The Finger and The Moon
The Finger and The Moon
The Finger and The Moon
There is something here which applies not only to the mere handful
of people who might be said to have reached the opposite shore, but to
most of us. To carry out the metaphor a little: if you are going to cross
the river, you must make haste, for if you dally on the raft, the current
will carry you downstream, and out to the ocean-and then you will be
stuck on the raft forever. And it is so easy to get stuck-on the raft, on
religion, on psychotherapy, on philosophy. To use another Buddhist
simile: The doctrine is like a finger pointing at the moon, and one must
take care not to mistake the finger for the moon.
Too many of us, I fear, watch the pointing finger of religion for
comfort, instead of looking where it points.
When Joshu asked his teacher Nansen, "What is the Tao, the
Way?" Nansen replied, "Your everyday mind is the Tao."
But this doesn't help either, for as soon as I try to understand what
is meant by my everyday mind, and then try to latch on to it, I am just
sucking another finger. But why does this difficulty arise? If someone
actually points his finger at the moon, I have no difficulty in turning and
looking at the moon. But the thing at which these religious and
philosophical fingers are pointing seems to be invisible, in that when I
turn to look there is nothing there, and I am forced to go back to the
finger to see whether I understood its direction correctly. And sure
enough, I find time and time again that I made no mistake about its
direction-but for all this I simply cannot see what it's pointing at.
All this is equally exasperating for the person who is doing the
pointing, for he wants to show me something which, to him, is so
obvious that one would think any fool could see it. He must feel as we
all feel when trying to explain to a thickheaded child that two times zero
is zero and not two. And there is something even more exasperating
than this. I am sure that many of you may, for a fleeting moment, have
had one clear glimpse of what the finger was pointing at-a glimpse in
which you shared the pointer's astonishment that you had never seen it
before, in which you saw the whole thing so plainly that you know you
could never forget it-and then you lost it.
very ordinary self, just as it is and just as you are-that this immediate
here-and-now is perfect and self-sufficient beyond any possibility of
description. You know that there is nothing to desire or seek for-that no
techniques, no spiritual apparatus of belief or discipline is necessary, no
system of philosophy or religion. The goal is here. It is this present
experience, just as it is. That, obviously, is what the finger was pointing
at. But the next moment, as you look again, it is gone, though the finger
still points right at it.
In other words, you cannot, at this stage, think about religion and
practice it at the same time. To see the moon, you must forget the
pointing finger, and simply look at the moon.
This is why all the great Oriental philosophies begin with the
practice of concentration, that is of attentive looking. It is as if to say,
"If you want to know what reality is, you must look directly at it and see
for yourself. But this needs a certain kind of concentration, because
reality is not symbols, it is not words and thoughts, it is not reflections
and fantasies. Therefore to see it clearly, you mind must be free from
wandering words and from the floating fantasies of memory."
Well, I think this is enough medicine for tonight. So let's put the
bottle away, and go out and look at the moon.
Alan Watts
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