There are no seams in the garments of God.
Unfortunately, there are seams in the costumes that we fabricate for ourselves. We create patterns and cut out all these individual pieces that must first be pinned up and then sewn together, often one stitch at a time. Then, of course the garment has to be fitted. It is an ongoing process. The "true artist" has a remarkable gift, like that of a child, he can instinctively "feel" what does not belong. Therefore, the final goal of his art is to eliminate the superfluous.
We need to develop this ability and refine it. The final product would be similar to Zen Buddhism.
The basic premise that the highest truth, or first principle, or Tao, is not expressible in words or conceivable through logical thought is common to both Taoism and Zen. Both hold, moreover, that an intuitive understanding of the first principle is possible, and this is called enlightenment. The enlightened Taoist sage is considered to have gained some special knowledge, coupled with arcane skills, and thus becomes somehow removed from the world, but the Zen Master gains nothing other than the realization that there is nothing to gain, and is thus more than ever in the world.
Enlightenment consists in realizing that Buddha-nature exists in everything and everyone. "See into your own mind" and you will find the Buddha-nature that has been there all along. The historical Buddha is no greater or less than the lowest sentient being--all share in Buddha-nature. Scriptures are useless, ritual leads nowhere. Enlightenment is possible for everyone: the illiterate can achieve the same experience as the learned scholar. Eternity is here and now. One need not seek to learn something new, just realize what is already present.
Buddha-nature is not metaphysical, not something apart from ourselves. There is nothing to gain from enlightenment. We realize that there is nothing to realize. Some Zen scholars have been more adamant on this point than others. Suzuki has said: "Before Zen men are men and mountains are mountains; during Zen study things become confused; after enlightenment men are men and mountains are mountains, only one's feet are a little off the ground." Other scholars hold that there is nothing at all: we have always been enlightened, and will forever be deluded; Zen enlightenment consists only in this realization.
To pass from delusion to enlightenment means to leave one's mortal humanity behind and enter sagehood. The life of the sage, however, . . . is no different from that of ordinary men, for "the ordinary mind is the Tao," and the sage's mind is the ordinary mind.
According to both Zen and Taoism, the attempted control of nature by man is at once absurd and useless. The history of Western society and its technology has been the story of man's long struggle to control nature. The Taoist would say: act like water, through yielding is strength. When dealing with men rather than nature, the Taoist would counsel that, after recognizing the inherent power of yielding, one may also use strength if the particular situation warrants it. The Zen master merely says: act and don't worry about it; what you do may be right or wrong, neither is bad. That is, from the universal point of view there is no right and wrong: these are values superimposed by society--the universe makes no distinctions or categories.
Many scholars have ventured general comparisons of Eastern and Western Art. Suzuki suggests that Oriental art depicts spirit, while Western art depicts form. Watts holds that the West sees and depicts nature in terms of man-made symmetries and super imposed forms, squeezing nature to fit his own ideas, while the East accepts the object as is, and presents it for what it is, not what the artist thinks it means. Gulick puts it this way:
Oriental artists are not interested in a photographic representation of an object but in interpreting its spirit. Occidental art exalts personality, is anthropocentric. Oriental art has been cosmocentric. It sees man as an integral part of nature. The affinity between man and nature was what impressed Oriental artists rather than their contrast, as in the West. To Occidentals, the physical world was an objective reality - to be analyzed, used, mastered. To Orientals, on the contrary, it was a realm of beauty to be admired, but also of mystery and illusion to be pictured by poets, explained by myth makers, and mollified by priestly incantations. This contrast between East and West had incalculable influence on their respective arts, as well as on their philosophies and religions.
Art in the West has developed a complex linguistic symbolism through which the artist manipulates his material to communicate something to his audience. Art as communication is basic to Western aesthetics, as is the corollary interrelationship of form and content. Music is considered a language of feeling and consists of "sonorous moving forms." A landscape painting in the Western tradition is not merely an aesthetically pleasing reproduction; the artist uses his techniques of balance, perspective, and color, to express a personal reaction to the landscape - his painting is a frozen human mood. The aesthetic object is used as a link between the audience and the artist's feelings. And the artist's technique is used to create an illusion of the forms of reality.
The Zen artist, on the other hand, tries to suggest by the simplest possible means the inherent nature of the aesthetic object. Anything may be painted, or expressed in poetry, and any sounds may become music. The job of the artist is to suggest the essence, the eternal qualities of the object, which is in itself a work of natural art before the artist arrives on the scene. In order to achieve this, the artist must fully understand the inner nature of the aesthetic object, its Buddha nature. This is the hard part. Technique, though important, is useless without it; and the actual execution of the art work may be startlingly spontaneous, once the artist has comprehended the essence of his subject.
Belief in the superiority of spiritual mastery over technical mastery is evidenced by numerous stories of bushido matches (Japanese sword fighting) in which untrained monks defeated trained samurai because they naturally comprehended the basic nature of the bushido contest, and had no fear of death whatsoever.
He who has ears let him hear.
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