A kōan is a story, dialogue, question, or statement from Chinese Chan Buddhist teachings. These are often explained with additional comments and are used in Chan, Zen, Seon, and Thiền Buddhist practices. In Zen, the main purpose of studying kōans is to achieve kenshō, which means to see or understand one's buddha-nature.

Studying kōan texts and meditating (called zazen) on a kōan is an important part of modern Rinzai Zen practice. The Sōtō school of Zen also studies kōans, but to a smaller degree. In Chinese Chan and Korean Seon Buddhism, meditating on a huatou, which is a key phrase from a kōan, is a major meditation method.

Etymology

The Japanese word kōan comes from how the Chinese say gōng'àn (or gūng'on in Cantonese). According to a teacher from the Yuan dynasty named Zhongfeng Mingben (1263–1323), gōng'àn was a shortened form of gōngfǔ zhī àndú, which meant "public records" or "case records from a court of law" in Tang dynasty China. The term kōan or gōng'àn is used as a metaphor for truths about the world that are not based on personal opinions. A teacher might use a kōan to test if a student can understand such truths.

In collections of kōan stories, explanations often resemble how judges make decisions by using and sometimes changing previous legal rulings. One expert explains that the literal meaning of kōan is "the table or bench of a judge." This shows how the word gōng'àn became a way to refer to legal rules by using the object (a judge's bench) connected to them. For example, Di Gong'an is the Chinese title of Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee, a famous detective story based on a real judge from the Tang dynasty. Similarly, kōan collections act as public records that share important teachings and actions of Zen masters and their students.

Doctrinal background

In Western culture, many people think of kōans as questions that cannot be answered or statements that seem strange or pointless. However, in Zen practice, kōans are not meaningless or puzzles. Teachers expect students to give thoughtful answers when asked about kōans. According to Hori, a key idea in many kōans is the "identity of opposites."

Many kōans explore the idea of nonduality, which means there is no separation between opposites. For example, Hakuin’s famous kōan, "Two hands clap and there is a sound, what is the sound of one hand?" focuses on the contrast between two and one. This kōan asks, if you understand duality (opposites), what do you know about nonduality? Another kōan, "What is your original face before your mother and father were born?" uses the phrase "mother and father" to represent duality. The phrase "original face" refers to the idea of nonduality.

Similar ideas appear in statements like, "Look at the flower and the flower also looks," and "Guest and host interchange." Kōans are also seen as guides to a direct experience of "Pure Consciousness," which is not influenced by thoughts. Victor Hori challenges this idea:

A consciousness without thoughts or ideas would be confusing, filled with unclear sights, sounds, and shapes that have no meaning. This is not the kind of awareness seen in an enlightened Zen master.

Gong'anin China

Gong'an literature began sometime between the late Tang dynasty, around the 10th century, and the Song dynasty, which lasted from 960 to 1279. The details of when this tradition started are not fully clear. These stories and teachings came from collections of sayings by Chan masters and texts like the Transmission of the Lamp. These sources included many stories about famous Chan masters, which were used to teach Chan/Zen students. According to Morten Schlütter, it is not clear exactly when commenting on old gongan cases began, but the earliest Chan masters known to have commentaries in their recorded sayings were Yunmen Wenyan and Fenyang Shanzhao (947–1024).

Robert Buswell explains that the gong'an tradition was part of a natural development within Chan Buddhism that started during the Tang dynasty and became most important during the Song dynasty. By the early Song era, Chan masters used these stories in their teachings, commented on them, and used them to challenge their students.

Schlütter notes that many stories in the recorded sayings of Song-era Chan masters involved the master quoting a story about a famous past Chan figure and then offering their own comments. These stories were called gong'an, meaning "public cases," or guze, meaning "old model cases." These terms seem to have been borrowed from legal language.

Originally, a story was only considered a gong'an when another Chan master commented on it, using it as a case study to help students gain insight. This practice also showed that the master belonged to a line of awakened teachers.

Schlütter also writes that these stories were used to challenge students to explain their understanding. A Chan master might share a story about a famous teacher and ask students to comment on it. Over time, some questions, like "Why did Bodhidharma come from the West?" became separate from traditional stories and were used in the same way. Schlütter adds that many of the most common gong'an in the Song dynasty came from the influential Transmission of the Lamp, though later histories also became sources of gong'an.

As time passed, a new literary style developed around collecting and commenting on gong'an. This style was influenced by educated writers of the Song era. These collections included stories (called gong'an) with a master’s comments attached. If a prose comment was added, the genre was called niangu ("picking up the old ones"). If poems were used to comment, it was called songgu ("eulogizing the old ones"). Later writers added more comments to these texts, making them complex and layered.

The style of these texts was shaped by Chinese literary traditions and games involving poetry. However, there were risks in this approach, such as assigning fixed meanings to the stories or becoming too focused on written learning. Dahui Zonggao, a famous Chan master, is said to have destroyed the woodblocks of the Blue Cliff Record because it had become a distraction for his students.

By the late Song dynasty (11th–12th century), assigning specific gong'an for students to contemplate became common. Some sources mention Zen masters, like Touzi Yiqing, who gained enlightenment through this practice.

By the time of Dahui Zonggao (1089–1163), this practice was well established. Dahui promoted a method called kanhua chan, which involved students focusing on a single word or phrase (called a huatou) from a gong'an, such as the famous "mu" from the mu-kōan. This practice aimed to create a deep sense of doubt until it "shattered," leading to enlightenment. Dahui believed this method balanced reflection on teachings with developing mental calmness.

Dahui’s approach was unique because earlier gong'an practices did not focus on a single word or teach the idea of building up doubt until it broke. According to Wright, Dahui encouraged students to focus on one key phrase in a kōan rather than the full story.

Dahui also taught that meditating on one huatou from a gong'an was enough to achieve enlightenment, as understanding one gong'an meant understanding all of them. He argued that this new method was the only way to achieve enlightenment for his time. Schlütter notes that Dahui’s focus on this practice was unusual compared to other Song-era Chan masters, who generally accepted a variety of Buddhist practices. Dahui’s methods greatly influenced the development of the Linji school during the Song dynasty.

Dale S. Wright explains that Dahui believed the hua-t'ou (the key phrase) had no meaning, and any intellectual thinking would block progress. He warned that intellectuals, who were often interested in kōan meditation, were least likely to succeed because of their tendency to think. Dahui advised them to stop trying to solve the kōan and instead focus on letting go of the idea that they could understand it through thinking.

Robert Buswell explains that this focus on non-conceptual meditation meant students did not need to achieve anything specific. They only needed to stop hoping for results and avoid the belief that they could reach them.

Wright argues that focusing on a single phrase in kanhua chan made the practice similar to śamatha (a type of meditation) and even resembled the Caodong school’s silent illumination, even though this was not acknowledged by Linji masters. He also says this practice was anti-intellectual because it required rejecting all learning. This shift made Chinese Chan vulnerable to criticism from neo-Confucianism.

Mario Poceski notes that while Dahui’s kanhua Chan claimed to be a sudden method, it actually involved gradually improving concentration. He also says this method helped standardize Chan practice, which led to a more routine tradition and a loss of some creative aspects of earlier Chan.

According to Kasulis, the rise of gōng'àn contemplation in Song-era Zen led to a greater focus on the relationship between master and student. Enlightenment was seen as something that could only be verified through interaction, making the teacher-student relationship central to the practice.

Modern Chinese Chan and Korean Seon

In the modern period, some people still practice meditating on a special phrase called "huatou" from a type of puzzle called "gong'an." This method was taught by some Chinese Chan teachers, such as Sheng Yen and Xuyun, who also wrote about it.

Modern Chinese Chan and Korean Seon traditions usually follow the method taught by Dahui, which focuses on meditating on a huatou, or "critical phrase." Practitioners repeat the phrase many times during meditation (while sitting or walking) and also during daily activities. In the mainland tradition of huatou practice, also called "kanhua," a short part of a kōan, such as "mu" or a "what is"-question, is used. Practitioners focus on this fragment and repeat it over and over.

In this tradition, students usually think deeply about one phrase for a long time instead of following a large set of lessons like in Japanese Rinzai. A student might be given only one huatou to focus on for their whole life. The goal is to create a strong sense of "great doubt" and to trust the teachings of the Buddha and the practice. Ford explains that the huatou becomes a key point in practice: it is where doubt is explored, where great faith is developed, and where energy is focused.

It is important to keep thinking about the huatou constantly, whether walking, lying down, or standing. From morning to night, the huatou should be clearly noticed until it feels as clear as the autumn moon reflected in still water. Practicing this way can lead to the state of Enlightenment.

Examples of huatou used in meditation include: "What is this?"; "What was the original face before my parents were born?"; "Who is dragging this body around?"; and "Who am I?"

Another common practice in Chinese Chan is using "nianfo," which means repeating the name of Amitabha Buddha, as a type of gōng'àn practice. This method, called "Nianfo Chan," was promoted by Xuyun in modern times. Practitioners repeat the Buddha's name while also asking, "Who is reciting?" This practice is also found in the Japanese Ōbaku school, which was taught by its founders, including Yinyuan (Ingen), showing that this method existed at least since the Ming dynasty.

The modern Korean teacher Seung Sahn created a system with many kōans for his Kwan Um School of Zen. However, this approach is a modern development and was not used in traditional Korean Seon.

Kōanin Japan

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In the 12th century, when the Chan tradition came to Japan, two schools, Rinzai and Sōtō, began using kōan study and commenting. In Sōtō-Zen, kōan commentary was not connected to seated meditation. Japanese monks had to learn Chinese and the special phrases used in kōan training. The naturalness shown by enlightened masters required deep study of Chinese language and poetry. Japanese Zen imitated Chinese sentence structure and standard ways of speaking.

During the Kamakura period, Rinzai monasteries that were officially recognized as part of the Gozan (Five Mountain System) were important centers for kōan study. Senior monks in these monasteries were expected to write Chinese verse in a complex style called bienli wen. This required strong literary and intellectual skills.

Rinka monasteries, which were provincial temples with less state control, focused less on mastering Chinese verse. These monasteries used simpler methods to teach kōan. These methods had three parts:

• Each generation of students studied the same series of kōan.
• Students memorized specific phrases called agyō, which were used in responses.
• Masters taught the correct answers to each kōan in private lessons to chosen students who would inherit the spiritual tradition.

Rinzai kōan curricula developed over time. Japanese masters like Enni-bennen (1202–1280) and Nampo-jyōmain (1235–1308) divided Chinese kōan into three groups: richi (ultimate truth), kikan (skillful method), and kōjyon (non-attachment). Musō Soseki (1275–1351) further developed kōan use. Though part of the Rinzai school, Musō Soseki focused more on teaching richi (explanations of sutras) than kikan (kōan). He called both richi and kikan upaya, or "skillful means," and described them as shōkogyu, or "little jewels," used to help students reach satori (enlightenment).

In the 18th century, the Rinzai school was shaped by Hakuin, who emphasized kōan study as a way to gain kensho (initial insight) and to develop compassion and selflessness. After Hakuin, most Rinzai monasteries followed his teachings. Kōan study became more organized, with a standard sequence of kōan that students had to complete step by step. Two main curricula were used in Rinzai, based on the teachings of Gasan’s dharma-heirs: the Takuju curriculum and the Inzan curriculum. Both had standardized answers.

Kōan practice is especially important in the Rinzai school. Japanese Rinzai uses detailed kōan curricula, checking questions, and jakogo (capping phrases, which are quotes from Chinese poetry) in their practice.

Kōan practice begins with the shokan, or "first barrier," usually the mu-kōan or the question "What is the sound of one hand?" After achieving kensho, students continue with other kōan. In the Takuju school, students study the Gateless Gate (Mumonkan), the Blue Cliff Record (Hekigan-roku), the Entangling Vines (Shumon Kattoshu), and the Collection of Wings of the Blackbird (Chin'u shū). The Inzan school uses its own list of kōan.

In Rinzai, students study kōan in a gradual order. Two main curricula are used: the Takuju and the Inzan. However, there are many sub-branches and variations between different teaching lines, which reflect the experiences of specific lineages. Kōan curricula change and grow over time, so they are best seen as living traditions rather than fixed programs.

Hakuin focused on "break-through kōan" and "difficult to pass" kōan to sharpen insight and encourage compassion. His descendants created a five-part classification system. Akizuki mentioned an older system where the fifth category was Kojo, or "Directed upwards," meant to help monks avoid "stink of Zen." Advanced practitioners might also face the Matsugo no rokan ("The last barrier") and Saigo no ikketsu ("The final confirmation"). "The last barrier" is given when a student leaves the training hall, such as the question "Sum up all of the records of Rinzai in one word!" It is not meant to be solved right away but carried as a reminder to keep practicing. "The final confirmation" may be another name for this type of kōan. Shin'ichi Hisamatsu gave the question "If nothing you do will do, then what will you do?" as an example of an unanswerable question meant to challenge early certainty.

In the Rinzai school, the Sanbo Kyodan and the White Plum Asanga, kōan practice starts with assigning a hosshi, or "break-through kōan," usually the mu-kōan or "the sound of one hand." Students are told to focus on the "word-head," like the phrase "mu." In the Wumenguan (Mumonkan), public case No. 1 ("Zhaozhou's Dog"), Wumen (Mumon) wrote:

"Concentrate yourself into this 'Wú' […] making your whole body one great inquiry. Day and night work intently at it. Do not attempt nihilistic or dualistic interpretations."

Creating a "Great Doubt" is a key part of kōan practice. It builds "strong internal pressure (gidan), never stopping knocking from within at the door of the mind, demanding to be resolved." To show the intense focus needed, Zen Master Wumen said:

"It is like swallowing a red-hot iron ball. You try to vomit it out, but you can't."

Understanding the literal meaning of a kōan alone will not lead to insight, but knowing the context from which it came can help. For example, when a monk asked Zhaozhou (Joshu) "Does a dog have Buddha-nature or not?" the monk was referring to teachings on Buddha-nature, which in China involved understanding absolute and relative reality.

Continuously thinking about the break-through kōan (shokan) or Hua Tou ("word head") leads to kensho, an initial insight into "seeing the (Buddha-)nature."

The goal of the break-through kōan is to see the "nonduality of subject and object":

The monk himself in his seeking is the kōan. Realizing this is the insight; the response to the kōan […] Subject and object – this is two hands clapping. When the monk realizes that the kōan is not just an object of consciousness but also himself as the activity of seeking an answer, then subject and object are no longer separate and distinct […] This is one hand clapping (sic).

Various accounts describe "becoming one" with the kōan and the resulting breakthrough:

"I was dead tired

Examples of traditional kōans

A monk asked Zhaozhou, "Does a dog have Buddha nature, or does it not have Buddha nature?" Zhaozhou answered, "Wu."

"Zhaozhou" is spelled "Chao-chou" in Wade–Giles and "Joshu" in Japanese. "Wu" is written as "mu" in Japanese and means "no," "not," "nonbeing," or "without" in English. This is part of Case No. 1 in the Wúménguān. Another koan in Case No. 18 of the Book of Serenity includes a longer version where Zhaozhou answers "yes" to the same question asked by a different monk.

A koan asks: "Two hands clap and there is a sound. What is the sound of one hand?" ( 隻手声あり、その声を聞け ).

Victor Hori explains that a koan begins as a focus for attention but becomes a dynamic process of seeking an answer. The koan represents both the object being sought and the act of searching itself. When the self realizes its connection to the koan, the practitioner becomes the koan they are trying to understand. This is described as "the sound of one hand." Hakuin, a Zen teacher, linked this koan to Kanzeon (Guanyin), a bodhisattva who hears the suffering of others and responds. Hearing the sound of one hand means ending all suffering.

Huineng asked Hui Ming, "Without thinking of good or evil, show me your original face before your mother and father were born." This is part of Case No. 23 in the Wumenguan.

A koan states: "If you meet the Buddha, kill him." ( 逢佛殺佛 ).

A student asked Master Yunmen (949 AD), "Not even a thought has arisen; is there still a sin or not?" Master Yunmen replied, "Mount Sumeru!"

A monk asked Dongshan Shouchu, "What is Buddha?" Dongshan answered, "Three pounds of flax." This is part of Case No. 18 in the Wumenguan and Case No. 12 in the Blue Cliff Record.

A monk asked Ummon, "What is the teaching that transcends the Buddha and patriarchs?" Ummon replied, "A sesame bun." — Blue Cliff Record, Case No. 77.

A monk asked Zhaozhou, "What is the meaning of the ancestral teacher’s (Bodhidharma’s) coming from the west?" Zhaozhou answered, "The cypress tree in front of the hall." This is part of Case No. 37 in the Wumenguan and Case No. 47 in the Book of Serenity.

Cultural legacy

In the 18th century, Gentō Sokuchū, the leader of Dogen's Eihei-ji, worked to change the Sōtō Zen tradition by removing practices and ideas from other schools, such as Rinzai, including the use of kōans. A Zen monk named Ikkyū, who had unusual ideas, spent years thinking about kōans while making dolls for a merchant in Kyoto. He focused on a specific kōan from The Gateless Gate, which led to him receiving the name "Ikkyū" as part of his spiritual journey.

Alan Watts, a writer, faced criticism from Buddhist scholars like Philip Kapleau and D. T. Suzuki for not fully understanding Zen. Watts claimed that a kōan supported his choice not to practice zazen meditation. Suzuki later said he was sorry that Watts did not understand the story correctly.

Douglas Hofstadter's 1979 book Gödel, Escher, Bach discusses how kōans relate to confusing questions and how they help people think about reality in new ways. Inspired by Zen ideas, including kōans, Frank Herbert included similar themes of paradox in his Dune series. He described how the story was built using repeating patterns, much like a kōan.

The 1989 South Korean film Why Has Bodhi-Dharma Left for the East? uses kōans in its story. Its title comes from a kōan about Bodhidharma, the founder of Zen.

Alejandro Jodorowsky, a filmmaker who loved Zen, studied kōans with a monk named Ejo Takata. After making a film called The Holy Mountain, Jodorowsky gave a speech about kōans at the University of Mexico. Takata then gave him a keisaku, a tool used in Zen practice, as a sign that Jodorowsky had learned about kōans.

In Jack Kerouac's 1958 book The Dharma Bums, he wrote about a kōan called the Yunmen shit-stick, describing it as "The Buddha is a dried piece of turd." A manga titled The Gateless Barrier by Kazuo Koike and Goseki Kojima centers on a kōan: "If you meet a Buddha, kill him," as the main character must kill a "living Buddha."

In hacker culture, short stories called "hacker koans" were created about computer science. The book Jargon File includes many of these, such as the "AI Koans." Another book, The Codeless Code, is about software engineers and uses the title The Gateless Gate.

The song "False Prophet" by Bob Dylan includes a line: "I climbed a mountain of swords on my bare feet," which refers to a kōan from The Gateless Gate. Musician Brian Eno worked with Intermorphic to create a music program called Koan. In 2009, composer Tyshawn Sorey released an album titled Koan.

The 1997 novel The Sound of One Hand Clapping by Richard Flanagan and its 1998 film adaptation are named after a kōan by Hakuin Ekaku. A 2014 episode of Fargo titled "Eating the Blame" is named after a kōan from Shasekishū. A writer named Cyriaque Lamar noted that the way technology was shown in Tron: Legacy reminded people of kōans.

Criticism

An encounter dialogue is a story that forms part of a koan/gong'an. It describes a conversation between a master and a student who is being tested, or between rivals in a spiritual competition. Mario Poceski explains that these stories are not historically accurate and "have little or nothing to do with the lives, ideas, or teachings of the Tang-era people in them." Instead, they reflect the creative choices and religious imagination of Chan monks in the mid-tenth century. Steven Heine notes that these writings focus on persuading an audience about the importance of master-disciple relationships, rather than recording facts. Their purpose was to support the authority of Chan teachers and establish the hierarchy of spiritual transmission.

Albert Welter challenges the idea that stories of master-disciple encounters in Chan yulu (recorded sayings) are based on real conversations between teachers and students in private spaces. He argues that these stories are "an artifice" to create the image of Chan as a secret tradition of direct, mind-to-mind teaching. Later Chan practices, such as gong'an (koan) investigations and private interviews between masters and students, were influenced by this literary tradition. Welter explains that the focus on a "special transmission" shifted Chan from using sermons to creating encounter dialogues as a new style, which eventually became central to Chan.

For example, in the Huangbo literature, Dale S. Wright observes that early texts include rational sermons that discuss religious ideas. However, later Chan yulu texts replace these with stories about the unusual behavior and speech of Chan masters. Wright notes that new stories about Huangbo were added over time, and by the Ming dynasty, many of these stories were written in styles that fit the focus of mature Chinese Zen. Welter explains that stories describing strange actions, like hitting or shouting, are best understood as exaggerated portrayals that reflect the motives of the people who created them, not the true nature of the masters.

Poceski explains that even though Zen is often seen as promoting freedom, encounter-dialogue stories actually show a tradition bound by religious rules. He says these stories are repetitive and follow common patterns, describing them as "mass produced" and "artificially manufactured." Poceski writes that these texts are products of a conservative tradition that aimed to promote a specific version of Buddhist teachings and secure its position as the main form of elite Chinese Buddhism.

Poceski notes that Chan masters' interpretations of gong'an are limited by "a certain type of Chan orthodoxy," meaning they are influenced by religious ideas and goals of religious leaders. He explains that gong'an stories are treated as true representations of enlightened behavior, even though there is no strong evidence to support this. These stories are not questioned and are instead treated as accepted beliefs, supported by tradition and religious institutions.

Poceski explains that gong'an stories were used to serve the goals of religious organizations and were tied to power structures. These stories helped Chan masters appear as part of a mystical lineage, reinforcing their authority. At the same time, the dramatic way these stories were written impressed educated elites in Song China, who were the intended audience. Alan Cole suggests that koan writing was a literary activity with little connection to meditation.

Foulk explains that commenting on a gong'an is not just about teaching students but also about showing a master's authority, both in relation to a student and to the spiritual leaders of the past. A master's authority is both based on the respect for older leaders and absolute, as the living master has the final say. Cole adds that explaining koans is a performance that positions the commentator as a master of tradition, even surpassing the Tang-era Chan masters who appear in these stories.

Foulk explains that koans assume a clear hierarchy where the person explaining the koan has more authority than the original story itself. He writes that whoever can act as a judge of old stories is seen as a true representative of spiritual wisdom. Stuart Lachs sees koans as literary creations that support power structures in Zen institutions. He notes that the ritual of discussing koans between a student and master is presented as timeless, even though it is an invention of religious organizations. Lachs quotes Peter Berger, who says such rituals help people forget that religious systems were created by humans and depend on human agreement.

Poceski explains that gong'an explanations use strategies to avoid criticism, such as claiming critics lack true understanding of Chan. This reflects the belief that Chan is better than traditional Buddhist teachings. Poceski writes that people who criticize Chan can be dismissed as unenlightened and lacking deep knowledge, showing how authority is protected. He notes that modern books about Zen often continue these patterns.