Matt Writes Words

Having been interested in Minimalism for the past year, I suppose it was inevitable that I would start becoming interested in Zen ideas. I’m not particularly compelled by the Buddhist aspect that is usually attached to Zen, although I am not repelled by it either, as Buddhist ideas and practices were always present, in some casual way, in the Asian culture that I grew up in.

One of the main links between Zen and Minimalism is the notion of letting go. In Minimalism, one develops a mindfulness about what is and is not necessary, and then the idea is to let go of that which is not necessary or helpful, in a physical sense (getting rid of things; not accumulating more things). Zen, as far as I have gathered in my early stages of studying it, involves the same thing, except that it is emotional baggage and concepts of self that must be let go of.

We are attached to particular meanings that we associate with our experience and our desires. We become attached to certain expectations of how we are supposed to be, or perhaps we become attached to the notion that we are entitled to something. These meanings that we attach to our lives and to the world are, ultimately, the cause of the emotional suffering that we feel.

Here is where I see common ground between Zen and Existentialism: they both acknowledge that, in general, people attach particular meanings to things. Those meanings are usually not questioned, at least not in a radical fashion. I’m sure that most people are familiar with the feeling of existential dread (angst), especially when they wake up in the morning and have to go to a job they don’t like so that they can pay for things that they don’t really care about that much. I’m sure that most people have asked themselves, “What’s the point? Why bother?” But I don’t know how many people really stick with that trail of thought, because ultimately it leads to some pretty dark and scary places. For them, these questions may never be satisfactorily answered, or some may find solace in religion or spiritual practices.

Existentialism considers these questions, and basically operates from the premise that there is no inherent point or meaning to life. We assign these meanings to things, and we get emotionally caught up in these meanings and expectations and concepts of self. In being mindful of the lack of inherent meaning, we can, hopefully, take the opportunity to assign meaning by active choice. The potential of meaning is broadened, and I find that to be a very positive idea.

We have particular social understandings and expectations that are thrown at us every day. Zen and Existentialism meet at the point where we can identify those already-formed meanings, and be able to let them go. One must be able to view the world in a detached way in order to better observe things as they are.

Both of these philosophies are famous for the radical detachment aspect, and as such, many people tend to think of Zen and especially Existentialism as being about nothingness or emptiness in a negative or defeatist way, when really, those thoughts are merely the first (necessary) step toward creating new meaning. Those meanings will bend and shift and grow with our experiences, giving us the opportunity to experience the world through many different perspectives throughout our lives.

Yet, when some meaning fails to hold the weight that we put on it, we must be able to step off of that particular meaning. There is no reason to stick blindly or doggedly to any meaning, since it constructed by us in the first place, and we can construct new ones. This, to me, is the appropriate use for meaning—as temporary platforms to stand on to be able to act in this world. Without these platforms to stand on, we are unable to operate, as we need something to push off of in order to progress. We would be depressed or suicidal without meaning.

To use a goofy analogy, meaning is more like software than hardware. We can consider the physical world, including our bodies and brains, to be the hardware. Our ideas, however, are virtual. Not only are they adaptable, but we can also abandon old software and start using new software, or have many different pieces of software that we’re using at any given time—each piece of software serves its own purpose, and you use it accordingly.

The reason to be against taking any particular sense of meaning too seriously is that there is no idea that truly holds the whole of everything. Rather than adapting our ideas to new experiences, we twist and contort what we experience into our comfortable sense of meaning.

This is strikingly clear in politics, where every event and idea has to fit into the narrative of “we’re good and smart, and they’re bad and stupid.” This certainly illustrates the constructedness of meaning, because two political parties can talk about the exact same event and arrive at opposite conclusions about what is going on. However, there is no awareness of the constructedness and meaninglessness of it all, and so they get angry, sneaky, greedy, and competitive. Being right becomes more important than anything else, and politics becomes a game to win instead of a means to facilitate the betterment of peoples’ lives.

Rather than getting so emotionally tangled up in these silly ideas of right and wrong, why not try to develop a mindfulness about whether these ideas are hurting us or helping us? We can prevent so much of our own suffering if we can learn to do that. Of all the ideas and things that we are attached to, very few of them actually matter or are worth suffering for. It’s not feasible to just drop our attachments all at once, as these attachments are so very sticky. However, the ability to detach seems to me to be a valuable aim, because then when we reattach ourselves back to the world, it is done so on our own terms.