Érdekes és szívet melengető rész ez a karmáról, bár a fő gondolatmenet és kérdés (karma vs. szabad akarat) nekem most fura, hogy ilyen komoly kérdés, mert elég egyértelmű volt enélkül a fejezet nélkül is erre az én válaszom. Nem mintha nagyképű lennék, de az vagyok. :D
The Karma of Go Stones
by William Cobb
The notion of karma is found in the oldest strands of Indian thought. It is certainly pre-Buddhist, and is often referred to in casual ways by contemporary Americans. However, just what this notion involves, especially in a Buddhist context, is a matter of some confusion and controversy. At the popular level it invokes some sort of notion of the causal consequences of one's actions. Thus, you might explain your present situation as a result of karma or refer to the fact that a particular action will create good or bad karma with regard to your future.
The problem is that this seems to suggest some sort of determinism, the view that your present and future are entirely the result of your past actions, which seems to undermine the idea of free will and to suggest that one is doomed by one's past. Karma becomes a kind of fate. This pessimistic idea is very unattractive, but how are we to understand the fact that our actions have causal consequences for our future? Are we bound by the past, or are our future possibilities unlimited? Doesn't a belief in karma mean we are doomed to follow a predetermined path through life? Professor Michiyoshi Hayashi of Tokyo Christian Women's University, who has written a great deal about the philosophical significance of Go (unfortunately none of it translated into English), pointed out to me when I was in Japan learning how to teach Go that the stones we play in a game can shed a lot of light on this puzzling concept.
He began by pointing out that a person who did not play the game might think that the fact that the stones do not move during the game would tend to make the game static and boring. Yet the opposite is the case. The game of the unmoving stones is so dynamic and fluid that we find ourselves using language that implies that the stones in fact move. We speak of running and jumping, for example, and of slow and fast plays, etc. Professor Hayashi suggested that this is one of the ways in which Go is like life. The stones are like our actions. Once done they cannot be undone; we must live with the consequences of our actions. Yet that does not have the effect of imposing some sort of rigid determinism on us. Just the opposite.
The patterns of stones already on the board create the basis for an opening up of possibilities for future plays. And the possibilities opened up by a good play are so elaborate they seem dynamic and lively, highly flexible, full of rich and exciting options. Just the opposite of the fixed, static requirements of a deterministic system. Thus, the karma of the stones is like that of our actions in life. Before the first stone is played there is a virtually unlimited, but abstract, openness of possibilities on the board, but one cannot play a game in that abstract realm. One can only deal with actual possibilities, real options that exist on the board because of the stones that have been played. One's plays cannot be undone, but without stones in place on the board, there is a real sense in which nothing can be done. There is no context to give a play meaning and significance. The range and character of the possibilities created by a particular pattern of stones on the board may be more or less effective for the purposes of the game, and in that sense we can speak of good and bad karma in the stones.
But the karma of the stones is basically good, since without it there cannot be a game at all.
My future plays are not determined by my past plays, then. The past sets up the possibility of a limited number of futures, that is, the past sets limits on what forms the future can take, but my plays in each present moment decide which of these future possibilities will occur. Thus, there is no conflict between the karma of past actions and free will. The fact that the past cannot be changed and that the future is a consequence of the past does not mean that the future is determined by the past. As is often the case, a little reflection shows that Go players have an advantage in trying to understand something that often confuses people.
There is one special way in which Go differs from life in this area, however, and this was the theme of the fascinating cover of a recent issue of the American Go Journal (volume 30, number 3). Confronted with an empty board, we were given the problem of determining Black's best play. We do not think about how strange this familiar situation of making the first play is.
Playing the first stone is an absolute act of creation, the first moment in the life of a game, and this is a genuine creation out of nothing. There is nothing like this in our lives. We come to awareness already immersed in patterns of actions that set up limits on our possibilities at many levels.
We do not get to make the first play that will provide the fundamental shape of the world we will live in. That is why Heidegger speaks of our being "thrown" into the world. As we judge the situations we find ourselves in, there are many times when it would be nice to be able to face an empty board and make the first play in such a truly free way-with no karma. But, outside of Go, such a move is possible only when one has entered nirvana.
The Empty Board #8
American Go Journal XXXI, 2 (Spring 1997), 38-39
Tovább...
A következő címkéjű bejegyzések mutatása: english. Összes bejegyzés megjelenítése
A következő címkéjű bejegyzések mutatása: english. Összes bejegyzés megjelenítése
2013. október 18., péntek
2012. november 9., péntek
Hand Conversation
Itt a következő Empty Board bejegyzés, egy remek résszel, amit fontosnak tartok a játékban, mert szerintem nagyon szép és izgalmas. Mint a játék, nem úgy, mint a győzelem.
Hand Conversation
by William Cobb
The Japanese use the term "shudan" as a metaphor for Go. It is composed of two kanji, that for "hand" and that for "conversation", so we can translate it as "a conversation with the hands". This metaphor points toward some important things about Go, and it also offers some real help for a common problem. Everyone is familiar with the experience of getting ahead in a game only to lose in the end as a result of later inattentiveness. Thinking of the game as a conversation may help to overcome this.
The first thing that comes to mind in thinking about this metaphor is that Go enables two people who do not have a common language to engage in social interaction by playing a game. One can get a general impression of another person in this way, at least as far as their personal style is concerned-for example, about whether they tend to be timid or aggressive, whether they are thoughtful or impetuous and whether they are attached to winning. One can also share the experience of enjoying a common enthusiasm.
Our first reading of the metaphor is thus likely to focus on the image of a pleasant and somewhat informative social exchange. However, the metaphor of a conversation has a lot more to suggest than this, even though, like every use of metaphor, its application will have limits. To unpack the metaphor we need to reflect for a moment on what is characteristic of a good conversation.
A conversation must be distinguished from a lecture and from an interview.
A lecture, which can be by one person to another individual as well as to a group, and an interview, or any sort of exchange where one person is questioning and the other answering, both aim at results. That is, a good lecture or interview is one that yields something useful, usually information. Moreover, lectures and interviews are characterized by an inequality between the people involved. One person has the information that the other desires. This and other kinds of inequality do not hinder a good result in these activities. One may be usefully lectured by one's boss or interview a king. A casual discussion of the weather is another kind of verbal exchange that is expected to be useful. In such cases, the result aimed at is simply avoiding boredom, passing the time, or maintaining a sociable atmosphere, and here again inequality between he participants is not a problem.
Conversations are a quite different kind of activity. In this case it is a process rather than an outcome that the participants are concerned about. What matters is the quality of the process, not its results. Thus, a conversation is not evaluated on the basis of what one learns from it or accomplishes by it, but on the basis of how entertaining or fascinating it is to participate in it. A conversation is an example of an activity that is an end in itself.
In a good conversation there is a mutual exploration of a topic of common interest. Equality is crucial here. If both participants are not equally informed about the topic, the exploration will become a lecture, not something equally shared (like a teaching game), and the more learned will need an external motivation, such as a fee or a desire to improve the inferior person. Moreover, if there are inequalities of power, the person in the inferior position, such as the employee or the commoner, will not be able to respond freely to the flow of the interchange, but will always need to take into account the possible adverse effects of saying something that may upset the other. When there is approximate equality, however, a conversation can be a very exhilarating activity, giving one an opportunity to actualize some of the capacities that are most distinctively human. It is no accident that we tend to have a very high regard for people who are good conversationalists and that we find engaging in good conversation one of the best ways to fill, rather than merely pass, time. I do not need to dwell on the obvious parallels to a game of Go here.
However, having a good conversation requires a great deal of the participants. They must try to find novel and fruitful ways to lead the conversation forward. Each must seek to go beyond lines that are already familiar, and each must pay close attention to what the other says. Mutual respect is essential. One assumes the other is always trying to say something that will enhance the process, and if one does not immediately see the point of a remark one assumes one is overlooking something.
In a conversation one hopes the other will find something to say that, while relevant and stimulating, is unexpected, so that the process will not become boring. One also hopes the other will constantly offer a challenge to one's understanding that requires an effort to live up to as the exploration of the topic continues. Thus, a conversation is not under the control of one person. It is a mutual creation, and continues to unfold with the possibility of significant change as long as there is any openness left in the topic.
This is where the metaphor begins to speak to the situation of the person who has difficulty winning 'won' games. The issue is how to maintain the proper attitude when one gets ahead in a game. If we think of the game as a conversation, then we remember that the other is always trying to come up with an unexpected way to change the direction of the process. In fact, we hope that the other will find exciting challenges to the current situation.
We want the other to strive to keep the conversation going and not to acquiesce in a straight-forward following out of the most obvious implications of the momentary position, which would become boring. If we think about a game this way, we will not fall into thinking that the game has been settled, the conversation over, when the other is still speaking/playing. We will think, "Now, what is the point of that remark/play?" "What unexpected development is the other trying for here?" "What is being pointed to that I have not thought of?" We even root for the other to find an unexpected challenge so that the quality of the process will be enhanced.
When the further development of a conversation is entirely predictable it becomes boring, but whether that point has been reached is a function of the ability of the conversationalists. To assume that the further development of one's game has become entirely predictable, then, is to fall down in one's respect for the other player. Being behind in a game creates the stimulus that will provoke one's greatest effort. Therefore, to be ahead is the situation in which one should expect the most from the other, and one should hope to encounter just that, the other's best.
So, when you find yourself with the lead, say to the other player, "Come on, rise to the challenge and stretch your imagination. Say something interesting." This is the time to hope for really exciting play from the other that will avoid the boredom of just following out a line that already seems obvious. Don't hope the other will resign; hope the other will say something fascinating. If you keep expecting something unexpected, perhaps you won't find yourself disappointed.
The Empty Board #7
American Go Journal XXXI, 1 (Winter 1997), 34-35
Tovább...
Hand Conversation
by William Cobb
The Japanese use the term "shudan" as a metaphor for Go. It is composed of two kanji, that for "hand" and that for "conversation", so we can translate it as "a conversation with the hands". This metaphor points toward some important things about Go, and it also offers some real help for a common problem. Everyone is familiar with the experience of getting ahead in a game only to lose in the end as a result of later inattentiveness. Thinking of the game as a conversation may help to overcome this.
The first thing that comes to mind in thinking about this metaphor is that Go enables two people who do not have a common language to engage in social interaction by playing a game. One can get a general impression of another person in this way, at least as far as their personal style is concerned-for example, about whether they tend to be timid or aggressive, whether they are thoughtful or impetuous and whether they are attached to winning. One can also share the experience of enjoying a common enthusiasm.
Our first reading of the metaphor is thus likely to focus on the image of a pleasant and somewhat informative social exchange. However, the metaphor of a conversation has a lot more to suggest than this, even though, like every use of metaphor, its application will have limits. To unpack the metaphor we need to reflect for a moment on what is characteristic of a good conversation.
A conversation must be distinguished from a lecture and from an interview.
A lecture, which can be by one person to another individual as well as to a group, and an interview, or any sort of exchange where one person is questioning and the other answering, both aim at results. That is, a good lecture or interview is one that yields something useful, usually information. Moreover, lectures and interviews are characterized by an inequality between the people involved. One person has the information that the other desires. This and other kinds of inequality do not hinder a good result in these activities. One may be usefully lectured by one's boss or interview a king. A casual discussion of the weather is another kind of verbal exchange that is expected to be useful. In such cases, the result aimed at is simply avoiding boredom, passing the time, or maintaining a sociable atmosphere, and here again inequality between he participants is not a problem.
Conversations are a quite different kind of activity. In this case it is a process rather than an outcome that the participants are concerned about. What matters is the quality of the process, not its results. Thus, a conversation is not evaluated on the basis of what one learns from it or accomplishes by it, but on the basis of how entertaining or fascinating it is to participate in it. A conversation is an example of an activity that is an end in itself.
In a good conversation there is a mutual exploration of a topic of common interest. Equality is crucial here. If both participants are not equally informed about the topic, the exploration will become a lecture, not something equally shared (like a teaching game), and the more learned will need an external motivation, such as a fee or a desire to improve the inferior person. Moreover, if there are inequalities of power, the person in the inferior position, such as the employee or the commoner, will not be able to respond freely to the flow of the interchange, but will always need to take into account the possible adverse effects of saying something that may upset the other. When there is approximate equality, however, a conversation can be a very exhilarating activity, giving one an opportunity to actualize some of the capacities that are most distinctively human. It is no accident that we tend to have a very high regard for people who are good conversationalists and that we find engaging in good conversation one of the best ways to fill, rather than merely pass, time. I do not need to dwell on the obvious parallels to a game of Go here.
However, having a good conversation requires a great deal of the participants. They must try to find novel and fruitful ways to lead the conversation forward. Each must seek to go beyond lines that are already familiar, and each must pay close attention to what the other says. Mutual respect is essential. One assumes the other is always trying to say something that will enhance the process, and if one does not immediately see the point of a remark one assumes one is overlooking something.
In a conversation one hopes the other will find something to say that, while relevant and stimulating, is unexpected, so that the process will not become boring. One also hopes the other will constantly offer a challenge to one's understanding that requires an effort to live up to as the exploration of the topic continues. Thus, a conversation is not under the control of one person. It is a mutual creation, and continues to unfold with the possibility of significant change as long as there is any openness left in the topic.
This is where the metaphor begins to speak to the situation of the person who has difficulty winning 'won' games. The issue is how to maintain the proper attitude when one gets ahead in a game. If we think of the game as a conversation, then we remember that the other is always trying to come up with an unexpected way to change the direction of the process. In fact, we hope that the other will find exciting challenges to the current situation.
We want the other to strive to keep the conversation going and not to acquiesce in a straight-forward following out of the most obvious implications of the momentary position, which would become boring. If we think about a game this way, we will not fall into thinking that the game has been settled, the conversation over, when the other is still speaking/playing. We will think, "Now, what is the point of that remark/play?" "What unexpected development is the other trying for here?" "What is being pointed to that I have not thought of?" We even root for the other to find an unexpected challenge so that the quality of the process will be enhanced.
When the further development of a conversation is entirely predictable it becomes boring, but whether that point has been reached is a function of the ability of the conversationalists. To assume that the further development of one's game has become entirely predictable, then, is to fall down in one's respect for the other player. Being behind in a game creates the stimulus that will provoke one's greatest effort. Therefore, to be ahead is the situation in which one should expect the most from the other, and one should hope to encounter just that, the other's best.
So, when you find yourself with the lead, say to the other player, "Come on, rise to the challenge and stretch your imagination. Say something interesting." This is the time to hope for really exciting play from the other that will avoid the boredom of just following out a line that already seems obvious. Don't hope the other will resign; hope the other will say something fascinating. If you keep expecting something unexpected, perhaps you won't find yourself disappointed.
The Empty Board #7
American Go Journal XXXI, 1 (Winter 1997), 34-35
Tovább...
2012. október 8., hétfő
The Martial Game
Folytatom az üres tábla esszéket, vagy mik ezek, bár egyre szárazabbnak tűnnek nekem, de értelme mindig van megkapargatni ezeket a szavakat is. Több, mint egy tétlenül átücsörgött munkaórának.
The Martial Game
by William Cobb
Those who have read earlier versions of this column will not be surprised to learn that, although I find the reference to go as the sedentary martial art amusing, I tend to resist using martial language and metaphors in talking about go. I find it much more helpful to think of go as a peaceful game rather than a game of war-to talk about capturing stones rather than killing groups, for example. Nevertheless, the tradition of speaking of go as a martial game is a long and strong one that invokes a positive response in many players and that is deeply ingrained in ordinary ways of talking about go in English. In fact, there is a parallel here between go and the activities more commonly known as the martial arts, such as the Way of the Sword (kendo) and the Way of the Empty Hand (karate). Many people question how the apparent violence of such pursuits can be reconciled with the compassionate character of the Buddhism that is supposed to be so closely associated with these martial arts. How can learning to kill an opponent with one blow be part of a path to enlightenment? This concern may lie behind the resistance to calling go a game of war.
The initial difficulty here is the assumption that violence and compassion are inherently incompatible. Buddhism is appropriately seen as advocating a non-violent approach to dealing with conflict. Yet violence comes in many forms, and this characterization can be misleading. The issue is overcoming self, abandoning attachment to one's own goals and values as having some sort of ultimacy. The acts that are usually called violent are precisely those in which someone is destroying something as a means of furthering their own ego, but there are many acts of traumatic disruption that do not have that aim. Obvious examples are giving birth or chewing food. It would be odd to call such acts violent because they usually lack the attitude of "me first". (Eating because one is hungry is appropriate; eating so that one can continue to try to dominate others is not.) This opens the possibility that acts which are usually seen as violent might be performed in such a manner that they are really non-violent insofar as they lack attachment to self.
Thus, a devotee of karate would note that it is not compassionate to always allow an attacker to destroy one without resistance. In fact this is a form of attachment to a particular image of oneself and an effort to further that personal aim at all costs. Slapping a small child's hand, for example, to help the toddler understand that the stove is off limits, is an obvious compassionate act-we don't want the child to be burned. So is killing an attacker. It depends on the circumstances. What does this have to do with go? The point is that a wholesale rejection of martial language and metaphors as though they were inherently evil is a mistake. There is something to be learned from the fact that such terms are often used of go, so I will try to overcome my predispositions and see what I can find in the thought of go as a martial art.
One of the first things one notices about war is that it is a very intense activity. Being involved in battle focuses one's attention in a dramatic way. The threat is the ultimate one. The enemy must be thwarted. Everything is focused on that aim, and no barriers to its achievement can be tolerated. This intensity means that one will put all one's effort into finding the best way of achieving the goal of victory. However, this does not mean that one sets out to mindlessly slaughter the enemy. One of the interesting discoveries of modern warfare is that wounding the enemy is much more effective than killing them because it uses up much more of the enemy's total resources to care for the wounded. (It is better to harass the other's stones than to try to capture them.) What is more, even an aggressor wants to preserve as much as possible of the enemy's resources for later use. Hence, the notion that war is necessarily a matter of aiming at total annihilation is mistaken.
In the application to go, therefore, what one finds in the notion of go as a game of war is an emphasis on the importance of total intensity, of a maximum effort to find the play that will gain the upper hand. This is not a peaceful, leisurely activity in which half-hearted efforts and moderate attentiveness are appropriate. This is war. One must put everything one is capable of into it, as though one's life and everything one cared about were at stake. Only then will one find the best game one is capable of.
The problem with the image of peaceful pursuits is that we think of them as involving being nice, of giving way, of not being tough on others, of making room for everyone. This attitude will not do in go. Of course, as everyone knows, this does not mean that one just embarks on a one-sided campaign of attacking (fighting). Unless the field is decidedly unlevel (the handicap is not appropriate), this is a sure formula for disaster. The Charge of the Light Brigade and Pickett's Charge at Gettysburg are familiar examples. One must respect one's opponent and not indulge in the illusion that one is entirely in charge of what is happening. War is not a crusade; it is an engagement, an engagement that, because of its intensity, can bring out the best one is capable of. And that, of course, requires a complete abandonment of ego.
So there is some positive value in thinking of go as the sedentary martial art. It can be a useful balance for offsetting the possibility of encouraging lackadaisical attitudes by emphasizing the peaceful character of the game. But I think I will still start beginners on the way by teaching them the "capturing" game rather than the "killing" game, and I still prefer the metaphor of "hand-conversation" to that of "war".
The Empty Board #6
American Go Journal XXX, 3 (Summer 1996), 34-35, 39
Tovább...
The Martial Game
by William Cobb
Those who have read earlier versions of this column will not be surprised to learn that, although I find the reference to go as the sedentary martial art amusing, I tend to resist using martial language and metaphors in talking about go. I find it much more helpful to think of go as a peaceful game rather than a game of war-to talk about capturing stones rather than killing groups, for example. Nevertheless, the tradition of speaking of go as a martial game is a long and strong one that invokes a positive response in many players and that is deeply ingrained in ordinary ways of talking about go in English. In fact, there is a parallel here between go and the activities more commonly known as the martial arts, such as the Way of the Sword (kendo) and the Way of the Empty Hand (karate). Many people question how the apparent violence of such pursuits can be reconciled with the compassionate character of the Buddhism that is supposed to be so closely associated with these martial arts. How can learning to kill an opponent with one blow be part of a path to enlightenment? This concern may lie behind the resistance to calling go a game of war.
The initial difficulty here is the assumption that violence and compassion are inherently incompatible. Buddhism is appropriately seen as advocating a non-violent approach to dealing with conflict. Yet violence comes in many forms, and this characterization can be misleading. The issue is overcoming self, abandoning attachment to one's own goals and values as having some sort of ultimacy. The acts that are usually called violent are precisely those in which someone is destroying something as a means of furthering their own ego, but there are many acts of traumatic disruption that do not have that aim. Obvious examples are giving birth or chewing food. It would be odd to call such acts violent because they usually lack the attitude of "me first". (Eating because one is hungry is appropriate; eating so that one can continue to try to dominate others is not.) This opens the possibility that acts which are usually seen as violent might be performed in such a manner that they are really non-violent insofar as they lack attachment to self.
Thus, a devotee of karate would note that it is not compassionate to always allow an attacker to destroy one without resistance. In fact this is a form of attachment to a particular image of oneself and an effort to further that personal aim at all costs. Slapping a small child's hand, for example, to help the toddler understand that the stove is off limits, is an obvious compassionate act-we don't want the child to be burned. So is killing an attacker. It depends on the circumstances. What does this have to do with go? The point is that a wholesale rejection of martial language and metaphors as though they were inherently evil is a mistake. There is something to be learned from the fact that such terms are often used of go, so I will try to overcome my predispositions and see what I can find in the thought of go as a martial art.
One of the first things one notices about war is that it is a very intense activity. Being involved in battle focuses one's attention in a dramatic way. The threat is the ultimate one. The enemy must be thwarted. Everything is focused on that aim, and no barriers to its achievement can be tolerated. This intensity means that one will put all one's effort into finding the best way of achieving the goal of victory. However, this does not mean that one sets out to mindlessly slaughter the enemy. One of the interesting discoveries of modern warfare is that wounding the enemy is much more effective than killing them because it uses up much more of the enemy's total resources to care for the wounded. (It is better to harass the other's stones than to try to capture them.) What is more, even an aggressor wants to preserve as much as possible of the enemy's resources for later use. Hence, the notion that war is necessarily a matter of aiming at total annihilation is mistaken.
In the application to go, therefore, what one finds in the notion of go as a game of war is an emphasis on the importance of total intensity, of a maximum effort to find the play that will gain the upper hand. This is not a peaceful, leisurely activity in which half-hearted efforts and moderate attentiveness are appropriate. This is war. One must put everything one is capable of into it, as though one's life and everything one cared about were at stake. Only then will one find the best game one is capable of.
The problem with the image of peaceful pursuits is that we think of them as involving being nice, of giving way, of not being tough on others, of making room for everyone. This attitude will not do in go. Of course, as everyone knows, this does not mean that one just embarks on a one-sided campaign of attacking (fighting). Unless the field is decidedly unlevel (the handicap is not appropriate), this is a sure formula for disaster. The Charge of the Light Brigade and Pickett's Charge at Gettysburg are familiar examples. One must respect one's opponent and not indulge in the illusion that one is entirely in charge of what is happening. War is not a crusade; it is an engagement, an engagement that, because of its intensity, can bring out the best one is capable of. And that, of course, requires a complete abandonment of ego.
So there is some positive value in thinking of go as the sedentary martial art. It can be a useful balance for offsetting the possibility of encouraging lackadaisical attitudes by emphasizing the peaceful character of the game. But I think I will still start beginners on the way by teaching them the "capturing" game rather than the "killing" game, and I still prefer the metaphor of "hand-conversation" to that of "war".
The Empty Board #6
American Go Journal XXX, 3 (Summer 1996), 34-35, 39
Tovább...
2012. február 26., vasárnap
Wu-Wei (Non-Action) and Go Intuition
Nohát, régen volt már üres tábla részlet, pedig hetente terveztem. Intuíció... Ja. Kétségbeesés. Inkább. Béke? A fenéket. Olvasni azért jó róla, mégha a közelében sem vagyok. Még szerencse, hogy röhögni bármikor tudok magamon, meg a helyzeten. Vagy csak úgy "ok" nélkül. Pedig tudom, hogy semmi sincs ok nélkül...
Wu-Wei (Non-Action) and Go Intuition
by William Cobb
The Chinese term wu-wei (usually translated as "non-action") plays an important role in Taoism and is familiar to anyone who has had much contact with Eastern thought. However, most people find it very difficult to figure out what the term means. Here Go players have an advantage because we engage in "non-action" all the time; it is what is called playing by intuition.
To explain my point I must first say a little about what makes the Taoist term puzzling. The term wu-wei is used to refer to the behavior of people who are enlightened, who are said to engage in non-action, but the Western ear tends to hear this as passivity. One would assume that non-action is what results when one does not act. Yet this assumes that "non-action" and "not acting" are the same thing, while the Taoists, mysteriously, distinguish these two terms. If we ask, " What does an enlightened person do?", Taoists reply that the crucial thing is not to act, and also not to refrain from action. Instead, one engages in "non-action", which is neither acting nor not acting.
This sort of response is anything but illuminating, of course. If "not acting" and "non-action" are not synonyms, how are we to understand them? All we can tell initially is that the Taoists are trying to distinguish some sort of alternative beyond the apparent dichotomy of acting and not acting. The implication is that there is a way of being involved in the world, of engaging the world, which is neither acting in it, nor not acting in it. But what could that be? Perhaps the solution is that the common understanding of "acting" and "action" is problematical, and what is being suggested is that one must avoid acting in one sense, but not in every sense. So, what could be the problematical sense of "action" and what sort of "action" is being pointed to with the term wu-wei?
Now, any student of Eastern thought knows that we must start here with the notion of the actor, the one who is acting. The problem has to do with the assumption that there is a self that is supposedly acting or not acting. To understand this, we must explain how an independent ego that could serve as the initiator and beneficiary of actions does not really exist. Thus, what is ordinarily thought of as action does not really occur, since there is no actor in the ordinary sense, and so enlightened people neither engage in action in that sense nor refrain from it (as though it represented a real option). However, this explanation becomes lengthy, complicated, and difficult to get a clear sense of. Go players have an easier path to take. We can just say it is like playing by intuition, and every Go player should know what that is like.
Playing by intuition is contrasted with two other ways of playing: playing on the basis of reflective analysis, on the one hand, and on the other hand, playing by more or less randomly throwing stones on the boards. We tend to think of the first of these as "serious" play, and the other as at best a form of amusement. Thinking of playing in these two ways sometimes creates a problem for understanding playing by intuition, however, because we may assume that since playing by intuition is clearly not "serious" play in this sense, it must be less than serious and hence suspect. That may be why some people are quite negative about lightning games-they think that such games cannot be "serious" play since one does not have time for analysis and calculation.
What is needed, then, is a clarification of the difference between playing by intuition and just throwing stones on the board. As one learns to play the game, using reflective analysis to figure out what is going on, that is, what one should do in various situations, one comes to recognize certain types of patterns. When you encounter these patterns again, you do not have to analyze-at least you do not have to if you are happy with playing at the level of understanding you have so far achieved. In such recognized situations, you simply perceive what is appropriate, and you just do it. As a result of earlier analysis, you are able to see how things are and you can act without any need to examine the board to figure out how things are.
In this sort of playing one is not really thinking about what one is doing; there is no gap between looking at the board and knowing what to do that must be bridged by analysis. Yet, this clearly is not just throwing stones around. It is responding to the way things are on the board in an immediate and spontaneous way that is made possible by one's having learned to perceive how things are. Thus, this is neither playing on the basis of analysis nor is it not playing on the basis of analysis. Nor is it just randomly jumping around. It is the kind of play that understanding makes possible. And the better your understanding is, the better your intuition will be.
Intuition is an immediate perception of how things are. That is, as you gain a better understanding of what is happening on the board, you immediately see what should be done to a greater extent. At the ultimate level of Go enlightenment, then, one would never have to "think", one would just play, because it would always be clear what should be done. Of course, no Go player expects to reach this ultimate level, but all Go players use intuition to some extent.
Thus, all Go players engage in non-action, at least in playing Go, and can understand what it is like to be an enlightened person in the world. Such a person sees things as they really are and does not have to think about what to do. Life just plays itself. Likewise, in playing Go by intuition, no independent self is involved because there is no need to analyze, initiate, and justify plays. One just plays. The board situation directs the play, and the stones play themselves.
Lightning games force us to play by intuition, that is, without our selves, to play when all that is going on is the play itself. We usually discover how far we are from final Go enlightenment in such games, but we also get a hint of what the life of an enlightened person is like. Playing by intuition is not playing (in the ordinary "serious" sense), nor is it not playing; it is non-playing.
The Empty Board #5
American Go Journal XXX, 1 (Winter 1996), 34-35, 37
Tovább...
Wu-Wei (Non-Action) and Go Intuition
by William Cobb
The Chinese term wu-wei (usually translated as "non-action") plays an important role in Taoism and is familiar to anyone who has had much contact with Eastern thought. However, most people find it very difficult to figure out what the term means. Here Go players have an advantage because we engage in "non-action" all the time; it is what is called playing by intuition.
To explain my point I must first say a little about what makes the Taoist term puzzling. The term wu-wei is used to refer to the behavior of people who are enlightened, who are said to engage in non-action, but the Western ear tends to hear this as passivity. One would assume that non-action is what results when one does not act. Yet this assumes that "non-action" and "not acting" are the same thing, while the Taoists, mysteriously, distinguish these two terms. If we ask, " What does an enlightened person do?", Taoists reply that the crucial thing is not to act, and also not to refrain from action. Instead, one engages in "non-action", which is neither acting nor not acting.
This sort of response is anything but illuminating, of course. If "not acting" and "non-action" are not synonyms, how are we to understand them? All we can tell initially is that the Taoists are trying to distinguish some sort of alternative beyond the apparent dichotomy of acting and not acting. The implication is that there is a way of being involved in the world, of engaging the world, which is neither acting in it, nor not acting in it. But what could that be? Perhaps the solution is that the common understanding of "acting" and "action" is problematical, and what is being suggested is that one must avoid acting in one sense, but not in every sense. So, what could be the problematical sense of "action" and what sort of "action" is being pointed to with the term wu-wei?
Now, any student of Eastern thought knows that we must start here with the notion of the actor, the one who is acting. The problem has to do with the assumption that there is a self that is supposedly acting or not acting. To understand this, we must explain how an independent ego that could serve as the initiator and beneficiary of actions does not really exist. Thus, what is ordinarily thought of as action does not really occur, since there is no actor in the ordinary sense, and so enlightened people neither engage in action in that sense nor refrain from it (as though it represented a real option). However, this explanation becomes lengthy, complicated, and difficult to get a clear sense of. Go players have an easier path to take. We can just say it is like playing by intuition, and every Go player should know what that is like.
Playing by intuition is contrasted with two other ways of playing: playing on the basis of reflective analysis, on the one hand, and on the other hand, playing by more or less randomly throwing stones on the boards. We tend to think of the first of these as "serious" play, and the other as at best a form of amusement. Thinking of playing in these two ways sometimes creates a problem for understanding playing by intuition, however, because we may assume that since playing by intuition is clearly not "serious" play in this sense, it must be less than serious and hence suspect. That may be why some people are quite negative about lightning games-they think that such games cannot be "serious" play since one does not have time for analysis and calculation.
What is needed, then, is a clarification of the difference between playing by intuition and just throwing stones on the board. As one learns to play the game, using reflective analysis to figure out what is going on, that is, what one should do in various situations, one comes to recognize certain types of patterns. When you encounter these patterns again, you do not have to analyze-at least you do not have to if you are happy with playing at the level of understanding you have so far achieved. In such recognized situations, you simply perceive what is appropriate, and you just do it. As a result of earlier analysis, you are able to see how things are and you can act without any need to examine the board to figure out how things are.
In this sort of playing one is not really thinking about what one is doing; there is no gap between looking at the board and knowing what to do that must be bridged by analysis. Yet, this clearly is not just throwing stones around. It is responding to the way things are on the board in an immediate and spontaneous way that is made possible by one's having learned to perceive how things are. Thus, this is neither playing on the basis of analysis nor is it not playing on the basis of analysis. Nor is it just randomly jumping around. It is the kind of play that understanding makes possible. And the better your understanding is, the better your intuition will be.
Intuition is an immediate perception of how things are. That is, as you gain a better understanding of what is happening on the board, you immediately see what should be done to a greater extent. At the ultimate level of Go enlightenment, then, one would never have to "think", one would just play, because it would always be clear what should be done. Of course, no Go player expects to reach this ultimate level, but all Go players use intuition to some extent.
Thus, all Go players engage in non-action, at least in playing Go, and can understand what it is like to be an enlightened person in the world. Such a person sees things as they really are and does not have to think about what to do. Life just plays itself. Likewise, in playing Go by intuition, no independent self is involved because there is no need to analyze, initiate, and justify plays. One just plays. The board situation directs the play, and the stones play themselves.
Lightning games force us to play by intuition, that is, without our selves, to play when all that is going on is the play itself. We usually discover how far we are from final Go enlightenment in such games, but we also get a hint of what the life of an enlightened person is like. Playing by intuition is not playing (in the ordinary "serious" sense), nor is it not playing; it is non-playing.
The Empty Board #5
American Go Journal XXX, 1 (Winter 1996), 34-35, 37
Tovább...
2011. szeptember 16., péntek
The Overcoming of Self in Go
Azt mondod, hogy ha bármit is komolyan veszünk, az csak rólunk szólhat? Mármintha elmélyedünk valamiben, akkor nem juthatunk máshova, csak önmagunkhoz (közelebb legalábbis)? Vagy hogy az univerzum közepe önmagunk közepében van?
The Overcoming of Self in Go
by William Cobb
It is interesting to think of Go as a sort of sedentary martial art. In earlier days it was often seen that way quite self-consciously. Go was looked upon as a Way (do/tao), a practice through which one could achieve the ultimate level of existence and establish contact with the highest level of reality, that is, achieve enlightenment and enter nirvana. In the martial arts this goal is often spoken of as overcoming the self and becoming one with the tao. A common misconception thinks that this is similar to the experience of losing oneself in an activity, but in the martial arts this is not simply a matter of learning to concentrate on the activity and ceasing to be self-conscious--something any accomplished athlete masters. In the martial arts the idea is to destroy a particular way of understanding oneself and the related way of experiencing the world and relating to others. This is expected to have a profound impact on every aspect of one's life, not just on the way one practices the art. It is a thorough transformation, like waking up from a nightmare.
One can still approach Go as a tao in this sense, of course. In fact, I find it amazing how often the game seems to have some of this sort of impact on players who are surely unaware of this way of thinking about it. Just playing the game seems to bring many players closer to nirvana, or, as the ancient Chinese claimed, make them "better" (that is, enlightened) people. This is exactly the way it would be with a proper tao. "Just do it-that is being enlightened," as Dogen, the 13th century Japanese Zen master, said. He was talking about sitting meditation (zazen), but it comes to the same thing.
To understand how one enters nirvana just by playing Go, one needs some understanding of what it means to overcome the self. The Buddhist view of what a human being is contrasts radically with the common Western view. In the latter, it is assumed that each person is a unique, self-contained, self-responsible agent. Even though the individual person has parts, these parts constitute the person on the basis of their relations to each other. These internal relations are what make up the real self; external relations to other persons and the world are not constitutive of one's fundamental being on this view.
Thus, groups of individuals such as families or communities are abstractions for most Westerners; it is their individual members that are real. These individuals can leave one group and join another and still be the same persons. This is the famous Cartesian ego, the ego that says, "I think, therefore I am." It is the philosophical notion that is at the root of Western individualism, the view that all actions and all values are ultimately the actions and values of individuals. Such individuals can cooperate with each other, but they remain separate individuals.
It is just this view of the self that the Buddha said is the number one source of human suffering and is thus the most serious of all the delusions that humans are prone to. It is the self in this sense that the martial arts are designed to overcome; the point of the practice is to get rid of this delusion. This view of the self causes terrible problems because it encourages us to believe that we can make our lives better by acquiring or achieving things for ourselves as separate individuals. Buddhists argue that life is in fact a common endeavor; we are all part of each other in the most literal sense. Thus, it makes no sense to think that I could help myself at your expense. At this point, we can begin to see how Go can help us to overcome self in the common Western sense.
In most competitive games it is easy to believe that by winning, which is a personal achievement, one is doing something that is inherently good and, in at least a small way, making one's life better. The handicapping system in Go effectively counters this unfortunate assumption. The point of handicapping is to make the quality of the playing of the game, which is a joint and not a personal achievement, the thing that matters. Even if a player only thinks of the handicapping system as a nuisance and tries to focus on winning, the practice counteracts this attitude. Players just naturally begin to pay more attention to the process of the game, delighting in plays that are particularly effective-even when the effect damages their own chances of winning a game.
Another striking instance of this overcoming of self is the common practice among Go players of pointing out in a tournament when the other has failed to hit the clock after making a play. This practice obviously damages one's chance of winning, and there is no rule that requires one to draw the other's attention to this slip. Yet it is a very pervasive practice among Go players.
The extent to which playing Go just naturally leads to the overcoming of self in this sense is one of the great attractions of the game. Even if people do not realize that it amounts to getting a toe into nirvana, in Buddhist terms that is what it is. Nirvana is the place/condition of being enlightened. Being enlightened is the condition of having overcome self. So just play-and notice how often you find yourself sharing a smile.
The Empty Board #4
American Go Journal XXIX, 3 (Summer 1995), 30-31
Tovább...
The Overcoming of Self in Go
by William Cobb
It is interesting to think of Go as a sort of sedentary martial art. In earlier days it was often seen that way quite self-consciously. Go was looked upon as a Way (do/tao), a practice through which one could achieve the ultimate level of existence and establish contact with the highest level of reality, that is, achieve enlightenment and enter nirvana. In the martial arts this goal is often spoken of as overcoming the self and becoming one with the tao. A common misconception thinks that this is similar to the experience of losing oneself in an activity, but in the martial arts this is not simply a matter of learning to concentrate on the activity and ceasing to be self-conscious--something any accomplished athlete masters. In the martial arts the idea is to destroy a particular way of understanding oneself and the related way of experiencing the world and relating to others. This is expected to have a profound impact on every aspect of one's life, not just on the way one practices the art. It is a thorough transformation, like waking up from a nightmare.
One can still approach Go as a tao in this sense, of course. In fact, I find it amazing how often the game seems to have some of this sort of impact on players who are surely unaware of this way of thinking about it. Just playing the game seems to bring many players closer to nirvana, or, as the ancient Chinese claimed, make them "better" (that is, enlightened) people. This is exactly the way it would be with a proper tao. "Just do it-that is being enlightened," as Dogen, the 13th century Japanese Zen master, said. He was talking about sitting meditation (zazen), but it comes to the same thing.
To understand how one enters nirvana just by playing Go, one needs some understanding of what it means to overcome the self. The Buddhist view of what a human being is contrasts radically with the common Western view. In the latter, it is assumed that each person is a unique, self-contained, self-responsible agent. Even though the individual person has parts, these parts constitute the person on the basis of their relations to each other. These internal relations are what make up the real self; external relations to other persons and the world are not constitutive of one's fundamental being on this view.
Thus, groups of individuals such as families or communities are abstractions for most Westerners; it is their individual members that are real. These individuals can leave one group and join another and still be the same persons. This is the famous Cartesian ego, the ego that says, "I think, therefore I am." It is the philosophical notion that is at the root of Western individualism, the view that all actions and all values are ultimately the actions and values of individuals. Such individuals can cooperate with each other, but they remain separate individuals.
It is just this view of the self that the Buddha said is the number one source of human suffering and is thus the most serious of all the delusions that humans are prone to. It is the self in this sense that the martial arts are designed to overcome; the point of the practice is to get rid of this delusion. This view of the self causes terrible problems because it encourages us to believe that we can make our lives better by acquiring or achieving things for ourselves as separate individuals. Buddhists argue that life is in fact a common endeavor; we are all part of each other in the most literal sense. Thus, it makes no sense to think that I could help myself at your expense. At this point, we can begin to see how Go can help us to overcome self in the common Western sense.
In most competitive games it is easy to believe that by winning, which is a personal achievement, one is doing something that is inherently good and, in at least a small way, making one's life better. The handicapping system in Go effectively counters this unfortunate assumption. The point of handicapping is to make the quality of the playing of the game, which is a joint and not a personal achievement, the thing that matters. Even if a player only thinks of the handicapping system as a nuisance and tries to focus on winning, the practice counteracts this attitude. Players just naturally begin to pay more attention to the process of the game, delighting in plays that are particularly effective-even when the effect damages their own chances of winning a game.
Another striking instance of this overcoming of self is the common practice among Go players of pointing out in a tournament when the other has failed to hit the clock after making a play. This practice obviously damages one's chance of winning, and there is no rule that requires one to draw the other's attention to this slip. Yet it is a very pervasive practice among Go players.
The extent to which playing Go just naturally leads to the overcoming of self in this sense is one of the great attractions of the game. Even if people do not realize that it amounts to getting a toe into nirvana, in Buddhist terms that is what it is. Nirvana is the place/condition of being enlightened. Being enlightened is the condition of having overcome self. So just play-and notice how often you find yourself sharing a smile.
The Empty Board #4
American Go Journal XXIX, 3 (Summer 1995), 30-31
Tovább...
2011. augusztus 26., péntek
Go Proverbs as Koans
Folytatom az üres tábla sorozatot, imhol az eredeti angol szövege a következő fejezetnek. Hm... több buddhizmus szorult ebbe, mint amire emlékszem.
Go Proverbs as Koans
by William Cobb
The Japanese term satori refers to the experience of enlightenment, the realization of how things really are that is the primary aim of practice and meditation. However, the Zen tradition is famous for claiming that one cannot say what it is that one realizes, that is, one cannot articulate the content of the enlightenment experience. Although it makes everything clear, it is an experience beyond words. Instead of being given an explanation of how things are, the student of Zen hears sayings called koan, often somewhat paradoxical in character, that come from those who are enlightened: "Don't make good and bad." "There is no self." "If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him."
One tries to understand such sayings by careful analysis and consideration of specific examples and applications, but one is always told that such an approach is worthless, and in fact it only leads to more questions: Is it good not to make good and bad? Who says, "There is no self?" Didn't the Buddha teach nonviolence? One must seek the perspective from which such sayings emerge, and one cannot attain that perspective by the accumulation of individual examples of interpretation. Such sayings are general expressions that partially express a way of seeing things, that is, they are proverbs, and a mere knowledge of such sayings is never equivalent to the experience from which they derive. Thus, the Zen student does not merely memorize lists of such proverbs. Rather, by reflecting on them one tries to grasp the intuition that they at best only point toward.
Nearly all Go players are familiar with intriguing "proverbs", accumulated from the wisdom of generations of players, that sometimes look a lot like paradoxical Zen koan that have come down to us: "If you want to play on the right, you must first play on the left." "The player with the fewest groups wins." "First you must defeat yourself." As with the Zen koan, if one takes these to be simple rules or straight-forward statements of fact, one will completely miss the message they contain-and will probably play in a very bizarre manner. Yet such Go "koan" do point toward various aspects of the way things really are in the game of Go, and as with the Zen koans reflection on them can lead us toward enlightenment in Go. In both Zen and Go one is trying to reach a special way of looking at things, a special way of experiencing things. This special way is not the sort of thing that can be summed up in a few clear rules and principles, nor is it easy to grasp from within the ordinary way of thinking that we usually adopt. The aim of the koan is to induce in us a fundamental change in the way we think about things.
It would be foolish to try to say what this amounts to, especially in the case of Zen, but one notes that Zen masters do keep on talking. They admonish and challenge us, in effect saying that we must not think that we have even the slightest notion of how things really are, and they keep trying to steer us in the right direction. "If you meet the Buddha in the road, kill him!" seems an example of the former, while "Don't make good and bad" seems an example of the latter. Perhaps it would be useful to think about Go proverbs from this perspective.
To suggest that one should routinely play in the opposite area from that in which one thinks one ought to play seems nonsensical; yet it is hard to overcome the beginner's obsession with local interactions and to pay attention to the whole board. The proverb "If you want to play on the right, you must first play on the left" points toward a way of seeing what is going on; it is not offering a rule to be mindlessly applied. Similarly, one assumes that in order to do better in any activity one needs to learn more about correct techniques. Thus, it is hard to realize that overcoming one's own personal greed or timidity is more important than learning opening sequences, and it is hard to believe that a delight in humiliating the other player is a barrier to becoming stronger.
So the proverb "First you must defeat yourself" offers sage advice about how to get stronger, not indulging in pious moralizing or suggesting that you can win by killing your own groups. This koan points toward breaking through the way of thinking about how to improve that we tend to start out with, since that way of thinking is itself a barrier to progress. The existence of Go "koan" thus suggests that the way to achieve a more enlightened understanding of the game involves realizing that one must not just continue to add more bits of knowledge to the foundation one has already established. The foundations themselves must be regularly torn down and rebuilt. One must never assume (at least prior to Go satori) that one really understands any aspect of the game. When you think that you have finally figured something out, that must means you are ready to start all over again.
The Empty Board #3
American Go Journal XXIX, 2 (Spring 1995), 34-35
Tovább...
Go Proverbs as Koans
by William Cobb
The Japanese term satori refers to the experience of enlightenment, the realization of how things really are that is the primary aim of practice and meditation. However, the Zen tradition is famous for claiming that one cannot say what it is that one realizes, that is, one cannot articulate the content of the enlightenment experience. Although it makes everything clear, it is an experience beyond words. Instead of being given an explanation of how things are, the student of Zen hears sayings called koan, often somewhat paradoxical in character, that come from those who are enlightened: "Don't make good and bad." "There is no self." "If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him."
One tries to understand such sayings by careful analysis and consideration of specific examples and applications, but one is always told that such an approach is worthless, and in fact it only leads to more questions: Is it good not to make good and bad? Who says, "There is no self?" Didn't the Buddha teach nonviolence? One must seek the perspective from which such sayings emerge, and one cannot attain that perspective by the accumulation of individual examples of interpretation. Such sayings are general expressions that partially express a way of seeing things, that is, they are proverbs, and a mere knowledge of such sayings is never equivalent to the experience from which they derive. Thus, the Zen student does not merely memorize lists of such proverbs. Rather, by reflecting on them one tries to grasp the intuition that they at best only point toward.
Nearly all Go players are familiar with intriguing "proverbs", accumulated from the wisdom of generations of players, that sometimes look a lot like paradoxical Zen koan that have come down to us: "If you want to play on the right, you must first play on the left." "The player with the fewest groups wins." "First you must defeat yourself." As with the Zen koan, if one takes these to be simple rules or straight-forward statements of fact, one will completely miss the message they contain-and will probably play in a very bizarre manner. Yet such Go "koan" do point toward various aspects of the way things really are in the game of Go, and as with the Zen koans reflection on them can lead us toward enlightenment in Go. In both Zen and Go one is trying to reach a special way of looking at things, a special way of experiencing things. This special way is not the sort of thing that can be summed up in a few clear rules and principles, nor is it easy to grasp from within the ordinary way of thinking that we usually adopt. The aim of the koan is to induce in us a fundamental change in the way we think about things.
It would be foolish to try to say what this amounts to, especially in the case of Zen, but one notes that Zen masters do keep on talking. They admonish and challenge us, in effect saying that we must not think that we have even the slightest notion of how things really are, and they keep trying to steer us in the right direction. "If you meet the Buddha in the road, kill him!" seems an example of the former, while "Don't make good and bad" seems an example of the latter. Perhaps it would be useful to think about Go proverbs from this perspective.
To suggest that one should routinely play in the opposite area from that in which one thinks one ought to play seems nonsensical; yet it is hard to overcome the beginner's obsession with local interactions and to pay attention to the whole board. The proverb "If you want to play on the right, you must first play on the left" points toward a way of seeing what is going on; it is not offering a rule to be mindlessly applied. Similarly, one assumes that in order to do better in any activity one needs to learn more about correct techniques. Thus, it is hard to realize that overcoming one's own personal greed or timidity is more important than learning opening sequences, and it is hard to believe that a delight in humiliating the other player is a barrier to becoming stronger.
So the proverb "First you must defeat yourself" offers sage advice about how to get stronger, not indulging in pious moralizing or suggesting that you can win by killing your own groups. This koan points toward breaking through the way of thinking about how to improve that we tend to start out with, since that way of thinking is itself a barrier to progress. The existence of Go "koan" thus suggests that the way to achieve a more enlightened understanding of the game involves realizing that one must not just continue to add more bits of knowledge to the foundation one has already established. The foundations themselves must be regularly torn down and rebuilt. One must never assume (at least prior to Go satori) that one really understands any aspect of the game. When you think that you have finally figured something out, that must means you are ready to start all over again.
The Empty Board #3
American Go Journal XXIX, 2 (Spring 1995), 34-35
Tovább...
2011. június 29., szerda
Attachment
No, a második fejezete az Empty Board-nak a kapcsolatokról... vagy nem? Már rég olvastam. De most majd újra. Ez amúgyis vesszőparipám, hogy milyen fontosak a kapcsolatok. Talán gyenge vagyok ezen a téren...
Attachment
by William Cobb
Attachment is an important concept, both in Go and in Buddhist philosophy, although the concept seems quite different in the two contexts. For Buddhists, attachment is one way of describing the source of all suffering. It is what keeps us tied to the wheel of birth and death; ceasing to be attached to things is crucial for achieving enlightenment. In Go, on the other hand, in the right circumstances, attaching to one of the other player's stones can be a very useful tactic. It's especially effective as a way of settling stones in a hostile environment. Attachment strengthens the other player's stone, but it strengthens your own as well, and thus can lead to the establishment of a living group. Thus, in Go attachment can give you life in a difficult situation, while in Buddhism true life comes from ceasing to make attachments.
According to Buddhist philosophy, those who are not yet enlightened are fond of attachment, while in Go beginners are often terrified of it and panic when the other player attaches to one of their stones. Can we learn anything about these two kinds of attachment by thinking of them together?
In Buddhism being attached means treating something as though it were of inherent value, a thing whose worth is clear and whose loss would therefore be a bad, even devastating thing. Parents are often attached to their children in this sense, and people to their jobs or other things they see as essential to their identity and their survival. Buddhists see this as a mistake, and in fact think of it as a kind of greed, that is, trying to have more than is appropriate or even possible by using things to provide your life with some sort of inherent worth. Since things, such as children and victories, come and go, and their coming and going is dependent on many things over which one has no control, if the value of one's existence is dependent on holding on to some of them, one is doomed to a life of fear and anxiety.
So, in Buddhist philosophy being attached to something means holding on to it desperately, thinking that giving it up would be disaster. The task is to learn to appreciate the value of things, to enjoy them, but to do so without thinking that their value and our ability to enjoy them depends on having them in some sort of permanent way. And now the parallel with attaching in Go begins to emerge.
The stone with which you attach is very valuable, but its value is often realized by giving it up. This seems paradoxical to beginners, who tend to think that they must not allow any of their stones to be captured. So they hold on to the stone to which the opponent has attached with great determination. They eagerly grab the attaching stone if they can, failing to see that this is simple greed and a mistaken judgment about the value of something. "Ah, you want that stone?", the stronger player thinks, "Would you care for another?" Good things are not just to be held on to forever. Often giving them up can lead to even better things. This understanding of the principle of sacrificing stones, of treating stones lightly, is an important step forward on the path of learning to play Go.
Go players, therefore, are well prepared to understand the Buddhist concept of attachment. One puts down a few stones and begins to construct a framework or a life, but one is not afraid to give up a stone or even a group in order to gain a better position overall. In order to achieve the end of having a larger share of the board when the game concludes, one treats every stone as both precious and dispensable. Buddhists look at their possessions, their jobs, their children, and even their lives in a not dissimilar way. The only way to truly enjoy these things is to recognize that none of them is essential and all of them are ephemeral. Thus, when one loses one of them one is not devastated, nor deterred from the path toward enlightenment. That does not mean that one does not treat them as valuable. The only way to truly appreciate the value of the world is precisely to renounce it, to treat it lightly. In life, attachment to things makes one heavy. From the practice of attachment in Go, we can learn how to make our lives light, even enlightened.
The Empty Board #2
American Go Journal XXIX, 1 ((Winter 1995), 20-21
Tovább...
Attachment
by William Cobb
Attachment is an important concept, both in Go and in Buddhist philosophy, although the concept seems quite different in the two contexts. For Buddhists, attachment is one way of describing the source of all suffering. It is what keeps us tied to the wheel of birth and death; ceasing to be attached to things is crucial for achieving enlightenment. In Go, on the other hand, in the right circumstances, attaching to one of the other player's stones can be a very useful tactic. It's especially effective as a way of settling stones in a hostile environment. Attachment strengthens the other player's stone, but it strengthens your own as well, and thus can lead to the establishment of a living group. Thus, in Go attachment can give you life in a difficult situation, while in Buddhism true life comes from ceasing to make attachments.
According to Buddhist philosophy, those who are not yet enlightened are fond of attachment, while in Go beginners are often terrified of it and panic when the other player attaches to one of their stones. Can we learn anything about these two kinds of attachment by thinking of them together?
In Buddhism being attached means treating something as though it were of inherent value, a thing whose worth is clear and whose loss would therefore be a bad, even devastating thing. Parents are often attached to their children in this sense, and people to their jobs or other things they see as essential to their identity and their survival. Buddhists see this as a mistake, and in fact think of it as a kind of greed, that is, trying to have more than is appropriate or even possible by using things to provide your life with some sort of inherent worth. Since things, such as children and victories, come and go, and their coming and going is dependent on many things over which one has no control, if the value of one's existence is dependent on holding on to some of them, one is doomed to a life of fear and anxiety.
So, in Buddhist philosophy being attached to something means holding on to it desperately, thinking that giving it up would be disaster. The task is to learn to appreciate the value of things, to enjoy them, but to do so without thinking that their value and our ability to enjoy them depends on having them in some sort of permanent way. And now the parallel with attaching in Go begins to emerge.
The stone with which you attach is very valuable, but its value is often realized by giving it up. This seems paradoxical to beginners, who tend to think that they must not allow any of their stones to be captured. So they hold on to the stone to which the opponent has attached with great determination. They eagerly grab the attaching stone if they can, failing to see that this is simple greed and a mistaken judgment about the value of something. "Ah, you want that stone?", the stronger player thinks, "Would you care for another?" Good things are not just to be held on to forever. Often giving them up can lead to even better things. This understanding of the principle of sacrificing stones, of treating stones lightly, is an important step forward on the path of learning to play Go.
Go players, therefore, are well prepared to understand the Buddhist concept of attachment. One puts down a few stones and begins to construct a framework or a life, but one is not afraid to give up a stone or even a group in order to gain a better position overall. In order to achieve the end of having a larger share of the board when the game concludes, one treats every stone as both precious and dispensable. Buddhists look at their possessions, their jobs, their children, and even their lives in a not dissimilar way. The only way to truly enjoy these things is to recognize that none of them is essential and all of them are ephemeral. Thus, when one loses one of them one is not devastated, nor deterred from the path toward enlightenment. That does not mean that one does not treat them as valuable. The only way to truly appreciate the value of the world is precisely to renounce it, to treat it lightly. In life, attachment to things makes one heavy. From the practice of attachment in Go, we can learn how to make our lives light, even enlightened.
The Empty Board #2
American Go Journal XXIX, 1 ((Winter 1995), 20-21
Tovább...
2011. június 1., szerda
Emptiness
Lehetne a blog mottója is, ezért a hamvába holt helyhez tegyünk egy hamvába holt ötletet hozzá és bele is feccölhetünk kis munkát is: annak a kábé egy olvasónak rajtam kívül, aki idetéved, elkezdem az általam évekkel ezelőtt nagyrabecsült esszésorozatot itt magamban elbeszélgetni úgy, hogy a szöveget előbb teszem közzé, mint a róluk szóló gondolataimat. Itt az első.
Emptiness
by William Cobb
The fact that the board is an empty grid at the beginning of the game is one of the most striking features of Go. The metaphor of emptiness also plays a fundamental role in Buddhist philosophy. These two occurrences of the notion of emptiness can illuminate each other.
To say that something is empty draws attention to the absence of something. Initially, what we see as lacking in the case of the game are playing pieces already set up before play; there is only the empty board with its grid of lines. It is more difficult to give an initial characterization of the Buddhist sense of emptiness, which is usually referred to by the Sanskrit term sunyata (the Japanese word is ku). The claim is that everything is empty, and what is lacking is a certain way of existing, a certain type of being, namely, absolute self-sufficiency or complete independence. Everything exists or is what it is by virtue of a dependence on other things. Nothing is absolutely self-sufficient. Nor is anything absolutely permanent and unchanging. Each thing is dependent on other things for its existence, and its nature or character is a function of its relationships with other things and hence changes as those things change. (What is lacking, what things are empty of, is sometimes called "inherent nature" [Sanskrit svabhava].) As a consequence of this view, Buddhists cannot make unqualified statements about things, since everything is both contextual and changing.
The concrete example of emptiness provided by the game of Go can help to clarify what Buddhists mean by the emptiness of everything, and reflection on the Buddhist view offers a more profound insight into the sense in which the game of Go, as well as the board at the beginning of the game, is empty.
In Go, the meaning and significance of the stones is entirely a function of their relation to other stones, and is subject to constant change. No stone has any "inherent" significance, beyond the most minimal fact of being able to occupy one point. Whether it is important or unimportant, good or bad, strong or weak depends on surrounding stones and the overall situation, and is always subject to change. This contingent and contextual nature of the significance of the stones is one of the reasons Go is endlessly fascinating. As a game develops, it is capable of astonishing fluctuations. Even a solidly alive group can be killed by filling in one's own liberties, and though that is not likely to happen, the question of whether the group is important or useful is clearly subject to change. The plays used to give a group life may lose the game. Thus, one cannot say in an unqualified way that any play is good or bad. It all depends, and that is just what sunyata is all about.
Go players, therefore, are ready to understand that when Buddhists say that everything is empty, they do not mean that things lack significance or meaning. The traditional claim that Buddhists are pessimistic is a gross misunderstanding. Rather, they mean that the significance of things is always contextual, contingent, and subject to change. Nothing can be said to be good or bad in an absolute sense. In practical terms, as every Go player knows, this means that you should not give up too quickly when your position appears to be bad. You can never predict what may happen. Often your playing partner will turn your position into a winning one. Similarly, you should not relax and assume victory when you have a good position. This too can change dramatically. The result is an attitude of equanimity in the face of every situation-the attentive calmness characteristic of a Buddhist monk.
Even at the conclusion of a game, this sort of emptiness is still characteristic of Go. That one loses or wins is not inherently good or bad. A loss can be very instructive, and thus lead to an improvement in your play, while a win may hide a fatal flaw in your grasp of the game. And we have to say that even becoming stronger is not necessarily good, since you may become more addicted to the game and neglect other responsibilities! The final result is that one sees playing itself as a privilege. One quits "making good and bad" and simply enjoys the play, just the way Buddhists approach life in general. It is a useful practice to pause and reflect on the empty board before one begins to play.
The Empty Board #1
American Go Journal XXVIII, 4 (Fall 1994), 34-35
Tovább...
Emptiness
by William Cobb
The fact that the board is an empty grid at the beginning of the game is one of the most striking features of Go. The metaphor of emptiness also plays a fundamental role in Buddhist philosophy. These two occurrences of the notion of emptiness can illuminate each other.
To say that something is empty draws attention to the absence of something. Initially, what we see as lacking in the case of the game are playing pieces already set up before play; there is only the empty board with its grid of lines. It is more difficult to give an initial characterization of the Buddhist sense of emptiness, which is usually referred to by the Sanskrit term sunyata (the Japanese word is ku). The claim is that everything is empty, and what is lacking is a certain way of existing, a certain type of being, namely, absolute self-sufficiency or complete independence. Everything exists or is what it is by virtue of a dependence on other things. Nothing is absolutely self-sufficient. Nor is anything absolutely permanent and unchanging. Each thing is dependent on other things for its existence, and its nature or character is a function of its relationships with other things and hence changes as those things change. (What is lacking, what things are empty of, is sometimes called "inherent nature" [Sanskrit svabhava].) As a consequence of this view, Buddhists cannot make unqualified statements about things, since everything is both contextual and changing.
The concrete example of emptiness provided by the game of Go can help to clarify what Buddhists mean by the emptiness of everything, and reflection on the Buddhist view offers a more profound insight into the sense in which the game of Go, as well as the board at the beginning of the game, is empty.
In Go, the meaning and significance of the stones is entirely a function of their relation to other stones, and is subject to constant change. No stone has any "inherent" significance, beyond the most minimal fact of being able to occupy one point. Whether it is important or unimportant, good or bad, strong or weak depends on surrounding stones and the overall situation, and is always subject to change. This contingent and contextual nature of the significance of the stones is one of the reasons Go is endlessly fascinating. As a game develops, it is capable of astonishing fluctuations. Even a solidly alive group can be killed by filling in one's own liberties, and though that is not likely to happen, the question of whether the group is important or useful is clearly subject to change. The plays used to give a group life may lose the game. Thus, one cannot say in an unqualified way that any play is good or bad. It all depends, and that is just what sunyata is all about.
Go players, therefore, are ready to understand that when Buddhists say that everything is empty, they do not mean that things lack significance or meaning. The traditional claim that Buddhists are pessimistic is a gross misunderstanding. Rather, they mean that the significance of things is always contextual, contingent, and subject to change. Nothing can be said to be good or bad in an absolute sense. In practical terms, as every Go player knows, this means that you should not give up too quickly when your position appears to be bad. You can never predict what may happen. Often your playing partner will turn your position into a winning one. Similarly, you should not relax and assume victory when you have a good position. This too can change dramatically. The result is an attitude of equanimity in the face of every situation-the attentive calmness characteristic of a Buddhist monk.
Even at the conclusion of a game, this sort of emptiness is still characteristic of Go. That one loses or wins is not inherently good or bad. A loss can be very instructive, and thus lead to an improvement in your play, while a win may hide a fatal flaw in your grasp of the game. And we have to say that even becoming stronger is not necessarily good, since you may become more addicted to the game and neglect other responsibilities! The final result is that one sees playing itself as a privilege. One quits "making good and bad" and simply enjoys the play, just the way Buddhists approach life in general. It is a useful practice to pause and reflect on the empty board before one begins to play.
The Empty Board #1
American Go Journal XXVIII, 4 (Fall 1994), 34-35
Tovább...
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