Capítulo 1
The Paradox of Seeking What We Already Are
Have you ever found yourself chasing something only to realize it was with you all along? This is the central insight of "The Way of Zen," Alan Watts' groundbreaking exploration of Eastern wisdom. Published in 1957, this book arrived at a critical moment when Western thought was experiencing profound upheaval. Our familiar concepts of space, time, and reality were dissolving, leaving many adrift in what resembled the Buddhist "Great Void." While Western wisdom offered little guidance for living in such a universe, Zen had been comfortably at home in this void for fifteen centuries.
The book quickly became a cornerstone of the 1960s counterculture movement, influencing figures from The Beatles to Steve Jobs. Its enduring appeal stems from Watts' remarkable ability to translate Eastern concepts into Western terms without diluting their essence. As the first comprehensive account of Zen accessible to general Western readers, it remains one of the most influential introductions to Eastern philosophy ever written. What makes Watts' approach unique is his insistence that Zen isn't something to be imported wholesale from Asia, but rather a perspective that can illuminate our own cultural blind spots and free us from self-imposed limitations.
Capítulo 2
The Chinese Roots of Zen
Zen Buddhism defies Western categorization-it's neither religion, philosophy, psychology, nor science, but rather a "way of liberation" similar to Taoism, Vedanta, and Yoga. While historically blending Indian and Chinese traditions, Zen is predominantly Chinese in character, reflecting that culture's pragmatic approach to spiritual matters.
Our Western reliance on conventional knowledge through words and symbols creates fundamental difficulties in understanding Zen. We trust primarily the "central vision" of focused, conscious thinking rather than the "peripheral vision" of intuitive understanding. We struggle to accept knowledge that cannot be represented in linear signs, while Eastern approaches rely more on direct experience and "getting the feel" rather than abstract notation.
Unlike the West, where Hebrew-Christian tradition identifies God with moral and logical order, Taoism offers liberation not through revolution against convention but by not being deceived by it. This Western cultural catastrophe weights social order with excessive authority, creating conflict between personal nature and the Absolute itself, ultimately leading to either self-denial or rejection of God-and eventually to absolutist states that recognize nothing beyond their jurisdiction.
The Tao as ultimate Reality must never be confused with abstract concepts nor limited to conventional biological or scientific naturalism. Taoism extends beyond conventional knowledge, offering a different view of ourselves that liberates the mind from identification with the abstract ego. It represents knowledge that works spontaneously (tzu-jan), like how we know to move our hands without explaining the process.
The Tao operates through wu-wei, meaning "non-action" or "non-striving"-allowing the mind to work by itself, like peripheral vision that sees best when not looking directly. The Taoist masters advocated a special kind of "stupidity"-not vacant mindlessness but a non-grasping quality that Chuang-tzu described as a mirror that "grasps nothing; refuses nothing; receives but does not keep."
This state of consciousness resembles the effortlessness of a drunken man who falls without injury, or a baby who looks without focusing. The ideal is wu-hsin ("no-mind")-not unconsciousness but un-self-consciousness, where the mind functions freely without the sensation of a second mind standing over it. As Chuang-tzu says, "The true mind is no mind," working properly when it works as if not present, like eyes seeing properly when they don't see themselves.
Capítulo 3
The Buddhist Revolution
When Buddhism first encountered Chinese civilization-already two thousand years old-it required significant adaptation to become acceptable, despite some striking resemblances to Taoism. China's remarkable ability to absorb external influences stems partly from the stability provided by Confucianism-reasonable, unfanatical, and humanistic. Combined with Taoism's easygoing attitude, this created a mellow mentality that made Buddhism more "practical" for everyday human life.
The Buddha's teaching emerged from the Upanishadic tradition, not as a religious revolt but as a development within an existing way of life. Gautama acted traditionally when he became a forest sage, abandoning caste to follow liberation. His awakening (bodhi) came after seven years of fruitless meditation and ascetic practice, when he "gave up" and simply relaxed.
Sitting under the Bo Tree at Gaya, having vowed not to rise until attaining supreme awakening, he experienced a profound clarity upon seeing the morning star. This was anuttara samyak sambodhi-complete awakening and liberation from maya and the cycle of birth-and-death (samsara).
The content of this experience could never be put into words, as words themselves are the frames of maya. From Zen's perspective, the Buddha "never said a word" despite volumes of attributed scriptures. His real message remained unspoken, transmissible only through "direct pointing" rather than verbal communication.
Following his awakening, the Buddha presented his doctrine as Four Noble Truths, patterned after a physician's diagnosis and prescription. The First Truth concerns duhkha, which isn't simply "life is suffering," but that life as normally lived is characterized by the frustration of attempting the impossible.
The Second Noble Truth identifies trishna (clinging) and avidya (ignorance) as the causes of frustration. Avidya fails to recognize that subject and object are relational-when one pursues, the other retreats. This creates a vicious circle called samsara, driven by karma (conditioned action) that perpetuates itself moment to moment.
The Third Noble Truth concerns nirvana-the cessation of self-grasping. Seen from one side, it appears as despair; from the other, it bursts into joy and creative power. Nirvana is the natural, "un-self-grasped" state of mind that arises spontaneously when the impossibility of self-grasping is thoroughly perceived.
Capítulo 4
The Mahayana Revolution
Mahayana Buddhism developed not primarily to satisfy intellectual curiosity but to address practical psychological problems in following the Buddha's path. While the Pali Canon emphasizes liberation through sheer effort, Mahayana seeks to "jiggle the key until it turns smoothly," providing "skillful means" (upaya) to make nirvana accessible to every type of mentality.
A fundamental Mahayana concept is the Bodhisattva ideal-one who renounces nirvana until all beings attain it. This flows naturally from Buddhism's core logic: if nirvana is the cessation of grasping, it cannot itself be grasped; if there is no ego, no "being" can attain nirvana. The profound realization follows that we are already in nirvana-to seek it is "the folly of looking for what one has never lost." As the Lankavatara Sutra states, "birth-and-death and Nirvana are not to be separated from one another."
Mahayana addresses a fundamental paradox: "How can I try to let go when trying is precisely not letting go?" To try not to grasp creates the same vicious circle as the original grasping-it's the psychological "double-bind" of creating a problem by trying to solve it.
Nagarjuna's answer, developed in the Prajna-paramita literature, is that all grasping, even for nirvana, is futile because there is nothing to be grasped. His celebrated "Doctrine of the Void" (Sunyavada) refutes all metaphysical propositions by demonstrating their relativity. Though appearing nihilistic to academic philosophers, Nagarjuna's dialectic is merely a device for breaking the vicious circle of grasping, culminating not in despair but in the natural, uncontrived bliss (ananda) of liberation.
The Lankavatara Sutra declares: "There is no Nirvana except where is Samsara; there is no Samsara except where is Nirvana." This non-duality works in two senses: first, nirvana cannot be separated from samsara conceptually; second, what appears as samsara is actually nirvana, and what appears as form (rupa) is really void (sunya).
Hence the famous saying: "Form is not different from emptiness; emptiness is not different from form. Form is precisely emptiness; emptiness is precisely form."
This doesn't mean awakening will make the world vanish. Rather, form is void just as it is, in all its uniqueness. The point isn't to escape the everyday world but to see it differently. Even delusion is bodhi (awakening), but this doesn't justify remaining deluded. The difference between an ordinary person and a Bodhisattva isn't easily defined-the ordinary person only appears natural, while true naturalness feels unnatural to him.
Capítulo 5
The Birth of Zen
Zen Buddhism possesses a distinctive quality that's difficult to articulate but unmistakable in flavor. Though named after dhyana (meditation), other Buddhist schools emphasize meditation just as much, and sometimes formal meditation seems unnecessary to Zen practice. Nor is Zen unique in "having nothing to say" about ultimate truth.
What distinguishes Zen is its directness. While other schools treat awakening as remote and superhuman, requiring many lifetimes of effort, Zen presents it as something natural and startlingly obvious that could occur at any moment. The difficulty lies precisely in its simplicity. Zen teaching points directly to truth without symbolic complications, often through "direct pointing" (chih-chih)-demonstrating Zen through nonsymbolic actions or words relating to ordinary affairs.
While Zen is distinctively Chinese, there are Indian precedents for its principle of immediate awakening. The Lankavatara Sutra mentions both gradual and sudden (yugapat) ways of awakening-the latter through paravritti, an instantaneous "turning about" within consciousness that casts off dualistic views, likened to a mirror instantly reflecting whatever appears before it.
According to Zen tradition, Bodhidharma came from India to Canton around 520, visited Emperor Wu of Liang (who was unimpressed by his abrupt style), then withdrew to a monastery in Wei where he "gazed at the wall" until finding a suitable disciple in Hui-k'o.
His famous interview with Emperor Wu demonstrated his direct approach. When the Emperor asked what merit he had gained from promoting Buddhism, Bodhidharma replied, "No merit whatever!" Asked about Buddhism's first principle, he answered, "It's just empty; there's nothing sacred." When asked who he was, he simply said, "I don't know."
When Hui-k'o approached Bodhidharma for instruction, he was repeatedly refused. Demonstrating his sincerity by waiting patiently in the snow and eventually cutting off his left arm, he finally gained Bodhidharma's attention. When asked what he wanted, Hui-k'o replied, "I have no peace of mind. Please pacify my mind."
"Bring out your mind here before me," said Bodhidharma, "and I will pacify it!"
"But when I seek my own mind," said Hui-k'o, "I cannot find it."
"There!" snapped Bodhidharma, "I have pacified your mind!"
This interchange became the first instance of the characteristic Zen method of instruction-the question-and-answer (wen-ta), aimed at precipitating sudden realization in the questioner's mind. Such anecdotes cannot be "explained" without spoiling their effect-one must see the point immediately, or not at all.
Capítulo 6
The Flowering of Chinese Zen
Hui-neng (637-713) marks the definitive beginning of truly Chinese Zen. Though an illiterate peasant from Canton, he had his first awakening spontaneously upon hearing the Vajracchedika recited. At Hung-jan's monastery, the Patriarch announced he would transmit his office to whoever submitted the best poem expressing their understanding.
The chief monk Shen-hsiu wrote:
"The body is the Bodhi Tree;
The mind like a bright mirror standing.
Take care to wipe it all the time,
And allow no dust to cling."
Hui-neng countered with:
"There never was a Bodhi Tree,
Nor bright mirror standing.
Fundamentally, not one thing exists,
So where is the dust to cling?"
Recognizing Hui-neng's superior understanding, Hung-jan secretly transmitted the Patriarchate to him by night, advising him to flee to the mountains until the time was ripe for his teaching.
Hui-neng rejected the popular view that meditation meant emptying the mind of all contents. He insisted that "our own nature is fundamentally clear and pure" and that trying to purify the mind is itself a contamination. Instead of trying to empty the mind, one must simply let go of it-because the mind is nothing to be grasped. Thoughts should come and go freely, neither repressed nor held. "To concentrate on the mind and to contemplate it until it is still is a disease and not dhyana," he taught. True dhyana is realizing one's nature is like space, where thoughts come and go like birds through the sky, leaving no trace.
With Hui-neng's death in 713, the Patriarchate ceased, and his tradition branched into five disciples. These masters and their successors emphasized naturalness and spontaneity.
Ma-tsu (d. 788) became the first Zen master celebrated for "strange words and extraordinary behavior," described as one who walked like a bull and glared like a tiger. He pioneered responding to questions about Buddhism by hitting the questioner or giving a loud shout-"Ho!" On the problem of discipline, he taught: "The Tao has nothing to do with discipline. If you say it is attained by discipline, when the discipline is perfected it can again be lost... If you say there is no discipline, this is to be the same as ordinary people."
Lin-chi (Japanese: Rinzai, d. 867) was initially unable to get a word from Huang-po, who only struck him when questioned. After being scolded by another master for not appreciating Huang-po's "grandmotherly kindness," Lin-chi awakened and confronted Huang-po, striking him and declaring, "There is not much in Huang-po's Buddhism after all!"
Lin-chi's teaching, recorded in the Lin-chi Lu, shows immense vitality and originality. He berated students for lacking faith in themselves and seeking something they never lost: "Why do I talk here? Only because you followers of the Tao go galloping around in search of the mind, and are unable to stop it." He emphasized the natural life: "There is no place in Buddhism for using effort. Just be ordinary and nothing special. Relieve your bowels, pass water, put on your clothes, and eat your food."
Capítulo 7
The Paradox of Emptiness
The ancient Zen poem begins by declaring "The perfect Way is without difficulty, save that it avoids picking and choosing." This captures the essential Zen insight that the pursuit of "good" over "evil" is fundamentally misguided, as these opposites arise mutually and cannot exist without each other. As the Taoist principle states, "When everyone recognizes beauty as beautiful, there is already ugliness."
The illusion that life can be significantly improved through constant selection of the "good" creates an absurd cycle-success always demands more success, eating leads only to more hunger. Comfort exists only in relation to discomfort, like an image visible only against a contrasting background. The pleasant and painful are "so inseparable, so identical in their difference-like the two sides of a coin."
The Zen viewpoint dissolves the duality of subject and object. Using the image of "the moon in the water," Zen reveals how experience arises from mutual causation. The water doesn't wait to receive the moon's image, nor does the moon intend to cast its reflection. As the Zenrin Kushu says, "Trees show the bodily form of the wind; Waves give vital energy to the moon."
Our sense of being isolated subjects to whom experiences happen stems from separating "ourselves" from our minds. We feel like victims because we think we were involuntarily "given" a sensitive organism. But Zen asks: who is it that "has" this mind? The entire sense of subjective isolation is an illusion of bad semantics-there is no "myself" apart from the mind-body that structures experience.
When we no longer identify with our idea of ourselves, the relationship between subject and object undergoes a revolutionary change. The knower no longer feels independent of the known. As the Hua-yen doctrine expresses it, every jewel contains the reflection of all others. We discover that "I have no other self than the totality of things of which I am aware."
Our sense of isolation also comes from failing to see the relativity of voluntary and involuntary events. By watching one's breath, one can easily feel both "I breathe" and "It breathes me." We consider actions voluntary when they follow decisions, but decision itself just happens spontaneously-we decide without understanding how.
Capítulo 8
The Practice of Non-Practice
When the world is seen in its "suchness"-without names and classifications-we experience extraordinary freedom. The nameless state that Nan-ch'uan refers to as "the kalpa before the world was manifested" is not prior to our conventional world in time, but is the "suchness" of the world just as it is now.
In this state, there is neither self nor other, neither mind nor things. As Te-shan says: "Only when you have no thing in your mind and no mind in things are you vacant and spiritual, empty and marvelous." This creates a peculiar sensation of freedom in action when the world no longer feels like an obstacle standing against oneself.
In both life and art, Far Eastern cultures prize spontaneity and naturalness (tzu-jan) above all-that unmistakable tone of sincerity in uncontrolled action. A man rings like a cracked bell when thinking with a split mind, one part interfering with the other. Yet the mind cannot actually be split, for as a Zenrin poem says: "Like a sword that cuts, but cannot cut itself; Like an eye that sees, but cannot see itself."
The illusion of division comes from the mind's attempt to be both itself and its idea of itself-a confusion of fact with symbol. To end this illusion, the mind must stop acting upon itself from the ego's standpoint. As another Zenrin poem expresses: "Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows by itself." This "by itself" is the natural way of action, like eyes seeing and ears hearing without forced effort.
The marvelous quality of spontaneous action isn't superhuman magic but rather perfect humanness without contrivance. A Zen monk wept at a relative's death, and when criticized replied, "Don't be stupid! I'm weeping because I want to weep." Hakuin was troubled by the story of master Yen-t'ou screaming when murdered by a robber, yet this doubt dissolved at his satori moment. Conversely, abbot Kwaisen and his monks calmly allowed themselves to be burned alive in meditation posture.
This seemingly contradictory naturalness becomes clear in Yun-men's saying: "In walking, just walk. In sitting, just sit. Above all, don't wobble." Natural sincerity comes from the undivided mind that doesn't dither between alternatives. When Yen-t'ou screamed, his scream was heard for miles-not because he tried to be natural, but because he was completely unified in that moment.
Capítulo 9
The Path of Zen Practice
In Zen, meditation periods alternate with walking to prevent sluggishness, and monks' lives follow precise rituals signaled by various bells and gongs. This ceremonious style isn't affectation but celebration of the fact that "the ordinary man is a Buddha"-when one acts with total presence of mind, even lighting a cigarette becomes ritualistic.
The Soto School emphasizes "acting as a Buddha" where za-zen and daily activities aren't means to an end but the actual realization of Buddhahood. As Dogen teaches, one must concentrate on practice without wasting time, forgetting about personal strengths or weaknesses. In za-zen, there should be no thought of attaining satori or avoiding birth-and-death-"If life comes, this is life. If death comes, this is death." All time exists in this body, which is Buddha's body.
The Rinzai School, however, employs a graduated koan system developed by Hakuin, dividing Zen study into six stages with approximately fifty problems to "pass." This formal system, while valuable, sometimes leads to excessive concern with "grades of attainment." The complete training takes about thirty years, though not all monks complete it-only those who will become masters require the full course. Satori isn't necessarily a single leap to complete awakening but may occur multiple times during training, from small insights to profound realizations.
In Asian cultures, the master-pupil relationship is sacred-the master becomes responsible for the pupil's karma, while the pupil accords absolute obedience. To young Zen monks, the roshi represents supreme patriarchal authority, appearing fierce and dignified. This creates a deliberate challenge: can the student find enough "nerve" to remain perfectly natural before this formidable archetype?
Zen adds its own dimension by leaving the relationship's formation entirely to the pupil's initiative. The master doesn't help the student, as helping would be hindering. Instead, he places obstacles in the student's path, since "what comes in through the gate is not family treasure"-knowledge must be discovered personally, not received from others.
The preliminary koan deliberately sends students in the wrong direction, making them seek Buddha-nature "within" themselves. This causes them to chase their own tails until, completely baffled, they reach a point of feeling utterly stupid-encased in ice, unable to move or think. The student becomes an "enormous mass of pure doubt," responding mechanically to circumstances while totally baffled by everything.
After some time in this state, the block of ice suddenly collapses. The problem becomes transparently absurd-a meaningless question from the beginning. No one remains to ask or answer it. Yet this transparent meaninglessness can function perfectly normally, without any psychological knot at its center. The sensation of a hard core of selfhood standing against the world vanishes.
Capítulo 10
Zen in Art and Life
Zen's expression in the arts provides one of the most direct ways of understanding it, as these art forms aren't merely symbolic but represent the natural, concrete, and secular. Even when depicting Buddha or Zen masters, they do so in a down-to-earth, human way. The arts of Zen are themselves works of nature, embodying the "controlled accident" where there's no duality between chance and control, spontaneity and discipline.
After Buddhism's persecution in China in 845, Zen monasteries became centers of scholarship where monks, artists, poets, and Confucian scholars cross-fertilized their pursuits. This cultural exchange flowed to Japan through scholar-monks who brought not just Zen but every aspect of Chinese culture.
The calligraphic style of sumi-e painting perfectly expressed Zen's spontaneity-black ink on paper or silk, applied with a brush that requires unhesitating, dance-like movements. Perfected during the Sung dynasty by masters like Hsia-kuei, Ma-yuan, and Mu-ch'i, these landscape paintings show nature as sufficient unto itself, with no purpose beyond being.
The distinctive features include relative emptiness that becomes part of the composition ("painting by not painting"), mastery of brush strokes from delicate elegance to rough vitality, and deliberate asymmetry that avoids geometric regularity. Even when drawing a simple circle, Zen artists make it slightly eccentric, full of life rather than abstract perfection.
The Japanese aesthetic moods that define Zen art each capture a different aspect of the momentary and impermanent nature of existence. Sabi evokes solitary quietude-like a crow on a withered branch or water lapping against a heron's legs. Wabi finds beauty in the ordinary and unpretentious-a snail as a lock on a brushwood gate, or sparrows walking in a rain-water tub. Aware resonates with nostalgic sadness for what has passed-autumn wind at an abandoned barrier or evening haze making past things seem distant. Yugen suggests mysterious depth beyond what can be expressed-wild ducks' voices appearing faintly white against a darkening sea, or a skylark's voice falling with nothing left behind.
Zen masters favored short, direct poems that expressed the "suchness" of things without philosophical commentary. This approach culminated in haiku-seventeen-syllable poems that, like pebbles thrown into the pool of the listener's mind, evoke associations rather than explaining them. Basho, who developed haiku in the 17th century, sought to express the spirit of wu-shih ("nothing special") with the inspired objectivity of a child's wonder.
When life is empty of past and future, the present expands infinitely. This sense of expanded present finds its ultimate expression in cha-no-yu, the art of tea. Through this single art, Zen has profoundly influenced Japanese culture, as the chajin ("man of tea") became an arbiter of taste in architecture, gardening, ceramics, metalwork, lacquer, and flower arrangement.
Training in Zen arts follows principles identical to Zen itself. As Herrigel discovered in archery, the fundamental challenge is practicing relentlessly without "trying"-resolving the paradox of intentional non-intention. After years of practice, the arrow must "shoot itself," the brush must draw by itself, the sword must move without deliberation.
Zen's breathing technique is Zen itself in physiological form. The breath naturally falls out after comfortable inhalation, like a leaden ball sinking through the body into the ground. Yet striving for this technique creates anxiety-beginners often feel unable to breathe without conscious control.
This isn't a breathing "exercise" but a "watching and letting" of breath. The breath always takes care of itself, and attempting it as compulsive discipline with goals defeats its purpose. This way of breathing isn't just for special times but for all circumstances-every human activity can become za-zen. As Dr. Kunihiko Hashida demonstrated, formal za-zen isn't absolutely required; his "Zen practice" was physics itself, saying he worked "to science" rather than "to study science."
The arts inspired by Zen all express the instantaneous quality of its worldview. They reveal that Zen is liberation from time-opening our eyes to see that there is no other time than this instant, with past and future as mere abstractions. The present isn't a hairline dividing past and future but eternally real, while they are fleeting illusions. Linear time is merely a convention of single-track verbal thinking that grasps pieces of the world sequentially rather than experiencing wholeness.
