Parts III and IV
of Zen continued to keep me guessing,
leaving me no idea of what subject would come up next during the westward
journey. I can say the book has forced
me to think about things I would never in any other context—which is good—but
I’m not yet sure of its value for my post-graduation endeavors. I guess a lot of what has been brought up in
class and in my own responses to the text has forced me to think about what my
education has given me over the last seven
years, what I have retained, and what I will utilize throughout my eventual
career and the rest of my life. After
being a student so long, it is sort of surprising to think it will all come to
an end in a mere two months. That being
said, I came across a number of interesting ideas in the last half of Prisig’s
psychologically manipulating text.
The narrator’s explanation of an
imitative education was intriguing, though I don’t think I necessarily agree it
is representative of the entire institution of academia. The text reads, “[i]f you don’t imitate what
the teacher wants you get a bad grade.
Here, in college, it was more sophisticated, of course; you were
supposed to imitate the teacher in such a way as to convince the teacher you
were not imitating, but taking the essence of the instruction and going ahead
with it on your own” (192-3). Throughout
my college career—and I’m sure this is the same for several of us—I have come
in contact with a number of different professors characterized by a wide range
teaching styles, student expectations, and even personality types. We have had to edit our own writing styles to
be accepted by these various people, or to prove to at least them that we are
good enough writers to make these corrections.
Then, the next semester, we are given
a whole new set of instruction—the emphasis seemingly different every
time. Now, is this because there are so
many writing styles, a good writer
must be able to compile this knowledge, or do some of these variances arise in
writing education because there is no one good form of writing? It is interesting that we have imitated
throughout college, but what good has this done us?
I was curious about the narrator’s
take on squareness as an obstruction to quality. The text reads, “[s]quareness may be succinctly
and yet thoroughly defined as an inability to see quality before it’s been
intellectually defined, that is, before it gets all chopped up into words. […]
Its existence can be seen empirically in the classroom, and can be demonstrated
logically by showing that a world without it cannot exist as we know it”
(218-9). So intellect is found solely in
the mind and speech or the written word are but communicators of this
knowledge? And squareness prevents us
from realizing this? I’m not certain
that is what is being said, but it is a unique argument. In consideration of the words, I am much
better getting my thoughts down on paper than I am articulating my thoughts and
expressing them vocally. So me sitting
quietly during a large discussion, but thinking to myself is a sort of
intellect integral to existence? Seems
like a bit of a stretch, but I’ll take what I can get.
I really got on board with the
narrator’s discussion of Poincaré’s subliminal self and its relation to
Phaedrus’ preintellectual awareness. The
text reads, “[t]he subliminal self […] looks at a large number of solutions to
a problem, but only the interesting ones
break into the domain of consciousness” (267-8). He used mathematics as an example because of
how the numbers seem to just work with such ease when they are paired
correctly. I suppose our responses to
the experiences we have are based on this sort of subconscious
inclination. Sure, things happen out of
our control and in disregard to our preferences, but how we react to them and
how it may be perceived will be left up to this subliminal thought
process. Preference does not seem
explainable, a sort of random, natural occurrence that drives our lives. This sort of discussion from Zen came up frequently, but I’m still
trying to decide what it means of and for my education.
One of my favorite bits of parts III
and IV and perhaps the book itself was the narrator’s conversation about
mu. Never have I heard the term, but I
like what it represents. The text reads,
“[m]u means ‘no thing.’ […] It states
that the context of the question is such that a yes or no answer is in error
and should not be given. ‘Unask the
question’ is what it says. Mu becomes appropriate when the context
of the question becomes too small for the truth of the answer” (320). I feel like mu is literally all around
us. There is no simple yes or no answer
to anything if you really think about it.
Everything is contextual. Sure,
one can answer yes or no to a sentence that asks a basic question, but the
reasoning behind the response can never be as easily spoken as the words yes or
no. Does the false response cancel out
the question entirely? This starts to
become tricky and confusing. It seems to
me like the answer often cannot be supported by its context and its context not
supportive of the answer. It’s all very
circular. Can I just start writing mu
down on test questions I don’t know the answer to?
I liked how Zen ended in the vein of technology. I think that was an appropriate—and
intentional way—for the narrator to segue his thoughts to modern times. The text reads, “[…] the real evil isn’t the
objects of technology but the tendency of technology to isolate people into
lonely attitudes of objectivity” (357).
I’m not sure I agree that the building of freeways is causing the
destruction of human relationships, but I would agree that technology has had a
sever affect on them. However, I think
technology is doing more good than it is harm.
Technology is a double-edged sword, because it allows more people to
connect with one another, but it is often at a much more surface level. Friends through social networking services
are not the same as those who going on morning strolls with one another, though
there are a few exceptions (like lifelong friends who are also friends on
Facebook). Zen was all about unity, and I think technology unites people, but
also separates them—at least on an emotional level. If I were to not have my DVR, MacBook,
Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon Prime subscriptions, I’d probably get out more and talk
to some folks. I’m not saying I’m giving
any of those up, but a lot can be said for how these technological advances
have changed the shape of my life.
Below is a link to an interesting
article about quoting out of context—something I always wonder about—whether it
be while I am reading an interview or listening to a rehashing of events. What is
truth?!
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