The Magic of Zen and Nonsense Literature
Reading time: 6 minutes
In the monastic life of Zen Buddhist monks, a certain period of time is specially reserved for practicing mental skills. This period is characterized by the absence of physical work (except for the necessities) and is known as 'The Great Sesshin'. It concerns one week every month during the so-called Summer Sojourn (April – August) and Winter Sojourn (October – February).
The master gives a lecture once a day. At the end of each lecture, the Four Great Vows are proclaimed three times by all:
How innumerable sentient beings are, I vow to save them all.
How inexhaustible our evil passions are, I vow to exterminate them all.
How immeasurable the holy doctrines are, I vow to study them.
How inaccessible the path of Buddhas is, I vow to attain it.[1]
According to the laws of logic, the above vows are impracticable and thus rather nonsensical, but that is precisely what makes them Zen because it’s exactly logic, which is conceptual by nature, that prevents us from seeing the world as it really is.
Our delusion, and the suffering it produces, arises from the fact that we only see conventional reality, which means: seeing the world through our own personal frame of reference. But we have forgotten about ultimate reality, by which is meant the understanding that every thing, thought, and being, is all part of the same process.
Conventional reality marks the realm in which we are all different and unique, and is characterized by the fact that everyone and everything continuously changes. Ultimate reality, on the other hand, marks the unchanging realm where everyone and everything is One, or: essentially of the same nature. Yet, the harder we believe exclusively in our own personal truths, the harsher we will judge and convict others who hold different views. The results of such perspectives are usually far from jolly.
Conventional reality, moreover, plays out in our conscious mind, which is the realm of reason and logic. Ultimate reality, however, plays out in our subconscious; the realm of emotions and intuition. Therefore, zazen, the sitting meditation of Zen Buddhists, aims to make practitioners better acquainted with their subconscious. The more we become familiar with it, the clearer our subconscious motives become that underlie our thoughts, feelings and behavior.
Familiarity reduces anxiety. Thus, the less anxious we become as our familiarity with our subconscious grows, the more relaxed and yielding we become in our judgments, both towards others and ourselves. Sharp in observation and soft in judgment creates an open and curious attitude because the fear of the unknown (i.e. our subconscious) is slowly vanishing. Zen thus seeks to make us observe the world like newborn babies, for whom everything is a miracle and without distinguishing between this or that, as a counterbalance to our all too familiar utilitarian view.
Of course, we need distinction to be able to communicate with each other about anything and everything. Logic has an important function in our daily lives, but the way it currently seems all-pervasive causes great imbalance and conflict. The Zen Buddhists seek to redress this imbalance by appealing to our intuitive abilities, where there is no place for logic.
One of the mental practices of Zen is to have students answer koans. These are illogical stories and riddles that cannot be solved by the faculty of rational thought, such as the following examples:
A monk asked Fuketsu: “Without speaking, without silence, how can you express the truth?”
Fuketsu observed: “I always remember springtime in southern China. The birds sing among innumerable kinds of fragrant flowers.”
Sozan, a Chinese Zen master, was asked by a student:
“What is the most valuable thing in the world?”
The master replied:
“The head of a dead cat.”
“Why is the head of a dead cat the most valuable thing in the world?” inquired the student.
Sozan replied:
“Because no one can name its price.”[2]
Understanding Zen texts and dialogues goes beyond the rational mind and appeals to other ways of seeing and understanding. Zen penetrates directly into ‘what is,’ leaving the world of concepts behind. It is thus able to fully accept the continuously changing nature of things and does not get caught up in wanting to hold on to what cannot be held on to. An apt example of this is found in music.
If a musical note is held for too long, it becomes annoying. It is precisely the dying away of one note that gives way to the birth of another, and as a result, melody is created. Moreover, music doesn't point to anything but itself. The meaning of music is nothing but the music. Whatever we see or think to discover in it are purely products of our mind, for in reality music cannot be grasped, and is as fleeting as life itself.
The same phenomenon can be found in the so-called nonsense literature. This form of writing does not aim to point to anything other than the text itself. This is difficult for us to understand because language is designed to point at something, not to point at nothing. But if you start looking for deeper meaning in koans or nonsense literature, you get lost in the labyrinth of your own imagination. In other words, you are going to think about something that you should not be thinking about. It's about experiencing, not thinking.
Notable examples of nonsense literature are Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Edward Lear’s Complete Nonsense. However, according to G.K Chesterton, there is a fine distinction to be made between Carroll and Lear. Says Chesterton in A Defence of Nonsense:
“Carroll was a serious and conventional mathematician in daily life, and this strange double life in earth and in dreamland emphasizes the idea that lies at the back of nonsense – the idea of escape, of escape into a world where things are not fixed horribly in an eternal appropriateness, where apples grow on pear-trees and any odd man you meet may have three legs… His wonderland is a country populated by insane mathematicians. It seems that the whole is an escape into a world of masquerade, and if we could pierce their disguises, we might discover that Humpty Dumpty and the March Hare were Professors and Doctors of Divinity enjoying a mental holiday.”
As you can see here, Carroll’s nonsense doesn’t yet escape the realm of intellectualism, which is exactly the realm Zen urges us to escape from. Therefore, from a Zen point of view, Lear has much more to offer; not because it’s nonsensical, but because its nonsensicality lies much more in the poetical and even emotional realms, which are both intimately connected with our intuition. According to Chesterton, Lear introduces his unmeaning words and his amorphous creatures not with the pomp of reason, but with the romantic prelude of rich hues and haunting rhythms.
Therefore, to round off, I’d like to offer you a chance to practice your intuitive skills by introducing some of Lear’s writings. That way you can assess the movements of your mind while reading, and ask yourself the question:
Are you trying to make sense of it, or can you see?
Limericks:
There was an Old Person of Basing,
Whose presence of mind was amazing;
He purchased a steed,
Which he rode at full speed,
And escaped from the people of Basing.
There was an Old Man of Nepal
From his horse had a terrible fall;
But, though split quite in two,
With some very strong glue
They mended that Man of Nepal.
There was a Young Lady of Turkey,
Who wept when the weather was murky;
When the day turned out fine,
She ceased to repine,
That capricious Young Lady of Turkey.
There was an Old Person of Cromer,
Who stood on one leg to read Homer;
When he found he grew stiff,
He jumped over the cliff,
Which concluded that Person of Cromer.
There was an Old Man in a Barge,
Whose Nose was exceedingly large;
But in fishing by night,
It supported a light,
Which helped that Old Man in a Barge.
There was an Old Person of Barnes,
Whose Garments were covered with Darns;
But they said, ‘Without doubt,
You will soon wear them out,
You luminous Person of Barnes!’
There was a Young Lady from Poole,
Whose Soup was excessively cool;
So she put it to boil
By the aid of some oil,
That ingenious Young Lady of Poole.
A Nonsense Song:
The Table and the Chair
1.
Said the Table to the Chair,
‘You can hardly be aware
How I suffer from the heat,
And from chilblains on my feet!
If we took a little walk,
We might have a little talk!
Pray let us take the air!’
Said the Table to the Chair.
2.
Said the Chair unto the Table,
‘Now you know we are not able!
How foolishly you talk,
When you know we cannot walk!’
Said the Table with a sigh,
‘It can do no harm to try;
I’ve as many legs as you,
Why can’t we walk on two?’
3.
So they both went slowly down,
And walked about the town
With a cheerful bumpy sound,
As they toddled round and round.
And everybody cried,
As they hastened to their side,
‘See! The Table and the Chair
Have come out to take the air!’
4.
But in going down an alley,
To a castle in the valley,
They completely lost their way,
And wandered all the day,
Till, to see them safely back,
They paid a Ducky-quack,
And a Beetle, and a Mouse,
Who took them to their house.
5.
Then they whispered to each other,
‘O delightful little brother!
What a lovely walk we’ve taken!
Let us dine on Beans and Bacon!’
So the Ducky and the leetle
Browny-Mousy and the Beetle
Dined, and danced upon their heads
Till they toddled to their beds.[3]
Jolly greetings,
Erik Stout
[1] From “Essays in Zen Buddhism” by D.T. Suzuki
[2] From “Zen Flesh, Zen Bones” by Paul Reps
[3] From “Complete Nonsense” by Edward Lear
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