The West has a big appetite for Zen, even turning this major branch of Buddhism into a synonym for 'relaxed'. There are over 200 books with titles such as Zen in the Art of Archery, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Zen in the Art of Writing etc.

Zen has inspired pioneers and products galore: according to one of Steve Jobs's best friends, ‘You see it in his whole approach of stark, minimalist aesthetics and intense focus': even your iPhone reflects Zen principles.

Since the Enlightenment in the 18th century, Europe and its offshoots have valued rationality - logic, efficiency, causation, the manifestly 'real' - above all other ways of thinking. More recently, however, for many people it's not enough to be rational.

Zen suggests another way. What is it?

And can I apply it to filmmaking without sounding like a happy-clapping, kumbaya-chanting, ganja-smoking, bandana-wearing hippy? (there are worse ways to be)

Zen offers 3 insights to cinema, which I will word provocatively:

1. Don't express yourself.

2. Don't follow your plans.

3. Affirm your fate.

This is not a practical guide to filmmaking.

What is Zen?

The point of Zen is to trigger insight into the true nature of the mind.

Zen suggests that the mind’s true nature is emptiness, drawing on the Heart Sutra:

Form is emptiness, emptiness is form.

The universe is unified, without division; everything is interconnected and interdependent. Mountains, maggots, mathematics - these are conceptual forms, not distinct realities. There is no ‘I’, no separation between you and the world.

Zen Master Ryokan (1758-1831) framed it so:

You see the moon by pointing your finger,

You recognise your finger by the moon ...

The moon and the finger

are not different, not the same ...

there is no moon, no finger.

Humans cannot resist abstracting and conceptualising what they perceive and feel. Doing so brings certain benefits, not least the ability to communicate with others.

The downside is that abstraction creates a veil which obscures our experience of the world. As children we see things with wonder and immediacy. As we grow older, the world appears to us more indirectly: instead of seeing a raven, for example, we spot something which we associate with the word and idea of 'raven'. But discipline can liberate the mind, restoring its connection to what seems to lie beyond itself.

As D. T. Suzuki, the most famous interpreter of Zen ideas to the West, put it:

Zen opens a man's eye to the greatest mystery as it is daily and hourly performed; it enlarges the heart to embrace eternity of time and infinity of space in its every palpitation.

Or in the words of an earlier Master, Miyun Yuanwu (1566-1642):

Hush the dualism of subject and object, forget both, transcend the intellect, sever yourself from the understanding, and directly penetrate deep into the identity of the Buddha-mind.

What this means is freedom from self-limiting mental encumbrances. Through the myriad appearance of form, Zen detects infinity, the formless source of all form.

How does Zen affect filmmaking?

Such talk of emptiness might sound ominous for the pursuit of cinema, which is second only to video games as the most structured art form of all. The weaving together of images, colours, sounds and music requires vast organisation; there's a reason why movie sets are compared to military operations.

By contrast, Zen arts - ink-brush painting, poetry, calligraphy, garden design and the tea ceremony - emphasise spontaneity, simplicity and fluidity.

Are Zen and cinema therefore incompatible?

We've already asserted that human beings can never entirely escape form. While form is an illusion, an abstraction of reality, it's how we make sense of things and it's here to stay. Understanding the truth means perceiving the emptiness of form, but using the truth often requires returning to form. So like all freedoms, freedom from form is relative. The question is, how can you maximise your freedom as a filmmaker?

Before I go any further, let me emphasise that I'm not proposing anyone bang a quick-fire satori as the next smart move in their career. It took the Buddha six years of sitting under the Bo tree to reach enlightenment. Bodhidharma required no less than nine, which he spent staring at the back of a cave. So I'm merely suggesting that you use Zen as a direction or way, not that you pose as a Zen Master.

The Zen way is to train a skill to the point that it becomes effortless. When performed effortlessly, the skill or art will express something unconsciously which is far deeper than anything you might have consciously intended. You strike without taking aim, because if you're intent on aiming, you miss the true target.

First you train, studying the fundamental language of cinema. Then you create: effortlessly, naturally, instinctively, so that you can allow the work to transcend both its intention and its structure. Only then will your audience see beyond the form of cinema, experiencing the film as reality (which is formless) instead of as cinema.

If this sounds counter-intuitive, it’s because self-expression is all the rage these days. Artists ask themselves 'what do I want to say? While audiences ask in return: 'who is the artist, why do they want to tell a certain story, and do they have the right to tell it?'

Ingmar Bergman argued that it wasn't always like this:

art lost its basic creative drive the moment it was separated from worship … In former days the artist remained unknown and his work was to the glory of God … In such a world flourished invulnerable assurance and natural humility. Today the individual has become the highest form and the greatest bane of artistic creation. The smallest wound or pain of the ego is examined under a microscope as if it were of eternal importance.

The ego is small. It limits creation.

The goal is to overcome your self in the expression of your art.

Insight 1: Don't express yourself.

To quote Zen Master Ryokan once more:

Study the essential

And then see through it.

To be clear, this is no Zen secret. Back in 2021 my friend Rafael Kapelinski advised me that when you're directing on set, the less you use your head the better.

Admittedly you first have to get to set: filmmaking entails too many moving parts to be performed without serious prior planning. Unfortunate, perhaps, and unavoidable.

Zen filmmaking would mean to maximise your freedom within those parameters by using form only on the surface, in the lead-up to effortless creation.

In other words, abandon your plan on the day, because plans obstruct the present, and the present is the moment in which to experience and express eternity.

Insight 2: Don't follow your plans.

Again this is no secret: tune in to almost any podcast with the great cinematographer Roger Deakins and his legendary collaborators to hear about the value of being ready to discard storyboards and shot lists the moment you load the camera.

I personally have never made a film which went according to plan, usually despite my best efforts. Something always goes horribly wrong. Once I put my lead actor in a coma by feeding him pesto pasta the night before the shoot. Another time I had to scrap a climactic scene in a whirlpool to avoid an Atlantic hurricane.

Guided by Zen, you cease to wish for things to be other than as they are.

To be otherwise is debilitating. You risk squandering your energy in compulsive drives and purposeless actions, dispersing your life force through the 'uncontrolled proliferation of idle thoughts' (phrasing by Philip Kapleau).

Having accepted your fate, you can harness it.

Insight 3: Affirm your fate.

But isn't wishing for something a powerful motivation to achieve it?

Your deepest desires and darkest fears are like clouds in the sky.

You can be the clouds, or you can be the sky.

But won't Zen make me passive?

Maybe. Depends who you are.

Zen will trigger your true nature.