A Ring of Contemplation Through Buddhism and Confucianism

Thought of the Unfinished

The differing realms of Kan [観] and Ken [見]. Lately I have been captivated by this distinct ground between them, and I have been deepening my thinking on it. So this time I will write a contemplative essay in my own way of seeing.

First, in Japanese the two words are both known as terms that mean “to see,” yet their posture is altogether different. Ken [見] is the eye receiving an object, the passive forming of an image. Kan [観] expresses observing in detail. It is an active word for concentrating the mind toward an object and going to grasp its principle. Kan is to fix the mind and gaze intently at the object, and it does not mean seeing with the two eyes. This is why monks have a history of expounding Kanpo [観法], Shikan [止観], and Kanso [観想]. I will set out from this premise and integrate it with a different line of thought.

Kanpo [観法] is a practice of meditation or discipline in which one calms the mind, concentrates on an object, and uses wisdom to observe things as they are. The expression differs by sect, but in broad terms it is to unify the scattered mind and to still the body and the mind. In characters it is composed of Kan [観] and Ho (Po) [法], and it is written as observing Ho. Ho is the action and working by which all creation exists, so it can be rephrased as gazing with the mind at the invisible law of life and grasping it with the mind.

Shikan [止観] is made up of two parts. Shi [止] carries the meaning of calming the agitation and disorder of the mind and concentrating it on a single object. Kan [観] observes truth with that concentrated and calmed mind, activates correct wisdom, and discerns the essence of things. Leaning to either side will not do. Because leaning takes one away from enlightenment, the teaching holds that the Buddhist way reaches completion only when both are activated and unified within one’s own body and mind. Because Shi [止] also carries the sense of stopping, it is easily mistaken as stopping Kan. That is not the meaning. It means holding Kan fast. In other words, it is to activate wisdom while continuing to concentrate the mind on a single object, and to discern the essence of things. And this “single object” is not a separated thing, not I or you, but the heavenly principle that I will detail later.

Kanso [観想] is to concentrate the mind on a particular object, the figure of a Buddha, or truth, and to picture its essence and form deeply. It expresses an act in which one is not caught by surface phenomena but concentrates contemplation to discern the true form and the deep meaning held within. Through Kan one concentrates contemplation. It can be called a practical teaching that truth comes to stand forth within that.

I will return to these later.

Now, the Yijing contains a hexagram named for Kan. It is called the Kan hexagram [観卦]. Its basic idea is to look up at what is above from below and to observe what is below from above. The fundamental meaning here is to realize stillness by observing deeply and reflecting on oneself. What becomes clear in this is the subtle principle the word Kan holds. Kan does not hold only the one-directional meaning of “observing and examining.” At the same time it holds the double meaning of “being observed and showing.” This is the important point. Within the context of Buddhist meditation one inevitably leans toward this single direction, and the bidirectional flow of “being observed and showing” often drops away. But the fundamental meaning of Kan is that we do not only observe. It also carries the meaning of letting the other see, or showing. In other words, the words and deeds of those who stand above are observed by those below, and at the same time the conduct of those below becomes a reflection of the conduct of those above.

As I deepen my thinking on this double sense, I feel that the concept of Toku [徳] sits deep within human words and deeds. So its influence spreads quietly and surely even when nothing is spoken in word or deed. It moves the way wind soaks into the earth. Seen in this way, our world has reached the height of absurdity.

Those who stand above us and style themselves the leaders of the world and of humanity have degraded to an unprecedented dimension. Their words and deeds are transmitted to people through a mass media that has itself fallen into the abyss of degradation. Around that axis, the statements of individuals on the side of social media interlace above and below and left and right. The degraded words and deeds of those who stand above become standardized, and those below argue over matters from within the abyss of degradation in a complete inversion of priorities. So however much the Western world severs the “I” from the group and places the individual in a separated realm, there is no great structural change in the very act of taking the words and deeds of those who stand above as the axis. What must not be overlooked here is that Toku has vanished. Discussion without Toku is meaningless. It bears no fruit, and it contributes nothing to the future.

It is also a great mistake to speak of Toku as mere social ethics. Toku is the real brightness that the substance of the mind possesses. The opening of the Confucian classic The Great Learning records that the way of great learning lies in making bright virtue manifest. This bright virtue, Meitoku [明徳], is what matters. Put plainly, it speaks of Toku as light. If each one of us reaches the substance of the mind and unifies everything, that itself is light, is wisdom, and is truth. Yet countless problems arise here.

As a fundamental premise, the point that demands caution is that this state is not fixed by attainment. Even if one grasps truth once, the next moment it transforms. That is its constant nature. So setting enlightenment itself as the aim is a fundamental error from the start. If one believes instead that truth is single, absolute, and universal, and that grasping it once secures the eternal, that expectation is betrayed all too easily. Because truth is not single, is not absolute, and grasping it once secures nothing eternal. How to face this is the task.

This teaching is certainly cruel to some. When a person faces this cruelty, the path divides. Either one keeps facing it throughout a whole life, or one makes excuses and flees. Sadly, the majority choose the easy latter path. On bright virtue, the Song dynasty Confucian Zhu Xi (1130–1200) began from the premise that the Ri [理] (the principle of things) a person obtains from heaven is clouded by temperament and desire. As the remedy, he taught that human cultivation lies in seeking Ri in the external world, exhausting it there, and clearing away the cloud. In other words, Zhu Xi grants that the light is within, yet holds that the knowledge for polishing it is accumulated from the external world. At this moment Ri is placed outside as knowledge and experience.

But here I want to question this again while overlapping it with our own present situation.