In this talk I suggest that it is possible to develop a secular and sceptical twenty-first century approach to zen practice that is not bound by the hierarchical power structures of institutional forms of Zen. In the talk, ‘Zen’ with an upper case ‘Z’ refers to the institution and its history, while ‘zen’ with a lower case ‘z’ refers to the practice of zen meditation.
I began Zen practice in 1965. Although I undertook retreats in the early 1970s at Throssel Hole Buddhist Abbey, a Soto Zen centre in Northumberland, and more recently with Thich Nhat Hanh, I have been wary of labels and institutionalised religion. During my sixty-one years of doing zazen I haven’t been a ‘disciple’ of any particular Zen teacher, and I haven’t been a monastic in Japan or here in the UK. Zazen practice itself has been my primary teacher – particularly in the form of shikantaza, (just being here, being aware) following the writings of Dogen. Having come across a translation of the Fukanzazengi, Dogen’s instructions for zazen practice, I set out to follow his instructions as best I could. I did this alone for about six years, sitting at home or in the woods and heathland near our house in the Charnwood Forest area of Leicestershire. It wasn’t until I went to Throssel Hole and later met a Japanese Soto Zen monk travelling in the UK, that I had any confirmation that what I had been doing was ‘correct’ zazen.
During those years I often had the feeling that I ought to become a monk, move to Japan, do things properly. But something held me back. I wanted my zen practice to be firmly located in my daily life – rooted in my day-to-day experience as I studied at art college and went on to a career as artist, writer and academic. It seemed to me that my zen practice only made sense and had real validity if it stood the test of living the life I was leading. I did my best to learn from other teachers, writers, poets and artists, living and dead – always assessing what they had to say and show against the lessons I was learning from zazen in my daily life.
Though for many years I felt a sense of inferiority or inauthenticity due to my lack of formal institutionalised training, I gradually began to see that this gave me a fresh perspective on Zen practice as a homegrown unschooled lay person. Since then, I have tried to develop a form of mindful zen within contemporary European culture – free of the orientalism and hierarchical power structures that have often been a feature of Buddhist practice (including zen) in the west. This is what I have been trying to do since I began to do zazen in 1965.
Historically, authority within Zen institutions has been handed down from teacher to teacher (or master to master – historically, they are almost all men) in a process of ‘transmission.’ All Buddhists would probably like to be able to trace the process of realisation from generation to generation back to Gotama Buddha’s own awakening. However, there can be no certainty that contemporary experiences of awakening are the same as those of earlier generations, let alone of the Buddha or his immediate circle of students. Stuart Lachs (2002) and others have pointed out that this process of transmission, central to Zen, but also important to other schools of Buddhism, is a very problematic notion. On many occasions in the history of Zen authority has passed from a teacher to his son; or from a teacher to a student who was seen as a good administrator, or someone who will continue, and not question, the codes and values of the institution of Zen, or who will uphold the values of the state. In all these cases transmission, or the passing on of the baton of authority, is not from one ‘enlightened’ master to another, based on the qualities of the individuals concerned, but based on institutional, family or government requirements. In this regard Zen has been, through much of its history, a very conservative institution. Of course, as far as many Zen students are concerned, a teacher only has the immediate authority of her, or his, own presence – that is, the depth and tangibility of their experience, and the capacity they have to cultivate such experience in a student. For many students this direct transformative process is much more important than institutional transmission.
There are many Zen teachers who have seen through, and been critical of, the institutionally driven process of transmission – recognising that the Zen teaching of their day is lacking in authenticity, and who have then set out to revitalise the tradition by searching for teachers who do have the stamp of personal authority rooted in their experience of zen practice and demonstrated in the way they live their lives. Dogen is a prime example of this. Having been unable to deepen his learning in Japan he felt he had to go to China to seek out a teacher. Eventually, in 1225, in the Tiantong Mountains, he found Rujing – an unusual teacher who had no time for the usual trappings of authority and who believed that simply being present to each moment was at the heart of Buddhist practice. (Tanahashi 1995)
As a largely self-taught, somewhat reluctant, sceptical, secular zen practitioner, I have been very aware that I run the risk of wandering into cul-de-sacs and blind alleys, developing ineffective practice and understanding, and becoming too attached to my ‘own’ opinions. Self-deception and hubris are tendencies that I have had to particularly guard against. I long ago learnt that glorying in one’s own knowledge or virtue is just another form of attachment and is a hindrance to learning, growth and realisation. Occasional retreats, being part of a regular sitting group and studying the writings and learnings of others, have provided a critical framework within which I can examine and realise my own understanding. Zazen itself, the practice of sitting meditation, and mindful awareness in the activities of daily life (‘do-zen’), maintained over many decades, cultivates patience and contemplative stamina. (see Skinner 2017: 131) It also erodes any excesses of self-congratulation, pride or misunderstandings as surely as rain and ice erode the sharp features of a boulder.
If asked to describe my own Buddhist path, I would say mine is a secular practice grounded in zazen and mindful awareness – ‘secular zen’. ‘Secular’ in this context, as mentioned on the Meditation Circle website (https://meditationcircle.org.uk/secular-buddhism/), means ‘of this age, time, world’. In other words, our practice is rooted in, and relevant to, our contemporary situation – to our presence in a western society in the twenty-first century. The word, ‘zen’, means meditation. And so, put simply, ‘secular zen’, means ‘meditation for this time’ – which is what mindful meditation is – an ongoing practice of waking up to the delights and trials, joys and sorrows, of this life, and learning to live as well as we can here and now. This secular Zen practice is not part of a formal institutional framework or line of transmission. It is a day-to-day practice of sitting quietly, letting go of the fetters of attachment, habit and reactivity, and being present to the world as it appears in all its messiness, imperfection and beauty. Each day brings new challenges that have to be faced with honesty, clarity, composure and compassion.
For me the key characteristic of secular zen is that it is grounded, not in words, theories and intellectual analysis, but in zazen – silent mindful meditation. This is what distinguishes it from more discursive Buddhist practices and from much of western philosophy.
While the Meditation Circle provides a very supportive community (sangha) for our practice, responsibility for how and what we learn, and how we act, lies firmly with each of us – no one else can walk the path of life for us. My belief is that although it goes against the grain of Zen history, there is a place for an informal network of practitioners who are not part of the institutional framework of Zen and its associated systematisation of teaching and learning – but who are connected to it through the regular practice of zen mindful awareness in their daily lives. Affiliation with the world-wide Secular Buddhist Network also helps locate our practice in a wider context – though even here I feel the tendency towards systematisation has to be recognised and resisted. I firmly believe that as secular zen practitioners we can help each other to cope with the vicissitudes of life, and that we can contribute, in a small way, to the ancient Buddhist project of freeing ourselves and others from unnecessary suffering – working to help all beings to grow in wellbeing, understanding and peace.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Lachs, Stuart. 2002. Richard Baker and the Myth of the Zen Roshi. Online at: http://www.thezensite.com/ZenEssays/CriticalZen/Richard_Baker_and_the_Myth.htm – accessed 17 August 2025.
Skinner, Julian Daizan. 2017. Practical Zen: Meditation and Beyond. London: Singing Dragon.
Tanahashi, K. ed. 1995. Moon in a dewdrop: writings of Zen master Dogen. New York: North Point Press.
Exeter Meditation Circle: https://meditationcircle.org.uk/
Secular Buddhist Network: https://secularbuddhistnetwork.org/