Academic criticism An encounter dialogue constitutes the narrative component of a koan/''gong'an.'' It depicts an interaction between a master and student who is being tested, or between rivals as a kind of contest of spiritual prowess. However, according to Mario Poceski, encounter dialogues are not historically reliable and "have little or nothing to do with the lives, ideas, and teachings of the
Tang-era protagonists who are featured in them." Such stories rather reflect the artistic license and religious imagination of mid-tenth century Chan. Steven Heine points to the sociopolitical background of encounter-dialogue literature, stating that such writings are not concerned with the task of historiography "because their aim was not factuality but persuading the selected audience of the significance of master-disciple relations in terms of legitimating lineages and establishing the authority and hierarchy of transmission." Albert Welter contests the commonly held view that portrayals of master-disciple encounters in the Chan
yulu (recorded sayings) genre reflect notes taken by students of actual interactions with teachers in the "back rooms," such as the abbot's quarters and other private spaces. For Welter, this is "no more than an artifice to bolster Chan pretensions as a secret, mind-to-mind transmission. While later Chan custom ritually reenacted this pretension through gong'an (or kōan) investigation including private interviews between master and student, this practice is actually based on a literary artifice developed out of the need to present Chan as a new and dynamic form of Buddhism." According to Welter, the emphasis on a "special transmission" forced a shift within Chan from the older sermonic or lecture format to the forging of the encounter dialogue as a new style, which eventually came to define Chan. For example, in the case of the
Huangbo literature, Dale S. Wright observes that while the earliest layers prominently feature rational sermons critically engaging with a variety of doctrinal themes, later Chan
yulu downplay or abandon this sermonic model in favor of anecdotal stories about the outrageous behavior and unconventional speech of Chan masters. Regarding the Huangbo literature, Wright states that "new stories about Huang-po began to appear in subsequent centuries and were gradually added to the earlier sections of the text. By the Ming dynasty, the Huang-po literature had grown to include a significant number of 'encounter dialogue' stories about the master, and all of these are written in later styles that are amenable to the kōan focus of fully mature Chinese Zen." According to Welter, encounter-dialogue stories depicting bizarre antics such as hitting and shouting are best understood as caricatures which tell us less about the Chan masters who are their subjects than the motives of the people who created them, as they "are little more than representations of Chan masters as their caricature makers would like them to appear." Poceski observes that although Zen is often portrayed as promoting spontaneity and freedom, encounter-dialogue exegesis actually points in the opposite direction, namely towards a tradition bound by established parameters of orthodoxy. According to Poceski, on the whole, the encounter-dialogue genre is marked by formulaic repetition and cliché. He describes encounter-dialogue stories as "mass produced" and "artificially manufactured." He says: In the end, notwithstanding the iconoclastic ethos imputed to them, it is apparent that these textual sources are products of a conservative tradition that, in the course of its growth and transformation during the Tang-Song transition, was keen to promote a particular version of Buddhist orthodoxy and secure its place as the main representative of elite Chinese Buddhism. Poceski points out how, in commenting on ''gong'an'', Chan masters' interpretive possibilities are limited by "the straightjacket of a certain type of Chan orthodoxy." This refers to "ideological constraints and clerical agendas" which take encounter-dialogue stories as actual depictions of the enlightened behavior of perfected beings pointing to some rarefied truth, despite there being no compelling empirical evidence for this. According to Poceski, as this is never up for questioning or scrutiny, ''gong'an'' stories amount to "received articles of faith, reinforced by a cumulative tradition and embedded in specific institutional structures." Poceski explains how ''gong'an
have been put in the service of institutional agendas and have historically been tied up with nexuses of power. Commenting on ancient cases bolstered Chan masters as living embodiments of a mystical Chan lineage, reinforcing their status and authority. At the same time, the ostentatious literary form such exegesis often took served to impress literati supporters, the sociopolitical elites of Song China, who were its intended audience. In this way, gong'an'' exegesis aligned with the cultural predilections and aesthetic sensibilities of the establishment. What's more, Cole states that, in China, koan writing "appears to have been a thoroughly literary affair, with little or nothing to do with meditation." According to Foulk, commenting on a ''gong'an'' doesn't merely serve to elucidate the wisdom of the patriarchs for a student's sake, but rather functions as a device for demonstrating a master's authority, not only in relation to a living disciple, but also in relation to the patriarchs themselves. That is, in commenting on a ''gong'an'', a master's authority is demonstrated to be both derivative and absolute: derivative in that it draws on the prestige of the earlier patriarchs, absolute in the sense that it gives the living master the last word and ultimate judgment. Foulk explains that koans presuppose an inherent hierarchy in which the commentator's voice is privileged above the root case itself, maintaining a clear juxtaposition between "judge" and "judged." Foulk writes, "In a social context, this means that whoever can work himself (by whatever means) into the position of speaking as a judge of old cases will thereafter be deemed a worthy spokesman of the awakened point of view, regardless of what he says." Similarly, Stuart Lachs understands koans to be largely literary fictions which serve to reinforce hierarchical structures within Zen institutions. Lachs observes that the ritual koan interview between a student and master is so presented as to give a sense of timelessness in which the student is made to feel that the procedure is an inherent part of Zen that has existed since the beginning, despite its being an institutional construction. Lachs quotes from Peter Berger's analysis of religious legitimation, stating that the point of the ritual is to "let people forget that this order was established by men and continues to be dependent on the consent of men." Poceski points out how ''gong'an'' exegesis deploys certain strategies to deflect criticism or challenges to authority which continue all the way to the present. These often involve the charge that critics lack genuine Chan experience and understanding. As this can be true even of
bodhisattvas of the tenth level, this also reflects a sectarian notion that Chan is superior to canonical Buddhism. Poceski says: A person daring to articulate any sort of meaningful criticism can simply be dismissed as being an unenlightened ignoramus whose mind is filled with shallow views and one-sided attachments. So much for intellectual freedom and the need to question established authority. According to Poceski, modern publications and popular Zen books tend to be confined to the same strictures and ideological suppositions as the classical sources. This includes the notion that ''gong'an
, such as the famous "Nanquan kills a cat," represent timeless truths that must be "unlocked via dedicated Zen practice, undertaken under proper spiritual guidance," with modern interpretations tending to stick uncritically to conventional lines of exegesis that fail to question normative traditions and the untenable assumptions which buttress them. The emphasis on training under a qualified guide also reinforces the modern Zen master as gatekeeper of truth and "prime arbiter of value and meaning," reflecting a concern for orthodoxy and authority. In this way, ideological suppositions about gong'an'' are entwined with social relationships and power structures, as they aim to perpetuate a religious institution whose members derive tangible benefits by virtue of their status in it as maintainers of tradition. As Lachs points out, advancement within Zen institutions requires a sufficient degree of socialization, and this entails not questioning official positions and authority. In regard to this state of affairs, Poceski asks:However, was it not the case that Chan/Zen was supposed to take us in an entirely different direction, away from the familiar intersections of knowledge and power? Wasn't it supposed to blow away archaic ideological smokescreens and obliterate all forms of conceptual posturing, rather than conjure or shore them up? Perhaps not, or so it seems.
Criticism from within the Zen tradition Koans have also been criticized from within the Zen tradition at various points throughout history. According to Schlütter, "the practice was common enough to attract criticism" which can be found in Song sources like the
Sengbao zhengxu zhuan (True continuation of the chronicles of the saṃgha treasure), where one master called Chanti Weizhao "rails against deluded masters who teach people to contemplate (
can) gongan stories." The Song era master
Foyan Qingyuan (1067–1120) was critical of the use of koans (public cases) and similar stories, arguing that they did not exist during the time of
Bodhidharma. He said, "In other places they like to have people look at model case stories, but here we have the model case story of what is presently coming into being; you should look at it, but no one can make you see all the way through such an immense affair." According to Arthur Braverman,
Bassui Tokushō (1327–1387) "was very critical of the
Rinzai practice of studying kōans, perhaps because they were becoming more and more formalized, hence losing their original spirit."
Ikkyū Sōjun (1394–1481) also criticized the mechanical nature of koan practice during his time, in which formulaic answers to koans were preserved and sold. The unconventional Rinzai master
Bankei Yōtaku (1622–1693) famously criticized the kōan method, seeing it as a hopelessly contrived and artificial technique. Bankei referred to kōans disparagingly as "old wastepaper" and referred to Zen masters who required devices in order to guide people as engaging in "devices Zen." Bankei also criticized the practice of rousing a "great ball of doubt" employed in koan Zen. He said: Others tell students pursuing this teaching that it's no good unless they rouse a great ball of doubt and succeed in breaking through it. 'No matter what,' they tell them, 'you've got to rouse a ball of doubt!' They don't teach, 'Abide in the Unborn Buddha Mind!' [but instead] cause people
without any ball of doubt to saddle themselves
with one, making them exchange the Buddha Mind for a ball of doubt. A mistaken business, isn't it! When asked why he did not make use of koans, Bankei pointed out that Chan masters before
Yuanwu and
Dahui did not make use of koans either. Bankei observed accurately that koan study represents a later development of Chinese Chan. "In this sense," Peter Haskel writes, "Bankei was a traditionalist. He harked back to the Zen masters of the 'golden age' before the triumph of the koan, masters like
Lin-chi I-hsüan (J: Rinzai Gigen, d. 860), founder of the Rinzai school." Similarly,
D.T. Suzuki writes, "Bankei can be said to have attempted a return to the Zen of the early T'ang dynasty." Bankei said: Unlike the other masters everywhere, in my teaching I don't set up any particular object, such as realizing enlightenment or studying koans. Nor do I rely on the words of the buddhas and patriarchs. I just point things out directly, so there's nothing to hold onto, and that's why no one will readily accept [what I teach]. The
Sōtō school emphasizes
shikantaza as its main practice, though it does not completely reject the study and use of koans. That being said, some Sōtō figures have criticized the Rinzai style koan method.
Gentō Sokuchū (1729–1807), nominated abbot of
Eiheiji in 1795, sought to purify the Sōtō school of koans, which he regarded as a foreign influence. According to Buswell and Lopez, the Sōtō school regards the Rinzai koan method as "an inferior, expedient attempt at concentration" in comparison to
shikantaza, which is thus deployed in Sōtō polemics against the rival Rinzai school. The famous Sōtō master
Kodo Sawaki also criticized Rinzai koan practice as "stepladder Zen" and said:From the end of the Song Dynasty to the Yuan [and] Ming dynasties techniques developed, and solving koans was the way monks became respected for having had
satoris. Well, today [monks] have satoris, which in certain religious sects allows the monks to be candidates to be head priests of temples. That's the way they think. But they're wrong. Believe in
zazen itself, and if you put your whole body into it, that is [true] zazen.
Shin'ichi Hisamatsu (1889–1980) criticized contemporary koan practice, which advances from one koan to another, as a form of gradualism and likened it to trying to approximate a circle by forever increasing the number of sides of a polygon. He instead taught what he called the "fundamental koan" which he said included all koans. Hisamatsu also said of his fundamental koan that it could be practiced on one's own,
without the guidance of a teacher. As Christopher Ives explains, Hisamatsu "questions the need to work with a certified Zen master." Ives observes that in Hisamatsu's approach, "one does not go to a particular master and present one's understanding of the kōan. Rather, one engages in 'mutual inquiry,' (
sōgo sankyū) with other committed practitioners, on the assumption that one is ultimately meeting and engaging with the True Self." The modern Korean
Sŏn master
Daehaeng taught that it was not necessary to receive a
hwadu (the "critical phrase" of a koan) from others since everyone already has their own "original hwadus." She said:Daily life is itself a hwadu, so there is no need to receive a hwadu from others or to give a hwadu to others. Your very existence is a hwadu. Thus, if you are continuously holding on to a hwadu someone else gave you, when will you be able to solve your original hwadu? Trying to solve another person's hwadu is like turning empty millstones or spinning a car's wheels without moving forward. Your body itself is a hwadu. Birth itself is a hwadu. Work itself is a hwadu. The vast universe is a hwadu. If you want to add more hwadus to these, when will you be able to taste this infinitely deep world we live in?
Other criticism D.T. Suzuki observes that although the koan method represents a convenience for the Zen practitioner, a form of "grandmotherly kindness," it is also liable to tend towards formalization and counterfeit. He writes: The danger lies in the tendency to formalization. It may happen that a petty thief crowing like a cock at dawn will get past the barrier by deceiving the gatekeeper into opening the gates. As a matter of fact, in the koan system such fellows do get past, or we should say rather that they are passed through. The danger that the goods will be sold cheap is something intrinsic to the system. In any construct devised by man a pattern always evolves. When the pattern becomes fixed, the quick of life cannot move within it. When the realm of true reality which is freed of samsaric suffering is treated in such a way that it comes to resemble the fixed gestures and patterned moves learned in a fencing class, Zen ceases to be Zen. At times patterns work well and are useful. And they do have the virtue of universal currency. But by that alone no living thing is produced. I suppose, though, there are some who even find enjoyment in such a counterfeit, lifeless thing, much as they would divert themselves with games of chess or mahjong. According to
Alan Watts, the koan method suffered from two drawbacks. The first is that it can potentially lead to a kind of romanticism for exotic cultural forms. The second was that its method of deliberately rousing great doubt and then breaking through it after an intense period of striving amounted to a kind of psychological trick. Regarding this, Watts says: The second, and more serious, drawback can arise from the opposition of satori to the intense “feeling of doubt” which some koan exponents so deliberately encourage. For this is to foster a dualistic satori. To say that the depth of the satori is proportional to the intensity of seeking and striving which precede it is to confuse satori with its purely emotional adjuncts. In other words, if one wants to feel exhilaratingly light-footed, it is always possible to go around for some time with lead in one’s shoes–and then take them off. The sense of relief will certainly be proportional to the length of time such shoes have been worn, and to the weight of the lead. This is equivalent to the old trick of religious revivalists who give their followers a tremendous emotional uplift by first implanting an acute sense of sin, and then relieving it through faith in Jesus. ==See also==