Last month we took a look at the kind of crises that are often precipitated by sudden and unanticipated death. Anecdotally, it seems that people tend to seek out Zen during or just after such a crisis, even of a less traumatic nature, effects their life.
Today, as in the past, there is not, apparently, a typical age range when people tend to seek out the spiritual. I’ve seen very young people who are very serious about Zen. I’ve seen older people come to practice Zen for the first time—and by older, I mean in their 60’s and 70’s. But generally, I would guess that most Zen seekers are somewhere in the 30’s to 50’s, people confronting midlife crises—marital problems; work-related anxiety; their loved ones—parents, grandparents, children—experiencing aging, sickness, or death. They are suddenly exposed to a more painful and realistic worldview than that generally promulgated in our culture, skewed as it is to social evasion of sickness, aging and death, or virtually any kind if discomfort.
We often hear horror stories about death: They made me go up and kiss Grandma in the coffin, and I didn’t want to. The main reason we have such a traumatic problem with death is that the entire society doesn’t deal with it. If a child is traumatized by a close encounter with death, it is largely because the adult culture is traumatized by it. In our culture, it probably takes 30 years or so to get to a point of maturity, where one is past the typical extended adolescence, beginning to look around, and figuring out what is going on. In other cultures, attitudes toward death differ markedly.
Crisis brings on a forced exercise in problem-solving.
zenkai taiun michael elliston, roshi
Master Dogen was devastated by his mother’s death, which occurred when he was only about eight years old. His father was already deceased, and he had been very close to his mother. I suppose she was the main attachment to life that he had at that age. Thus, in Dogen’s formative years, his orientation toward life was impacted immediately, effected profoundly, and changed spiritually. There are many such cases in the history of Zen, where confrontation with death triggers genuine spiritual awakening, or sets the stage for it at a later time.
This kind of existential crisis surpasses the more prosaic, midlife variety. It undercuts everything one thought to be dependable. One is left “without a toe-hold,” and has to start from scratch. Existential crisis can be brought on through circumstance, most usually of a dire nature. Your family is wiped out in an earthquake, or you find yourself in the middle of a war zone. Events can conspire to bring about this confrontation.
It doesn’t always come through a method of practice. But your reaction to dire circumstances at that time is dependent upon your practice, upon the samadhi developed though zazen. Beliefs that you may have held prior to the traumatic event may not sustain you through it. Beliefs suffer a severe reality-check, and are unlikely to survive, as they are only beliefs. Response to trauma is usually very different for somebody who is coming from Zen practice, whose focus from the beginning has been on life and death. This is not a morbid obsession—quite the opposite.
Creative Problem-Solving
Crisis brings on a forced exercise in problem-solving. Often we seek out help from individuals in the helping professions, or join a support group. In doing so, one thing we learn is that we are all in this same boat. Everyone is in crisis of one sort or another.
In creative design circles, the process by which a group solves a problem or arrives at a design solution is very intentional. Various methods have been developed and codified, and are taught in design departments at the university level. These courses focus on methodology, the study of methods, as much as upon the results. A principle that applies to daily life is that the full definition of the problem will inherently reveal the solution. Thus, the emphasis is on a process of defining a problem, rather than jumping to any premature solutions.
One such process that I have developed is related to that for solving mathematical equations, captioned as “Excuse me, My Dear Aunt Sally” (XMDAS), is a mnemonic that lists the arithmetical operations in the order they are performed to assure a correct result: first one solves the Exponents; then does the Multiplication; next Division; Addition; and finally Subtraction. If not done in this order, the result will be incorrect.
As an analogy to the creative process, whether of a group or an individual, the exponent, such as a square root, is the raison d’etre for the project, in business or psychology, the identified client’s definition of the problem. What is under the radical? What is the root of the problem? Why are we doing this? The process often redefines the problem in arriving at a solution. So we have a project, a defined problem, and a process for solving it.
Multiplication represents uninhibited brainstorming of all potential solutions and sub-problems related to a final solution. Division stands for the sorting out of the multiple results of brainstorming into salient categories and relationships between them. Addition is the fleshing out of the various sets within the divided groups to ensure that they are as complete as possible. And, finally, Subtraction is the editing process, removing or setting aside all elements not considered to be priorities of the problem definition or its solution.
This kind of process may be seen to be characteristic of any creative endeavor, such as written composition, where the exponent is the subject matter, multiplication the mind-mapping process, division the development of an outline, addition the writing of the first draft, subtraction the process of editing and rewriting the final manuscript.
In daily life, the exponent might be a metaphor for the root problem of existence. From birth, we are faced with a series of problems to solve, and learn various methods through direct experience, such as learning to walk and talk. We also learn indirectly from parents, siblings, friends and mentors. But the root problem of existence is rarely considered, let alone studied, outside of philosophy class. And the process of learning various methods is often left to chance, or trial and error. In problem-solving professions such as design, the sciences and engineering, methodology—the study alternative methods and of method itself—is much more intentional and conscious than in normal life. But the process can be seen as similar to XMDAS.
Multiplication is the geometric expansion of knowledge as we grow from childhood to adulthood. Division is the way we make sense of it by categorizing and cross-relating the seemingly disparate and separate classes of information, perceptions and concepts, as well as choices made in pursuing an education, vocation or profession. Addition is the expansive investigation of areas of specialization, such as law or medicine, secondary degrees, and enhancing our skill sets and opportunities for deeper and broader participation in desired roles in society. Subtraction is the relinquishment of activities such as hobbies, or career choices for which we cannot justify the required investment of time and resources.
Thus this same set of arithmetic operations can be seen as characteristic of the dynamics of everyday decisions, conscious as well as unconscious.
But at the end of the day, or at the end of one’s life, this process, however diligently and conscientiously pursued, may never result in our re-examining the starting point, the question of what is under the radical: What is the real problem?
Problem Definition
This is the point that the historical Buddha reached, which led him to question the conventional wisdom of his time, and the plan for his life that his parents envisioned. He came to see that the societal concerns and resultant norms of India of 2500 years ago, much like those of America today, do not address the fundamental problem of existence.
In fact, much of the effect of our social culture is to distract us from—and defer any serious consideration of—the traits of existence that Buddhism defines as important and deserving of our full attention. They are: impermanence, imperfection, insubstantiality; as witnessed in the arising, abiding, and decaying of everything in existence; and their personal dimension: aging, sickness and death.
Any substantial emphasis on these facts, in Western culture, is considered morbid, or at least pessimistic. But awareness and acknowledgment of these inconvenient truths is not pessimistic, but merely realistic. Avoidance of these realities, and the consequent suppression of such thoughts, is not only overly optimistic, but can readily turn neurotic.
Anyone who has witnessed the deterioration of an aging parent can testify to the inevitability of aging, sickness and death. The process harkens back to the XMDAS model outlined above. Subtraction sets in as we lose control of the body, the senses, and by extension, our environment.
If we survive long enough while aging, we move from engagement in family and career, to retirement. We progress from group to independent living, from which family has been subtracted—through the natural process of children growing, going away to school, establishing their careers and families elsewhere, then the death of our spouse, siblings, and friends—all subtracted from our life.
Then comes the move to assisted living, for which we downscale from our multiple possessions, subtracting them from our home environment by re-sorting and giving them to family and friends as heirlooms and keepsakes. Or if we can afford in-home care, getting our affairs in order through our last will and testament, bequeathing our possessions to others. Subtraction.
If we survive into our dotage, we move into nursing home conditions, where the public rooms of our dwelling space—living, parlor, dining, kitchen, family room—have been subtracted, or at best combined as shared space with the other denizens of the nursing home. Like it or not, we end up ensconced in the final, essential room—the bedroom—with perhaps a toilet, private or shared with a roommate, depending on ability to pay. In other words, the final dwelling place is reduced to the bed, much like an inmate’s cell, or a monk’s room.
R. Buckminster Fuller, inventor famous for the Geodesic dome, who was also a great designer, engineer, philosopher and mentor to a generation of designers, called what he did “comprehensive anticipatory design science.” He saw his mission, and that of his followers, to be the anticipation of problems before they became urgent, and to develop solutions that would be comprehensive and ready to implement exigently. As a designer, one would want to anticipate the problem of aging, sickness and death, and perhaps design one’s life differently in light of that eventuality, rather than live in a way that ignores the truth as long as possible.
Zen constitutes an invitation to engage in such a process of redesigning our life. We all redesign our life day by day, and each of us is called upon to reinvent Zen in that context. Hopefully, this message and our program of Zen meditation and dharma study will act as an inspiration for you to initiate, and sustain, that process.
