet mind is generally pleasurable and a relief. We then mistake this for the goal of our practice. Dogen is pointing us toward something deeper and more liberating than simply a calm state of mind.
This can be tricky territory for us, not only because calm states of mind are pleasurable, but also because the practice of just sitting can naturally give rise to states of concentrated quiet calm. There is nothing wrong with this. The challenge is to not seek after or become attached to these states--or in a rather subtle and blind fashion to abandon the just sitting practice for something quite different. I don’t mean to suggest by this that just sitting is the only valid meditation practice or that choosing to engage in specific concentration practices is without merit—but rather that we remain as clear as we can be about whatever it is that we are practicing, and do our best to avoid lapsing into delusion and attachment with our practice.
So what is this practice of nonthinkng? Different teachers express it differently. Uchiyama Roshi calls it “opening the hand of thought”, or in other words, letting go of grasping at something with thought. John Daido Loori tells us to “simply allow everything to be as it is [including thinking].” Barry Magid says to “let thought just be thought, not something we have to do anything about whatsoever.” Here are some starting places for our practice. There are many other expressions. Scholars have taken very different views on this aspect of Dogen’s teaching.
I am reminded, as I have been many times, of a teaching line that I have heard from the excellent Insight Meditation teacher Steve Armstrong in numerous retreats: “Everything [that happens in meditation…[and otherwise] is nature.” The wind brushes against the skin, the bird calls out, the stomach grumbles or the legs ache, and thoughts come and go in all of their variety. All nature, all natural. I imagine that Dogen might agree. We could perhaps see the practice of nonthinking as non-interference, letting nature take its course. What happens to our thinking then, when we just leave it alone and don’t give it any extra energy? Letting go of the content, what can be seen about the process of thinking? What is its nature? What else may be known beyond our mere intellect?