Words Mean Things

For entry number five, we’re taking on a word which has been stretched, polished, pummeled and marketed almost beyond recognition: ZEN.

The word “Zen” comes to English through Japanese, which inherited it from the Chinese word “Chan,” which in turn derives from the Sanskrit word dhyāna, meaning meditation or meditative absorption.

The tradition developed in China as Chan beginning around the sixth century and was later transmitted to Japan, where it became known as Zen. It involves disciplined practice, meditation, ethical conduct, teachings transmitted through established lineages and, frequently, a formal relationship between student and teacher. It is not simply a mood, decorating scheme or unusually peaceful afternoon.

Modern English relentlessly uses “zen” as a casual adjective meaning calm, relaxed, uncluttered or pleasantly indifferent. A tidy office is zen. A quiet hotel lobby is zen. A person who doesn’t scream when his flight is canceled is being very zen.

This popular use has become so common that dictionaries now acknowledge it. Language changes, whether I approve or not, but acknowledging a new usage does not mean we should stop noticing what has been stripped away in the process.

In publishing especially, that stripping-away process has produced one of the most exhausting title formulas in modern English: “Zen and the Art of…”

The formula’s ancestry is generally traced to Eugen Herrigel’s Zen in the Art of Archery, published in German in 1948 and in English in 1953. The book presented archery as a path to understanding Zen, although scholars have since raised substantial questions about Herrigel’s understanding of both his teacher and Zen itself. (That’s actually kind of OK, as if you think you understand Zen, you’re mistaken, even if you’re a teacher. Perhaps especially if you’re a teacher.)

Robert M. Pirsig adapted Herrigel’s construction for his book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance in 1974. Pirsig openly acknowledged that his book was not an explanation of orthodox Zen—and wasn’t especially factual about motorcycle maintenance, either. It was, however, a serious philosophical inquiry into quality, knowledge, technology, identity and the relationship between rational thought and direct experience. Pirsig had also studied with Zen teacher Dainin Katagiri and helped establish what became the Minnesota Zen Meditation Center.

In other words, the word “Zen” was doing actual work in the title.

Then everybody else discovered the formula. Over the following decades, we got Zen and the Art of Writing, Zen and the Art of Teaching, Zen and the Art of the Internet, Zen and the Art of Changing Diapers, Zen and the Art of Casino Gaming, Zen and the Art of Cigar Connoisseurship, Zen and the Art of Stand-Up Comedy and hundreds of other variations. Literally hundreds—I looked up a list!

“Zen” stopped identifying the subject of many of these books. It became a marketing instruction to consumers, a way to say “Please regard this ordinary activity as unexpectedly profound.”

I recently encountered a book titled Zen and the Art of [something]. It is a well-written and interesting memoir, but the word “Zen” appears only in the title and nowhere else in the book. There is no discussion of Zen, Buddhism, meditation, Buddhist ethics or contemplative practice. There is no apparent attempt to connect what’s happening in the book to Zen teachings. At all. Ever. Anywhere.

The book is perfectly legit and engaging, but it simply is not Zen in any way, shape or form. The title borrows recognition from Pirsig and suggests a philosophical dimension the text doesn’t ever deliver. “Zen” is not describing the book’s content—it is merely decorating the packaging.

This is more than a tired literary reference causing my ire to rise. Zen is a living religious tradition practiced by millions of people around the world. Using its name as shorthand for calmness or concentration is already reductive and borderline offensive. Using it to make a book about almost anything sound wiser, deeper or more marketable reduces it further—from a spiritual tradition to an advertising adjective.

To recap:

*** Zen, modern marketing usage: Calm, focused, minimalist, vaguely profound or something the seller would like you to believe contains hidden wisdom.

*** Zen, actual meaning: A living tradition of Mahayana Buddhism centered on disciplined practice, meditation and direct insight into the nature of mind and reality.

The next time you’re tempted to call something “Zen and the Art of…” ask whether Zen is genuinely part of the subject. If it isn’t, choose a title which tells readers what the work actually contains instead of borrowing philosophical depth from somebody else’s religion—and literary recognition from somebody else’s book. Be precise in your word choices.

It matters…because WORDS MEAN THINGS.