The Practice of Time

Time and Practice in Deleuze and Dōgen

Margus Ott and Alari Allik

Several philosophers have been interested in the essential tem-

porality of the human being and how it tends to degenerate into a non-
authentic form of being like the “superficial self ” of Bergson (1960,
128–39) or the Man-Selbst of Heidegger (1996, 107–122). But little is
said about how the authentic temporal being can be regained in practice.
In the following, we propose that this may be achieved by the “prac-
tice of time.” We investigate this proposal from the perspective of both
practice and time. First, we review the analysis of time made by Deleuze
in his “Difference and Repetition” (dr, 70–91). He presents three “syn-
theses” of time, each of which has two forms—passive (the original
synthesis) and active (a derivative synthesis). To illustrate the third and
final synthesis of time, Deleuze gives the example of certain literary and
“tragic” figures like Hamlet and Oedipus. He describes their relationship
with action in three stages. He shows how they gain the ability to act
and how this action shatters the ego. It therefore seems that a particular
practice is the essence of time itself. In our view, this is merely the active
or derivative form of the third aspect of time; the passive or original ver-
sion is missing. We propose that the “practice of time” could perform
this function. To understand what this means, we refer to Dōgen’s con-
cept of “practice” (shugyō 修行).

148
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 149

We analyze Dōgen’s account of the practice of zazen (or, more pre-

cisely, shikantaza) in terms of three characteristics, which are analogous
to Deleuze’s three aspects of time. Granted the arbitrariness of applying
such hermeneutics to Dōgen, our purpose has not been to reveal a hid-
den and heretofore undiscovered thought structure. Indeed, his texts are
polymorphous to the extent that it is impossible to apply a “system,” à
la Hegel. Our aim is rather to propose one hermeneutics, which we hope
will be illuminating though certainly not exhaustive. Examining the
temporal aspect of Dōgen’s account of practice in the light of Deleuze’s
analysis of time, we hope to show how time may be said to constitute the
essence of practice itself.

Time­
The First Aspect: Contemplation and Contraction
In our experience of time, the present is not an ideal, vanish-
ing point between the past and the future. Rather, it possesses a cer-
tain “volume,” a quantity of implicit content that has been condensed
or “contracted” in its interior (mm, 69–71, 137–9, 205–8). Bergson gives
the example of the perception of light, where billions of light waves are
concentrated to produce a single perceptual act (mm, 205). For us, the
act is an indivisible whole, but of itself it contains a myriad light waves
which we contract and construct. Thus the quality (for example, the per-
ception of the color red) is essentially the result of the contraction of a
certain quantity (light waves of 405–80 thz). In order to contract those
light-waves, we must have a kind of automatic “memory” that “remem-
bers” huge quantities of elementary oscillations and accumulates them,
so that before we perceive light, we have already amassed an enormous
number of small events (light-wave oscillations or photon impacts). The
first oscillations have vanished, but for us, they have been preserved; they
are “remembered” and combine to produce the perception.
Deleuze calls the place of this process of accumulation or contrac-
tion the “contemplative soul” (dr, 74) or “larval subject” (dr, 78). The
function of the contemplative soul is to contract events to suit its capaci-
ties. We may say that for every kind of event there is a particular self:
150 | The Practice of Time

an acoustic self for contracting auditory signals, a visual self for ocular
stimuli (or perhaps various visual selves for different aspects of vision,
such as shape, color, movement, faces, and so forth.). These are percep-
tual examples, but Deleuze goes on to say that our bodies themselves
are collections of contractions: every cell and every organ is the result
of contractions of nutrition, energy, and forces (cf. dr, 73). Before light
can be perceived by the eye, the eye itself has to be created. Those bodily
contractions give birth to our “living presents,” and time as duration is
generated. In the living present, previous contractions are retained and
subsequent ones are anticipated, and in this way, habits from the past
and predilections for the future are formed (and the stronger the habit,
the greater the predilection). However, they are both “dimensions of the
present itself” (dr, 71).
Contraction and contemplation is the first aspect of time. Deleuze
calls it a “passive synthesis” which is not yet subject to the require-
ments of action. This is pure presence—the experience of itself and its
surroundings—before it is divided into action (motor system) and per-
ception (sensory system). After this division, we enter “active synthesis,”
the dynamic counterpart of the first aspect of time, which entails the
reconstruction of time, no longer as duration, but rather as a succession
of equal moments in an intellectualized “space of time.” At this point,
we distinguish and organize moments that were previously contracted
and fused together in passive synthesis (dr, 71). According to this spatial
concept of time, moments are made exterior to each other and become
homogeneous and equal1 (Bergson 1960, 124–5). This is abstract or
intellectual time, where future, past, and present are reified as sections of
an ideal “timeline.”

1. According to Bergson, “homogeneous” means that the nature of the object is

not affected by division: we can divide matter into smaller units and discover more
entities, but not something essentially different—this is the “difference of degree,”
related to space. (Today we would say that this is valid up to a certain point of magni-
tude where the quantum effects become more visible, introducing an aspect that is by
nature different from the macroscopic level.) “Heterogeneous” means that the nature
of the object changes in the course of division: if I pay attention to my psychological
state of mind, the attention itself changes the state of mind—this is the “difference of
nature,” related to duration.
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 151

The Second Aspect: Pure Past

It is obvious that the living present has existed from the very begin-
ning, and that its flow has remained uninterrupted. In principle, all the
events that have ever been contracted combine to produce the present.
In similar fashion, music is created when I “remember” all the previous
notes in addition to the present one, so that together they form an ever-
changing whole. The difference is that a musical composition usually has
a definite beginning and end, whereas the two ends of the “music” of
our lives vanish into darkness. This darkness does not imply that there
was not, nor ever will be, any contemplation and contraction, but simply
that a certain type of duration has not yet been established (at birth) or
has disappeared (at death). It is also evident that if the conscious self has
been suspended during sleep, or due to illness or injury, contemplation
and contraction has still been occurring at a certain level (which is why
we can regain consciousness after sleeping or fainting, and return to a
“higher level”).
But if it is true that there has been no radical break in contempla-
tion and contraction, and that the entire past is retained in the present,
then in principle we should remember everything we have experienced.
Why is it not so? Why is our capacity to recall our memories so limited?
Bergson argues that it is due to embodiment: every creature’s impera-
tive is to adjust its behavior to its surroundings in order adequately to
respond to particular situations. In other words, the body (the result of
contractions) is designed to act, and must therefore be receptive to the
future (that which awaits us) and closed to the past (the active influence
of which has ended). It uses memory to formulate behavior in its envi-
ronment, drawing on past experience to provide clues to present action.
Only that which is useful is remembered; everything else is blocked. This
is “primal repression.” Bergson calls this dominance of action “atten-
tion to life” (mm, 173).2 In principle, our experience has been uninter-
rupted from the beginning, and everything has been accumulated and

2. This theory could also explain the phenomenon of “life review” in near-death
experiences: because death seems inevitable and attention to life is suddenly diverted,
the filtering aspect of memory is removed, and all of the past suddenly becomes acces-
sible, for us as it is in itself.
152 | The Practice of Time

preserved, but in fact, only a minuscule part is accessible. Of course, our

personalities are the condensation and interpenetration of all our past
experiences (they are our “life-song”), but normally, only useful memo-
ries are explicitly accessible from this interwoven whole.
This is the second aspect of time. The former aspect was characterized
by contemplation and contraction combining to form the living present.
But insofar as it has always existed, all of the past is retained, forming an
ever-changing whole, or “life-melody” as we called it. De jure, the entire
past can be accessible to us (as in a “life review”), but de facto, present
access is most often limited to a very small portion. In a word, we have
contracted the whole of the past into a very brief span of time, in such a
way that its different components are completely indistinguishable, even
though the distinctions implicitly remain (because it is their totality that
comprises our “personality”). We can retrieve discrete past experiences,
especially those that relate to the present situation and help to illuminate
it. As was the case with the first synthesis of time, the second aspect also
includes a primary passive synthesis (the whole of memory), and a sec-
ondary active version (the capacity to explicitly recall certain memories
from that whole, or more precisely, the capacity to block most memo-
ries).
In its second aspect we enter the past as the “in-itself ” of time—the
virtual interpenetration of the totality of its moments. This “pure past”
is not a dimension of the present, but rather the necessary additional
dimension through which the passing of the present is made possible:
It is futile to try to reconstitute the past from the presents between
which it is trapped, either the present which it was or the one in rela-
tion to which it is now past. In effect, we cannot believe that the
past is constituted after it has been present, or because a new pres-
ent appears. If a new present were required for the past to be consti-
tuted as past, then the former present would never pass and the new
one would never arrive. No present would ever pass were it not past
“at the same time” as it is present; no past would ever be constituted
unless it were first constituted “at the same time” as it was present.
This is the first paradox: the contemporaneity of the past with the
present that it was.…
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 153

A second paradox emerges: the paradox of coexistence. If each past is

contemporaneous with the present that it was, then all of the past coex-
ists with the new present in relation to which it is now past. The past
is no more “in” this second present than it is “after” the first—whence
the Bergsonian idea that each actual present is only the entire past in
its most contracted state.… [T]he past, far from being a dimension of
time, is the synthesis of all time of which the present and the future
are only dimensions. We cannot say that it was. It no longer exists, it
does not exist, but it insists, it consists, it is.… It is the in-itself of time
as the final ground of the passage of time. In this sense it forms a pure,
general, a priori element of all time.…The paradox of pre-existence
thus completes the other two: each past is contemporaneous with the
present it was, the whole past coexists with the present in relation
to which it is past, but the pure element of the past in general pre-
exists the passing present. (dr, 81–2, translation slightly modified)3
Bergson, the inspiration for this Deleuzian idea, represents this pure
past schematically by means of his well-known cone of memory:

Figure 1. The cone of memory by Bergson (mm:

a b 162). ab is the pure past, the ontological dimen-
sion; it is the basis of changing which does not
change itself (the virtuality). s is the body as the
a' b' locus of sensation, or sensorimotor activity, as
an ever-changing point of the cone. a' b' and a''
b'' represent intermediary levels of contraction
a'' b'' of the whole of the past between the pure past
and the sensorimotor present. p is the plane of
perception, or matter as pure perception (the
actuality). Matter is a state of vanishing mem-
s ory, the maximum relaxation of contraction,
p so that the moments and parts fall apart and
become exterior to each other. Real perception
always entails some degree of contraction.

3. This is Deleuze’s favorite topic of analysis, which he repeats over three decades,
beginning with an essay in 1956, “Bergson’s Conception of Difference” (Deleuze
1999), and extending to a 1985 essay entitled “Cinema 2” (Deleuze 1989). It is one
of very few motifs that recur frequently in his thinking and writing.
154 | The Practice of Time

But the idea of the pure past requires further development. The whole
of the past is not limited to one being, but extends to all of being. We
may think back in time and ask, When does contemplation begin? Let us
suppose that my first memories are from my third birthday party. But the
fact that I remember this shows that at the time I was already a subject
of contemplation. Did this contemplative system begin with the acquisi-
tion of language? Language seems to be related to the capacity to recall
memories at will, but it clearly did not create my momentary duration,
my living present, out of nothing. I already existed, and language only
transformed my way of existing, my particular “melody.”
This concept may be applied to all prior phases of ontogenesis. Neither
birth nor the moment of conception may be considered the point at
which contemplation is created; they merely transform previous forms
of contemplation. In the case of conception, the oocyte and the sperma-
tozoon that come together are themselves contemplations and contrac-
tions, so that conception may be described as a mere transformation of
the mode of contemplation, not its creation.4 I am composed of parts of
my parents’ bodies, from their “subconscious.” In this sense, individual-
ity is not absolute and all living beings, from the very beginning of life,
are engaged in a web of interconnections (as shown, for example, by
Ruyer 1946, 1).
The pure pasts that enable the duration of different subjects cannot
be separated from each other; otherwise, contact with them would be
impossible. They must be identical, forming the basis of an immense cos-
mic memory (dr, 83; b, 100). But in fact, every individual actualizes only
a certain level of contraction or relaxation of this virtual memory-cone
(b, 101), which itself actualizes only a small part of its own virtual mem-
ory (namely, that which is related to its present behavior). Therefore for-
getting is an essential characteristic of human being. It is not something
that “happens” to us as a matter of chance, but is a foundational act that
distinguishes our mode of being from others. We forget because we have
to pay attention to life, as Bergson says, we have to act in our surround-

4. In other words, parts of interpenetration cannot be composed of juxtaposed ele-

ments; it is impossible to reconstitute an impression of Paris from sketches if one has
never seen Paris (Bergson 1946: 200).
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 155

ings. For Bergson, therefore, the brain is more an organ for forgetting
than remembering: it holds most of the past at bay and allows only cer-
tain memories to pass through its filter, by adopting an attitude which in
some respects resembles (by similarity or contiguity) the memory that we
recall. “Such is the brain’s part in the work of memory: it does not serve
to preserve the past, but primarily to mask it, then to allow only what is
practically useful to emerge through the mask” (Bergson 1920, 71).

The Third Aspect: The Pure Form of Time

The first and second aspects of time define a mechanism for novel cre-
ation. Through contemplation and contraction we produce a certain
type of duration, which is connected to our bodies and perceptions. The
pure past enables the present to recede and duration to continue, by
maintaining the whole of the past contemporaneous with the present and
by furnishing an extra dimension (“perpendicular” to duration) where
the present can be reflected and parts of the past useful for determining
future action can be extracted. As we have stated, the necessity for immi-
nent action or “attention to life” is the tool with which the virtual past
is contracted into the actual present, thus creating a difference between
them. The need for attention to life and for action in our surroundings
requires us to differentiate between the first and second aspects of time.
Clearly novel creation, or the renewal of time, is dependent on the
utilitarian need for acting in a given environment. This means that the
pure past, as the condition for the possibility of the present, remains
anchored in the present, “the shortcoming of the ground is to remain
relative to that which it grounds” (dr, 88). The transcendental condition
remains subject to empirical conditioning. This is why individuals tend
to lag behind their surroundings in direct proportion to the complex-
ity of their bodies. The forms and modalities of action are already more
or less in place, leaving too little time for the individual to search its
memory and prepare for a new situation. It remains essentially reactive in
its responses to external stimuli, which in its turn occasions a gap in reac-
tion time. Thus, the problem is how to exist in time, and how to become
fully active. This implies that individuals, by suspending their partial and
156 | The Practice of Time

insignificant interests toward action, are able to devote more attention to

the whole of life.
All of this works to enhance the energy or intensity of duration, and
at the same time, engage the whole of the past. Our potential capac-
ity for creation is limited because we use only a small part of our past.
Bergson defines free action not as the ability to choose between two
possible actions, but rather as the extent to which we invest ourselves
in the action, that is, how effective we are in integrating all the nuances
and details of our past (see Bergson 1960, 165–7). Action that is not free
is automatic, a customary response to a standard situation in which we
select and act on the basis of a portion of our past. A mundane choice (for
example between coffee and tea) is characteristic of this superficial self.
Free action makes use of the whole rather than merely of selected splin-
ters of the past. In free action, the individual has both maximum capacity
to differentiate itself from itself (by avoiding mechanical and unvarying
repetition), and the complementary power of integrating itself (by mak-
ing use of the whole of the past). Differentiation and integration are
the two complementary aspects of novel creation, or the pure form of
time, which is free from events and temporal conditions. The pure form
of time “itself unfolds […] instead of things unfolding in it” (dr, 88).
According to Deleuze, this synthesis is necessarily “static, since time is
no longer subordinated to movement; time is the most radical form of
change, but the form of change does not change” (dr, 89). This would
be neither the living present nor the pure past, but rather the pure form
of being towards the future. The riddle to be solved is whether and how
a finite being is able to reduce or overcome its limitations and respond
to being as such.
In his discussion of the third synthesis, Deleuze first presents the pas-
sive version of the synthesis, the empty form of time. He explains that for
Kant the Cartesian cogito was not sufficient because it does not account
for how the determination I think can bear directly on the undetermined
existence of I am, for “in order to think, one must exist.” Kant therefore
adds a third logical value—the determinable, or pure form of determina-
tion. In so doing, he discovers a Difference that is no longer an empirical
difference between two determinations (to do this rather than that), but
a transcendental Difference between Difference as such and its determi-
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 157

nation, “no longer in the form of an external difference which separates,

but in the form of an internal Difference which establishes an a priori
relation between thought and being” (dr, 86).
The dimension in which undetermined existence is determinable by
the I think is time, the pure form of time, which fractures the self. It is a
passive synthesis:
[M]y undetermined existence can be determined only within time as
the existence of a phenomenon, of a passive, receptive phenomenal
subject appearing within time. As a result, the spontaneity of which I
am conscious in the ‘I think’ cannot be understood as the attribute of
a substantial and spontaneous being, but only as the affection of a pas-
sive self which experiences its own thought—its own intelligence, that
by virtue of which it can say I—being exercised in it and upon it but
not by it. [...] To “I think” and “I am” must be added the self—that
is, the passive position. (dr, 86)
But it would seem there is an inconsistency in Deleuze’s theory. When
he discusses the three series of time in relation to the third synthesis, he
seems to be referring to the active version. The form of time is ordered
around a caesura and
[T]he caesura, of whatever kind, must be determined in the image of
a unique and tremendous event, an act which is adequate to time as a
whole. [...] It must be called a symbol by virtue of the unequal parts
which it subsumes and draws together, but draws together as unequal
parts. Such a symbol adequate to the totality of time may be expressed
in many ways: to throw the time out of joint, to make the sun explode,
to throw oneself into the volcano, to kill God or the father.“ This sym-
bol articulates the pure form of time in three moments: the past where
the action is “too big for me,” then the present of transformation or
becoming-equal to the act; and finally the future where the self that
has become equal is smashed into pieces and thrown away, or where
the self has become equal to the unequal in itself. (dr, 89–90)
The reader is given the impression that the third and final synthesis of
time is exhaustively covered by those tragic images of action. We would
argue that they are merely examples of the active, secondary version of
the synthesis, and that the “practice of time” is the passive, primary ver-
158 | The Practice of Time

sion. In order to consider this missing element, we may now turn to

Dōgen and his practice of shikantaza.

The time of practice

The First Aspect: A Mountain Always Practices
Let us begin by examining some passages in Dōgen’s writing
that correspond to the first synthesis of time from the perspective of
the practice of shikantaza. Dōgen often refers to four great elements
(四大), which, as they unfold, constantly form different entities and sen-
sations that are part of our practice, but also “practice us”:
When you practice shugyō by garnering your own body-and-mind, and
when you practice by garnering the body-and-mind of anyone, the
power of practicing with the four elements and the five aggregates
is realized at once; but the four elements and five aggregates do not
taint the self. [All things,] even the four elements and five aggregates
of today, carry on being practiced and the power which the four ele-
ments and five aggregates have as practice in the present moment (如
今) makes the four elements and five aggregates, as described above,
into practice. (sg 1, 357, trans. Nishijima and Cross 1994, 100)

The teaching of the four original elements (mahābhūta) was devel-

oped by different schools of thought in India to describe the basic con-
stituents of the world in relationship to the corresponding sense organs,
which are thought to be formed by their interaction with the elements.
In Mahāyāna Buddhism, the elements describe different attributes: earth
is solidity, water is fluidity, fire is warmth, and wind is motion manifesting
itself in change and expansion. The constituent elements resist or “move
against” something (prathighāta) and cannot exist independently. Every
material object is comprised of equal amounts of these four elements,
and the nature of n object is therefore not defined by the quantity but
rather by the intensity of the dominant element. These constituents are
invisible but manifest themselves in a way that differs from their actual
nature (Lysenko 2009, 513). In the Abhidharmakośa, these four ele-
ments (solidity, fluidity, warmth, and motion) are seen to be the key con-
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 159

stituents of the rūpa-dharma (material dharmas) that refer to the senses

and corresponding sense objects (Matsunaga 1992, 31).
This concept of the elements also influenced the Chan tradition. A
well-known example of this teaching is found in the “Harmony of Dif-
ference and Sameness” by Shitou Xiqian (700–790), which is still recited
as part of the practice of different schools of Chan/Zen:
The four elements return to their natures
just as a child turns to its mother.
Fire heats, wind moves,
water wets, earth is solid.
Eye and sight, ear and sound,
Nose and smell, tongue and taste
Thus for each and every thing,
depending on these roots, the leaves spread forth.
(Suzuki 1999, 20)
According to Dōgen’s understanding of the four elements and five
skandhas, matter itself constantly practices5. We constitute a certain resis-
tance of matter—a solidity in the unfolding of matter—and our senses
are continuously formed as contractions and contemplations of the ele-
ments. These “unseen movements” form a field of passive syntheses,
which have a particular intensity and duration. This would be “practice”
on the level of the constituent elements themselves. Practice is an inten-
sity of movement that maintains itself at all levels of existence. Dōgen
therefore says in “Maintaining the Practice“ (Gyōji 行持):
In maintaining the practice there is sun, moon and stars, in maintain-
ing the practice there is great earth and limitless sky, in maintaining
the practice there are various conditioned bodies and minds, in main-
taining the practice there are four great elements and five skandhas.
Maintaining of the practice leads to a place not loved by the worldly
people, but it is the true returning point for all human beings. Differ-
ent Buddhas of the past, present and future are actualized (現成) as

5. The Chinese teaching of the five elements—wuxing (五行) did not regard the
formation of the senses and sense-objects in exactly the same vein and depth as the
Buddhist tradition. We would nevertheless like to point out that because the element
“moves” (行), it may be said to “practice.”
160 | The Practice of Time

the different Buddhas of the past, present and future in maintaining

the practice. (sg 1, 156)

The meaning of the term gyōji is to eternally maintain the path of the
Buddha’s ancestors (zd, 221). But it is significant that there is no one
“individual” who upholds the practice, as if carrying the weight of the
whole world on his shoulders. Practice upholds itself; it is the constant
movement, the constant unfolding of the “leaves” of practice that main-
tains the world in its ten directions. From this perspective, we can also
take Dōgen quite literally when he states in the Sansuikyō:
[A] mountain always practices in every place. (md, 98)
When your learning is immature, you are shocked by the words “flow-
ing mountains.” (md, 99)

As Abe Masao has noted: “Dōgen broadens the meaning of shujō,

which traditionally referred to living or sentient beings, to include non-
living or non-sentient beings” (Abe 1992, 54). Contemplation and con-
traction are manifested even in mountains and trees. The mountain also
maintains the practice, as do the sun, moon and stars, because they are
all contemplations engaged in ceaseless practice. Contemplation is ubiq-
uitous, and the contemplations of more complex beings are but the inte-
grations and transformations of simpler contemplations. Dōgen remarks
in the “Body-and-Mind Study of the Way” (Shinjin-gakudō):
All this is merely a moment or two of mind (一念二念). A moment
or two of mind is a moment of mountains, rivers, and earth, or two
moments of mountains, rivers, and earth. (sg 1, 75, md, 89)

“One moment” (一念) signifies an “extremely small movement of the

mind” (zd, 34). This appears to be the most exact equivalent of contrac-
tion and contemplation in the sense of time. By doubling the moments
of contemplation (二念), duration becomes possible, because (as we have
explained above) previous contractions are retained and subsequent ones
are anticipated.
This concept of ceaseless practice as a passive synthesis of contempla-
tion has given rise to a naive understanding of time, which subjects the
living present to the requirements of action and “spatializes” time, mak-
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 161

ing its implicit parts explicit and unfolding them in an intellectual space
of time. This image of time is actually space, because its components
are treated as identical and homogeneous. It is only in the secondary
“active” modality that one can conceive of different possibilities of being,
such as birth and death (md, 74–75 and elsewhere); or “for a while I was
three heads and eight arms” and “for a while I was an eight- or sixteen-
foot body” (md, 77); or “there is delusion and realization, practice, and
birth and death, and there are buddhas and sentient beings” (md, 69).
In other words, one conceives of birth and death, practice and realiza-
tion as different points in time.
It might be argued that the spatialization of time gives us the capacity
to distance ourselves from our immediate surroundings, to take a step
back. We become capable of voluntarily delaying our actions. But in so
doing, we lose immediate contact and interaction with our surroundings
and thus lose sight of the essence of time, the temporal whole.

The Second Aspect: Ground and Occasion

In his analysis of Dōgen, Abe focuses on the aspect of Dōgen’s think-
ing that is parallel to the “pure past,” namely, the second aspect of time
discussed above. Interestingly enough, Abe draws cone shapes similar
to Bergson’s. Deleuze enlarged Bergson’s cone to comprise the whole
of being, and Abe does likewise, adding new details. Like Bergson, Abe
constructs his scheme step by step. The starting point is a paradox that
had confounded Dōgen as a young Tendai monk. He writes:
Both exoteric and esoteric Buddhism teach the primal buddha-nature
[...] and the original self-awakening of all sentient beings. If this is the
case, why have the buddhas of all ages had to awaken the longing for
and seek enlightenment by engaging in ascetic practice? (Abe 1992, 19)

To illustrate this, Abe draws a figure with two dimensions indicated

a horizontal line and a vertical arrow. The former represents practice
(acquired awakening) and the latter attainment (original awakening)
(Abe 1992, 25). It is not possible to choose between the two, because
they are both aspects of the same reality: practice engenders awakening
and the buddha-nature is the source of awakening. An action (practice)
162 | The Practice of Time

is required to awaken the awakening, but there must also be an awaken-

ing (buddha-nature) to be awakened.
Practice is therefore not merely a means to an end (realization), but
is already realization. In Abe’s thinking, every moment of practice (the
emergence of the idea of enlightenment, practice and realization) is
directly connected to realization (26). And just as Deleuze establishes
that the pure past pre-exists the present, Abe demonstrates that the two
aspects are not symmetrical: “their distinction [...] must be clearly real-
ized; attainment (awakening) is more fundamental than practice, not the
other way around” (26).
In Bergson’s scheme, only the “ground” (memory) is portrayed by the
cone and the “occasion” (matter) remains as a plane.6 Bergson acknowl-
edged that matter is contracted to different degrees, but he did not rep-
resent them in his scheme. Abe does portray this aspect in his “cone
of actuality.” Our human world is only one aspect of the world, which
is part of a larger circle of sentient beings, and finally encompassed by
the entire universe. Abe describes four levels of expansion of the cone
(illustrated n Figure 2 on the following page): oneself (the ego), human
beings, sentient beings and the whole of being.
The cone of actuality intersects with a second cone, that of virtuality
(to borrow the Deleuzian concept). Abe introduces the idea of virtual-
ity by saying that original awakening is contemporaneous with acquired
awakening, but more “fundamental.” He then reconciles this idea with
the cosmic cone of being and states that the buddha-nature encompasses
all of existence (Abe 1992, 42). In other words, not only are sentient
beings endowed with a buddha-nature, including trees and grasses as
in Chinese and Japanese Buddhism (Stone 1999, 29–31), but every-
thing that exists is endowed with a buddha-nature, which thus extends
to “whole-being.” As we indicated earlier, no creatures are incapable of
contemplation and contraction.
If we superimpose the two cones, we obtain a final scheme, as shown
in Figure 3 on the following page. Without analyzing the whole of the
diagram, we would draw attention to the following three elements:

6. Some indication of an expansion of the dimension of matter or perception can

be found in a previous version of the scheme, Bergson 1911: 128.
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 163

Oneself (ego)

birth-and-death
Human beings (human dimension

generation-and extinction
Living beings (living dimension

appearance-and-disappearance
being and nonbeing
All beings (being dimension)
saṃsāra-qua­-nirvāna

Figure 2. Degrees of contraction and expansion of the cone of actuality, as rep-

resented by Abe (1992: 44), from the maximum contraction of “oneself” at the
top to the minimum contraction of “all beings” at the bottom.

buddha-nature buddha-nature is
(no buddha-nature) impermanence impermanence — buddha-nature
all beings are the buddh-nature

nirvāna
saṃsāra-qua­-nirvāna
Realization of imperma-
Human beings nence qua realization of
buddha-nature
True Self
saṃsāra

all beings impermanence is

(buddha-nature) cosmos buddha-nature

Figure 3. “The dynamic and non-dualistic structure of ‘Whole-being is

the buddha-nature’ or impermanence–buddha-nature” (Abe 1992, 59).
164 | The Practice of Time

1. The cone of actuality stands upright. The whole of being (the cos-
mos) is the base and the ego is the tip. This cone is saṃsāra.
2. The inverted cone of virtuality has buddha-nature as its base. This
cone is nirvāna. Abe does not provide a label for the tip of this
cone. We would like to suggest the “image or figure of Buddha,”
the “intention to become Buddha,” or the “no-self” (which we will
discuss later).
3. The awakened self is situated at the intersection of the two cones (on
the level of human beings, in conformity with the Buddhist tradition
that enlightenment is accessible only at the human level and not at
higher or lower levels). This is samsara qua nirvana.
According to the logic of the scheme, the difference between an awak-
ened and unawakened individual is that for the unawakened, the two
dimensions (buddha-nature and whole-being, nirvāna and saṃsāra) are
not distinguished but objectified in the sense that the individual reduces
them to his or her own size (an intermediate section of the cone). The
authentic or “true” self contracts that section to a single point (identified
on the scheme), and in so doing, achieves the pure ontological distinction
between buddha-nature and whole-being. The awakened individual also
amplifies them and realizes their infinite nature (the bases of the cones
are portrayed as dotted lines, to indicate bottomlessness). The unawak-
ened individual inhabits a small cone whose base is “human beings” and
whose tip is “ego.” The authentic self breaks through the human plane
with the help of the “image or figure of Buddha,” the “intention to
become the Buddha,” or the “no-self” that we have suggested as the tip
of the inverted cone. This testifies to the actuality of the virtual buddha-
nature and provides a guideline for breaking through the purely human
circle by drawing attention to the conditions for the possibility of this
circle, namely, the pure dimensions of ground and occasion.
In this way a human being is able to overcome egoism, to avoid shrink-
ing the cones to the constrained, deluded world, and thus to live at the
intersection of the cones—the one serving as a ground and the other as
an occasion. Abe cites Hegel’s Science of Logic to argue that these dimen-
sions are distinct but not separate or separable: “The truth is not their
lack of distinction, but that they are not the same, that they are abso-
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 165

lutely distinct, and yet unseparated and inseparable.” Dōgen expresses a

similar perspective when he writes that “all beings are all beings, insepa-
rable from each other yet without losing individuality” (Abe 1992, 61
and 64).
This scheme points to the third aspect, the true self. What does this
really mean? How is it possible to dwell on that bottomless level?

The Third Aspect: The Decentered Circle

The Passive Aspect: Non-doing
Dōgen’s model has parallels to the three series of time in Deleuze’s
third synthesis of time (definitive action, becoming-equal, equalizing the
unequal). We would argue that these aspects of action are preceded by
zazen—primordial non-action. Tragic heroes like Hamlet and Oedipus
hesitated before performing their “definitive actions.” But they were
unaware that this very hesitation, or non-action, constituted a deeper
level, the passive synthesis of the empty form of time.
Dōgen describes zazen as an act of “non-doing” in which the “true
form of self (自己の正躰) is realized” (sz, 171). This can be achieved not
by moving forward, but rather by “taking a step back”:
Take the backward step of turning the light and shining it back. Of
themselves body and mind drop away and your original face will
appear. (Bielefeldt 1988, 176)

By taking a step back7 and turning the light inwards, one goes beyond
thinking (shiryō) and not-thinking (fushiryō), and moves toward with-
out-thinking (hishiryō). The thinking “I” is not eradicated, but made
transparent—in the mode of without-thinking, it becomes an organ of
the “true self,” which constantly generates as well as negates thoughts.
Ordinary thinking revolves around intentions and plans; without-think-
ing is free from intentionality:
Without-thinking is distinct from thinking and not thinking precisely
in not assuming any intentional activity whatsoever: it neither affirms

7. The “step back” has also been a recurrent theme in the Western philosophical
tradition, from Plato to Heidegger (cf. Heidegger 2002).
166 | The Practice of Time

nor denies, accepts nor rejects, believes nor disbelieves. In fact, it does
not objectify implicitly or explicitly. (Kasulis 1985, 72–3)
During everyday activities, we sometimes experience breaks where
without-thinking suspends our usual state of mind. Kasulis gives the
example of a man taking a short rest while mowing his lawn. The man
“simply is as he is without any intentional activity at all” (73). For a
moment, he is not doing anything, yet he is completely present. Kasulis
tells us that without-thinking is a pre-reflective state of mind that “sup-
plies the raw material out of which the later reflective thinking act devel-
ops” (74). The “full and self-contained” present moment is the time
when the raw data of experience is collected:
Consequently, the present moment of experience is always full and
self-contained. Only when we engage in thinking or not-thinking and
objectify the experience of a past moment does that experience seem
limited and capable of being fully analyzed. (Kasulis 1985, 76)
For Kasulis, without-thinking occurs at the moment when we are
detached from immediate action and volition. During this moment a
“receptive intuition” behind the thinking self emerges and enables one
to fully experience time in its “suchness.” (The present moment in this
context means the suchness of time or the “empty form of time” in
Deleuze’s terms.)
In Kasulis’s example, the thinking self is suspended and resumed when
the pure experience of suchness is replaced by intellectual understand-
ing. In the context of zazen, it makes more sense not to separate these
processes in time but to affirm their contemporaneity in the experiencing
self. In zazen one experiences the “true form of self ”’ in the without-
thinking mode. The thinking “I” is experienced in the without-thinking
mode as the self’s Other. Dōgen states that: “There is someone in non-
thinking and this someone maintains us” (Bielefeldt 1988, 189). In
this statement, we can detect a fracture similar to the one that Deleuze
discusses in the third synthesis of time.
Dōgen tells us that buddhas do not necessarily know that they are
enlightened beings (md, 69), because if such a thought appeared in their
consciousness, it would immediately drop away. Enlightenment is an
unopposed movement of difference itself. It is the constant process of
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 167

dropping away, which leaves only traces, the empty shells of something
that has already moved beyond:
To study the buddha way is to study the self. To study the self is to
forget the self. To forget the self is to be actualized by myriad things.
When actualized by myriad things, the body and mind as well as the
bodies and minds of others drop away. No trace of realization remains,
and this no-trace continues endlessly. (md, 70)

We are compelled to ask, Who is it that thus comes? In this “drop-

ping away,” the non-doing of the “true self ” could be misunderstood
as merely doing nothing. The limited self’s conditioned way of thinking
appears inside without-thinking as a particular mode of being within the
all-encompassing contemplation of enlightened beings:
Only buddhas know the true self. People outside the way regard what
is not the self as the self. But what buddhas call the self is the entire
universe. Therefore, there is never an entire universe that is not the
self, with or without knowing it. (md, 164)

I am not only the “thinking I” who is a being in time, and the self who
is the “receptive intuition” (dr, 86) behind the thinking, but I am also
a contemplation of the buddhas themselves. The receptive intuition of
the passive self connects my being with the contemplation of the dharma
body of the self.
Thus the “whole of time” is present in the experience of sitting still,
and in the fracture of the self as the self confronts the Other within itself.
What makes zazen the activity of the “true self ” is that it does not try
to overcome this fracture by filling it with a new identity, (as did Kant,
according to Deleuze, see dr, 87). The fracture is not seen as a “fault,”
but rather as the source of non-dual activity. The fracture itself is the
“true form of self,” and the separation created by the fracture is exposed
as an illusion when the true form of difference is understood.

The Active Aspect: “Figuring” to Become a Buddha

Zazen cannot have a direct goal, and progress along the path cannot
be envisioned as movement from point a to point b, since in the reality
of practice-authentication, every moment of practice is directly linked
168 | The Practice of Time

to realization, as Abe demonstrated (1992, 26). In realization, a and b

interpenetrate. ab is constantly repositioning or decentering itself as an
“emerging trace of enlightenment.” The direct contact and constant
decentering of ab is illustrated in Dōgen’s discussion of the famous kōan
“Nanyue polishes a tile,” which is presented in Zazenshin:
When the Chan master Daji of Jiangxi8 was studying with the Chan
master Dahui of Nanyue9, after intimately receiving the mind seal, he
always sat in meditation. Once Nanyue went to Daji and said, “Wor-
thy one, what are you figuring to do, sitting there in meditation?”
Jiangxi said, “I’m figuring to make a Buddha.” At this point, Nanyue
took up a tile and began to rub it on a stone. At length, Daji asked,
“Master what are you doing?” Nanyue said, “I’m polishing this to
make a mirror.” Daji said, “How can you produce a mirror by polish-
ing a tile?” (Bielefeldt 1988, 191–3, names changed to pinyin)
In the classical understanding of this kōan, Mazu was assumed to be
“struggling to gain enlightenment” (Heine 2004, 5). Huairang was
demonstrating to Mazu that zazen has no goal whatsoever and that sit-
ting still in order to become a Buddha is pointless. Dōgen completely
overturns that common interpretation. For him, “figuring” (図) is the
process of sitting and polishing:
[S]eated meditation is always figuring to make a Buddha, is always the
figuring of making a Buddha. This figuring must be prior to making a
Buddha; it must be subsequent to making a Buddha; and it must be at
the very moment of making a Buddha. (Bielefeldt 1988, 192)
Creating a buddha is an event happening in the suchness of the present
moment (正当恁麼時). Figuring to become a buddha constitutes the fig-
ure of buddha-production (図作仏). This figure is a two-sided symbolon:
“before,” where enlightenment is perceived as “not yet,” and “after,” in
which one has already become a buddha. The intention to become a
Buddha brings the totality of time into the present moment of prac-

8. Daji (Great Tranquillity) is the posthumous name of Mazu Daoyi (709–788),

who taught in Jiangxi province.
9. Dahui (Great Wisdom) is the posthumous name of Nanyue Huairang (677–
744) from Nanyue province.
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 169

tice and the not-yet-enlightened self becomes identical with the already-
enlightened self in the “present of metamorphosis,” to borrow Deleuze’s
term (dr, 89). The entire event is thus described later as “killing Bud-
dha”:
At the very moment that we are seated Buddha we are killing Bud-
dha [...]. Although the word “kill” here is identical with that used
by ordinary people, [...] its meaning is not the same. Moreover we
must investigate in what form it is that a seated Buddha is killing Bud-
dha. Taking up the fact that it is itself a virtue of the Buddha to kill a
Buddha (殺仏), we should study whether we are killers (殺人) or not.
(Bielefeldt, 32; sg 1, 133)

As soon as the small self becomes buddha, it turns against the self (see
dr, 89) and erases both sides of the symbolon—the image of the self
and the image of the Buddha. Killing is an event that takes place in the
without-thinking mode of practice, and it eradicates both sides of the
symbolon, the ego as well as the figure of Buddha (in Abe’s scheme).
These sides are figured in the process of buddha-production.
Could “figuring” be considered an activity of “without-thinking”? In
figuring to become a buddha, we do not really intend to become a bud-
dha, but we are making both the goal and its negation visible; we are
making the conditionality of such “maps” or “figures” transparent by
introducing the empty form of time into the practice.
The division of the self disappears as soon as the practitioner takes
a step back. In stepping back, both sides of the symbolon of the self
become visible and are immediately discarded as empty shells. In this
act of stepping back and dropping away, the repetition of the difference
itself is affirmed: all acts are seen as non-acts in the non-doing of zazen.
As we have seen, in the Chan/Zen tradition there are some similarities
to the “enormous act” (killing Buddha) on the rhetorical level, but the
practice of seated meditation itself constitutes the “figuring” of the Bud-
dha in the mode of without-thinking and non-doing, where the fracture
of I and Self is continuously reenacted in its numerous manifestations.
The faces constantly return, the images are formed again and again, but
as soon as they appear, they drop away. It is this incessant process of
stepping back and dropping away that enables the “true return” of the
170 | The Practice of Time

practitioner to the pure past, which in turn enables the eternal return of
the old buddhas:
Although all forty Buddhist patriarchs are old buddhas—they have a
mind, they have a body, they have a state of brightness and a national
land, they have passed away some time ago and they have not yet
passed away. Both the “already passed away” and “not yet passed
away” should be seen as the virtue of old buddhas. Studying the path
of old buddhas is authenticating the path of old buddhas. From one
generation to the next the old buddhas [emerge]. Although the “old”
in old buddha appears to be same as “old” in the expression “new and
old” it completely overcomes the past and present by directly con-
necting them [...].
The self that does not abide in the old buddhas would not know
whence the old buddhas emerge. The one who knows where the old
buddhas abide is the old buddha. (sg, 123)
Dōgen hereby circumvents the historical past of the Buddhist patri-
archs and the buddhas of the “present of metamorphosis” by claiming
that all buddhas and patriarchs appear in the time of the “authentica-
tion of the path.” Therefore, enlightenment is the convergence of two
sources: practicing zazen and transmitting the teaching from the direct
lineage of Shakyamuni Buddha. Only by sitting still can you actually
“know” the old buddhas, and you will become at home in the place
from which the buddhas emerge. This is the place where the passive self
becomes the active self of the Buddha who constantly generates bud-
dhas. But, paradoxically, since this place is only accessible through the
practice of dropping away, one can only abide in the presence of the old
buddhas through the dropping away of the mind of the old buddhas:
Standing before the different buddhas, the mind of the old buddhas
blossoms, standing behind the different buddhas the mind of the old
Buddhas forms its fruits, standing before the mind of the old buddhas
the mind of the old buddhas will drop away (古仏心脱落). (sg, 117)
Dōgen admonishes us against attaching ourselves to the present moment,
since this would create a fixed center and suspend the eternal return of
the Buddhas. In practicing zazen, we disengage time and liberate its pure
empty form, so that time becomes the essence of practice.
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 171

Practicing time

This brings us back to our original subject, the “practice of

time.” Temporal life10 is a continuous process of contraction and con-
templation, which in daily life is subordinated to the goals and require-
ments of worldly activities. Time or temporality is implicitly the horizon
of all activities, and temporal phenomena such as goals, ideals and wishes
are made explicit. In order to “practice” time, it is necessary first to put
aside the direct aims of one’s activity and to relax one’s fixation on tem-
poral phenomena (ideas, desired objects, recollections, etc.). The only
“aim” must be observation or contemplation itself.
According to Bergson, the requirements, aims, and tools of action
restrict the use of our “memory-cone”: we recall only that which is
related to our present activity. If we discard the goals of our activity, then
the “filter” of memory becomes more porous, more memories become
relevant to our present activity, and our vision of objects and ideas
becomes more nuanced. But just as outer goals or fixations constrain or
filter the mind, so can the inner search for nuance become a limiting fac-
tor that impairs pure temporality.
The mirror of the past must become the mirror of the pure past in
order to adequately reflect the present. In this “third stage,” one returns
in a certain sense to the first stage, which is characterized by contem-
plation and finding joy in contemplation. When we implicitly have the
whole of memory at our disposal, however, we are not as dependent on
contracted events. The first and second passive syntheses are also pas-
sive in the sense that they lack volition and are determined by empirical
circumstances. It is through the pure past that the self becomes more
autonomous, and it is through passivity toward habitual and ordinary
actions that one becomes active in a higher sense, more fully and thor-
oughly responsive to the world.
We may therefore distinguish three steps in the practice:
1. One contemplates, sets aside action-oriented goals, approaches pure
contemplation as “passive synthesis,” and contracts the present in

10. This is a pleonasm, but one cannot overemphasize the sense in which the tem-
porality of life calls us back us from the “eternal” world of ideas.
172 | The Practice of Time

pure contemplation. One becomes suffused with contentment dur-

ing this contemplation.11
2. At the same time, one relaxes the filter to the past, allowing more
and more memories to surface, without holding onto them. One
collects the whole of past, which has always been the basis of and
condition for empirical duration, but this is now “taken upon one-
self.” In this way, one transcends the empirical self and approaches
one’s condition or ground.
3. In order to persevere in the practice of time, one must ultimately
discard even the idea of practice, go beyond the ground, which also
liberates the ground, and become different without enslaving one-
self to the Different.
There is a point at which the “active” version of Deleuze’s tragic
heroes and the “passive” version of Dōgen’s shikantaza intersect. The
tragic hero becomes equal to the unequal, leaving behind the actor
(the empirical self, formed by contemplation) and the ground of action
(memory). This is free action, which has at its disposal unlimited poten-
tial for change and metamorphosis; it is the unfettered play of ground
and occasion. At the same time, the antihero of a zen-monk not only lets
go of all temporal phenomena or dharmas, but at a certain point breaks
free from the ground of their appearing (“kills the Buddha”), forever
going “beyond Buddha.”
Approaching the same situation from entirely different directions,
the actor and non-actor achieve a similar result: the practice of time or
enlightened becoming. The actor makes use of “definitive action” (to
kill God or the father, in Deleuze’s terms) and the non-actor, “definitive
non-action” (sitting still and figuring to become a buddha). The scope
and impossibility of action paralyzes the actor and forces him into passiv-
ity, which is an indirect result of his striving. This passivity is approached
directly by the non-actor, but in both cases the actors transcend their
form of practice (either “doing” or “non-doing”) and achieve the pure
practice of time.

11. Spinoza (Ethics, iii, prop. 53) states that when the mind contemplates itself and
its power of activity, it is affected by joy (Cum Mens se ipsam, suamque agendi poten-
tiam contemplatur, laetatur, Spinoza 1999: 286).
 Margus Ott & Alari Allik | 173

references

Abbreviations
b Gilles Deleuze, Bergsonism. (New York: Zone Books, 1991).
dr Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition (New York: Columbia Uni-
versity Press, 1994).
md Moon in a Dewdrop: Writings of Zen Master Dōgen, ed. by Kazuaki
Tanahashi (New York: North Point Press, 1985).
mm Henri Bergson, Matter and Memory, trans. by Nancy Margaret Paul
and W. Scott Palmer (New York: Zone Books, 1991).
sg 『正法眼蔵』, 寺田透 Terada Tōru et al., eds.『日本思想大系』(Tokyo: Iwa­
nami Shoten, 1970–1982), vols. 12–13.
sz 『正法眼蔵随聞記』, ed. by 山崎正一 Yamazaki Masakazu (Tokyo: Kōdan­
sha Gakujutsu Bunko, 2003).
zd 『禅学大辞典』[Dictionary of Zen studies] (Tokyo: Komazawa Univer-
sity, 1985).

Other works cited

Abe Masao 阿部正雄
1992 A Study of Dōgen (New York: State University of New York Press).
Bergson, Henri
1920 Mind-Energy: Lectures and Essays (London: Greenwood Press).
1946 Creative Mind (New York: Philosophical Library).
1960 Time and Free Will (New York: Harper).
Bielefeldt, Carl
1990 Dōgen’s Manuals of Zen Meditation (Berkeley: University of California
Press).
Deleuze, Gilles
1989 Cinema 2: The Time-Image (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press).
1999 “Bergson’s Conception of Difference,” in John Mullarkey, ed., The New
Bergson (Manchester: Manchester University Press).
Heidegger, Martin
1996 Being and Time (New York: State University of New York Press).
2002 Identity and Difference (Chicago: University of Chicago Press).
Heine, Steve
2004 “Kōans in the Dōgen tradition: How and Why Dōgen Does What He
Does with Kōans,” Philosophy East and West 54/1: 1–19.
174 | The Practice of Time

Kasulis, Thomas P.
1985 Zen Action/Zen Person (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press).
Keizan Jōkin 螢山紹瑾
2004 “Zazen Yojinki: Notes On What To Be Aware of in Zazen,” in John
Daido Loori, ed., The Art of Just Sitting (Boston: Wisdom Publica-
tions).
Lysenko, Viktoria G.
2009 “Mahābhūta,” in M. T. Stepanyants, ed., Indiiskaya filosofia: entsiklope-
dia (Moscow: Vostochnaya Literatura).
Matsunaga, Daigan and Alicia
1992 Foundations of Japanese Buddhism (Los Angeles and Tokyo: Budhist
Books International).
Nishijima Gudō and Chodo Cross
1994 Master Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō: Book 1 (London: Windbell Publications).
Okumura, Shohaku
2004 Shōbōgenzō-zuimonki: Sayings of Eihei Dōgen Zenji recorded by Koun Ejō
(Tokyo: Sotoshu Shumucho).
Stone, Jacqueline I.
1999 Original Enlightenment and the Transformation of Medieval Japanese
Buddhism (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press).
Ruyer, Raymond
1946 Éléments de psycho-biologie (Paris: Puf).
Spinoza, Baruch
1999 Éthique. Texte bilingue latin/grec-français (Paris: Seuil).
Suzuki, Shunryū
1999 Branching Streams Flow in the Darkness: Zen Talks on Sandokai (Los
Angeles: University of California Press).