To Discipline or to Forget: A Sufi–Zen Comparative Analysis of the Self in the Writings of al-Ghazālī and Dōgen

Abstract

Sufism and Zen share a number of theories and practices, including a concern with lived experience. This article analyses the basis of their teachings, namely, the idea of the self, in texts by two important figures in the respective traditions, Iḥyāʾ ʿulūm al-dīn (“The Revival of the Religious Sciences”) by Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 505/1111) for Sufism, and Shōbōgenzō 正法眼蔵 (“The Treasury of the True Dharma-Eye”) by Dōgen 道元 (d. 1253) for Zen. Al-Ghazālī emphasises the necessity of disciplining the self (nafs) in order for the heart to remember God only, while Dōgen famously asserts the importance of learning and forgetting the self (jiko 自己) in the way of the Buddha. This study first examines al-Ghazālī’s and Dōgen’s views of the self, and then compares their teachings. The juxtaposition of the two masterpieces reveals striking similarities as well as fundamental differences at both doctrinal and practical levels. Despite these similarities, although al-Ghazālī and Dōgen have been contrasted with thinkers outside their own tradition, they have yet to be compared directly. Without denying the philosophical depth of the thought of the two authors, this study also highlights the importance of faith in both the Iḥyāʾ and Shōbōgenzō.

1. Introduction1

Despite the geographical and cultural distance between them, Sufism and Zen share a number of doctrines and practices. Sufism seeks a direct encounter with the Divine, not simply an intellectual or textual understanding of concepts of divinity. Zen also must be lived: among the various sects in Buddhism, the Zen worldview centrally concerns the living experience of enlightenment. Both Sufi and Zen practices aim for spiritual awareness, which is usually to be gained through external and internal exercises, such as dhikr (remembrance of God), zazen 坐禅 (sitting meditation), as well as living properly at every moment. While both Sufism and Zen have a long history of group activities (in Sufi orders and Zen monasteries) with strong mentorship roles (shaykh and rōshi 老師/shike 師家), the gaining of awareness is an individual experience. The importance of such individual experience inevitably leads practitioners to focus on what is seemingly the most personal entity, the self, in its various forms. In Sufism, in order to attain the altered states of consciousness where first-hand communion with the Divine is considered to take place, the lower self (nafs) has to be annihilated. The self is the major obstacle to gaining full realisation of the Divine reality, and it has to be disciplined, as in the title of Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī’s (d. 505/1111)2 book on the nafs. A similar idea seems to appear in Zen teaching, as expressed in one of the famous statements by Dōgen 道元 (d. 1253): “To learn the way of Buddha is to learn one’s self (jiko 自己). To learn one’s self is to forget one’s self” (Dōgen 1993–1995, vol. 1, p. 3 (Genjōkōan)) [henceforth DZZ 1:3; for convenience, the title of fascicle/work is included].3

This study analyses the idea of the self in Sufism and Zen, focusing on the magna opera of the two important figures in the respective traditions: Iḥyāʾ ʿulūm al-dīn (“The Revival of the Religious Sciences”) of al-Ghazālī, and Shōbōgenzō 正法眼蔵 (“The Treasury of the True Dharma-Eye”) of Dōgen. Al-Ghazālī, a theologian, jurist and mystic, was born at Ṭūs (in present-day Iran) in 450/1058. In 484/1091, he was appointed the head of the Niẓāmiyya school in Baghdad; however, after encountering a spiritual crisis, he abandoned this prestigious post in 489/1096 and adopted a Sufi way of life. Al-Ghazālī is one of the most influential Muslim thinkers, and his Iḥyāʾ has been widely read. The work has four parts (concerning acts of worship, norms of daily life, moral vices doomed to perdition, and saving virtues), and each part is divided into ten books. As al-Ghazālī himself puts it, the first two parts are concerned with the knowledge and actions of bodily parts, while the latter two deal with the internal knowledge and actions of the heart or the self. He states at the beginning that the Iḥyāʾ does not discuss the goal that seekers are presumed to have, namely, direct, unveiled gnosis; however, the various topics covered in the work (from belief, pilgrimage, manners of eating, marriage, and travel, to the purification of the heart, condemnation of pride, repentance, gratitude, and death) are “a path to it”. Hence the Iḥyāʾ is a religious guide for the devout believer, aiming to lead the heart to both external and internal knowledge which will be beneficial for the world to come (Al-Ghazālī 1431/2010, vol. 1, pp. 12–13, quote on 13) [henceforth Iḥyāʾ 1:12–13].4 From among the forty books, this article focuses on Book 22, in the third part of the Iḥyāʾ, on disciplining the lower self.

Dōgen, the founder of one of the largest Zen schools in Japan, Sōtō 曹洞, was born in Kyoto, in 1200. He was ordained in 1213 and studied on Mt Hiei, the centre of Buddhist learning, but later became a disciple of Eisai 栄西 (d. 1215), the founder of the Rinzai 臨済 Zen school in Japan, to satisfy his spiritual quest. In 1223 he went to China and finally experienced enlightenment under the Zen master Rujing 如淨 (Jp. Nyojō; d. 1227) in 1225. Dōgen came back to Japan in 1227 to spread a Sōtō form of Zen. He wrote his chief work Shōbōgenzō over a period of twenty years; however, unlike al-Ghazālī, he died before he could complete it. Shōbōgenzō now exists in different compilations with different numbers of fascicles (e.g., 75, 12, 60, 28), although it was meant to contain a hundred. Neither the status of the extant books (which ones are drafts and which are complete), nor their intended final arrangement, is entirely clear.5 Some parts of the work seem to have been written for monastics and lay followers, while other parts show a relevance to the general reader.6 Despite these uncertainties, the main message of Shōbōgenzō is clear. It addresses the relationship between practice and realisation, or more precisely the oneness of practice and attainment (shushōittō 修証一等)—this is the basis for Dōgen’s principle that practice is not a passage to or tool for realisation, but is enlightenment itself.7 Each fascicle of Shōbōgenzō tends to discuss one topic, although not always, and its various themes cross over and overlap. It is therefore not easy to determine which specific fascicles to focus on for the discussion of the self. This article mainly revolves around “Genjōkōan” 現成公案 (for its translation see below)—which includes the famous quote on the self mentioned above—while consulting other fascicles and works as appropriate.

In terms of comparative analysis, a number of studies in Arabic, Japanese and English have been conducted comparing the thought of al-Ghazālī and Dōgen, taken individually, with those of other Muslim or Japanese thinkers, as well as Jewish and Christian theologians, and European philosophers. Since medieval times, al-Ghazālī has been known not only among Muslims but also in the Latin world under his Latin name Algazel, one of his works on philosophy having been translated from Arabic to Latin by a group of scholars in Toledo soon after his death.8 Outside the sphere of Muslim thinkers, al-Ghazālī has been compared mainly with Jewish and Christian theologians and philosophers: most notably with Augustine of Hippo (d. 430; e.g., El-Shinqiti, Abd Rahman), Thomas Aquinas (d. 1274; Burrell, Ghazanfar, Allison), and René Descartes (d. 1650; Abertini, Moad, al-Qāḍī, Ruddle-Miyamoto), though others include, for example, Judah Halevi (d. 1141; Kogan), Maimonides (d. 1204; Özcan), Eckhart (d. ca. 1328; Politella), Giovanni Pico Della Mirandola (d. 1494; Truglia), Immanuel Kant (d. 1804; Abdullah, al-ʿAqīlī), Arthur Schopenhauer (d. 1860; Imtiaz Ali), as well as Sigmund Freud (d. 1939; Ḥamīdāt and Ibn al-Sāyaḥ, Hanna-e-Kalbi and Basharat) and William Dembski (b. 1960; Malik).

Dōgen’s teachings, on the other hand, were kept primarily within the Sōtō Zen school until 1926 when the philosopher Watsuji Tetsurō 和辻哲郎 (d. 1960) published “Shamon Dōgen”, which prompted studies of Dōgen among Japanese intellectuals.9 Outside Japan, a few works appeared as early as the 1950s in English (and German), but more comprehensive studies of Dōgen began in the 1970s when translations of his work and scholarly analysis of his thought started to appear in English (T.P. Kasulis (1978); Steven Heine (2012a, pp. 4–5)). In terms of cross-tradition analysis, Dōgen, like al-Ghazālī, has also been compared with Aquinas (e.g., Mikkelson), as well as Eckhart (Igarashi, Van der Braak, Dallh) and Descartes (Gawase). He has also often been compared with German, Jewish and Greek philosophers, as well as Christian theologians, most notably Martin Heidegger (d. 1976; e.g., Sugio, Kasai, Heine, Inoue, Hashi), while other comparisons include, for example, Socrates (d. 399 BC; Inoue), John Scotus Eriugena (d. ca. 877; Tollini), Jakob Böhme (d. 1624; Kasai), Baruch Spinoza (d. 1677; Kasai, Kuperus), Ludwig Wittgenstein (d. 1951; Sullivan), Martin Buber (d. 1965; Tsujiguchi), Jacques Derrida (d. 2004; Bredeson, Olson), as well as Michael Ende (d. 1995; Loy and Goodhew). Neither of these lists of comparators is exhaustive; however, these samples serve to indicate that the volume of comparative studies is large indeed—especially for Dōgen, considering that he was only rather recently “discovered” in the English-speaking world.10

The extant comparative works tend to favour comparison with philosophers rather than mystics. Yet if mysticism is understood as the experience of unification with the Divine, then it makes sense to characterise some of al-Ghazālī’s thoughts as mystical, especially given that in his autobiography he famously advocated the Sufi way of life. Dōgen has also been regarded as a mystic, since, depending on the definition of mysticism, Zen has been considered to be “deeply mystical—more self-consciously mystical than either Christianity or Islam”, although others have strenuously denied this.11 This issue of course touches on the fundamental question of what constitutes the mystical, which is beyond the scope of the present study. As for philosophy, in his famous The Incoherence of the Philosophers (Tahāfut al-falāsifa), al-Ghazālī attacked philosophy; whereas the term “philosophy”, tetsugaku 哲学, did not exist in Japan until the nineteenth century. However, the lists of comparative studies indicate that although neither al-Ghazālī nor Dōgen would have described himself as a philosopher, “philosophical” elements of their thoughts have been recognised. The relationship of al-Ghazālī with philosophy has been debated for centuries—whether he was a foe of philosophy as he seemed to claim, or was actually “seduced into [it] despite himself” (Leon Halevi 2002, p. 19; see also, e.g., Gabriel Said Reynolds (2005); Taneli Kukkonen (2012, p. 542)). This issue again touches on the fundamental question of “what makes philosophy ‘philosophical’” in discussion of the thought of al-Ghazālī and Dōgen, and of Sufism and Zen in general (T.P. Kasulis 1978, p. 354; see also T.P. Kasulis (1985); Masao Abe (1985); Carl Olson (2000); Gereon Kopf (2015)).

Since there is no room to discuss these issues further here, for the purpose of this study I seek only to highlight the point that al-Ghazālī and Dōgen, each of them standing among the most influential figures in their respective traditions to date, have been compared with numerous figures outside their own spheres, including mystics, philosophers and theologians. While their respective bodies of thought have both been contrasted with major thinkers such as Aquinas, Eckhart and Descartes, they have not yet been directly juxtaposed with each other.12 This article aims to fill this lacuna through a direct and detailed comparison of the fundamental question of the self in the writings of al-Ghazālī and Dōgen. By analysing the similarities and differences, it will illuminate the foundational aspect of their thought, namely, the importance of faith. This study first discusses al-Ghazālī’s view of the self, and then that of Dōgen, and the final sections look at them side by side, exploring what emerges from the comparison.13

2. Al-Ghazālī’s View of the Self

2.1. The Self in the Qurʾān

To set the scene, let us first look briefly at the idea of the self in the Qurʾān. The usual Arabic term for the self is nafs, which can be rendered in various ways in English: soul, spirit, mind, individual, desire, identity, and self (and also as a reflexive particle). The term appears nearly 300 times in the Qurʾān in singular or plural form (mostly anfus, occasionally nufūs). The meaning of nafs and its plurals varies depending on the context; however, the reflexive nafs often draws attention to specifically (un)ethical conduct—as can be seen, for example, in “man’s very self (al-nafs) incites him to evil” (12:53),14 or that the nafs is “prone to selfishness” (4:128) and humans are constantly challenged to follow Divine will rather than their own desires. In order to enter Paradise, believers must restrain the nafs, fear God, and conduct good deeds in remembrance of Him (e.g., 64:16, 75:2, 79:40–41). Compared to this negative connotation of nafs, however, its near-synonym, rūḥ (the singular form appears 21 times in the Qurʾān), indicates something more positive. The term can be translated as soul, spirit, or essence, and in the Qurʾān, Divine rūḥ was breathed into Adam (e.g., 15:29), while rūḥ is often sent down with angels playing the central role in revelation (e.g., 16:2) and eschatology (e.g., 78:38).15 Unlike the nafs, the rūḥ is usually associated with Divine command and dutiful angels. While nafs and rūḥ can be used interchangeably in some contexts, the two terms are clearly differentiated in Sufi texts as it is the rūḥ that reaches the Divine, not the nafs, and al-Ghazālī follows this tradition.

2.2. Book 22 “Disciplining the Self”

The full title of Book 22, or the second book of the third quarter of the Iḥyāʾ on mortal vices, is “Disciplining the self (nafs), improving the character (akhlāq) and treating the diseases of the heart”, following a book on the marvels of the heart.16 Al-Ghazālī emphasises the importance of having good character, beginning with two quotations: “the foundation of Islam is the excellence of character”, and “if you improve your character, your Sufism [also] improves”.17 The consequence of having bad character, by contrast, amounts to “inescapable perdition” or eternal damnation, a consequence incomparably worse than that of ill health, which leads merely to the end of transient corporeal life.18 Quoting Prophetic sayings, al-Ghazālī warns the reader that fasting and praying all day and night will not ensure a path to heaven.19 Even those who are shaky in their worship can reach lofty degrees in the Hereafter if they have excellent character, while those with bad character will fall into the lowest level of hell.20 This is because evil character derives from “the diseases of hearts and illnesses of selves”, which are beyond the reach of the corporeal treatments offered by physicians.21 It is, therefore, each individual’s responsibility, as affirmed in a Prophetic report, to improve moral character (meaning to treat the illnesses of the heart and self), since God originally proportioned humans in an excellent shape.22 Thus, al-Ghazālī asserts the importance of this treatment right at the beginning of Book 22, referring to the Qurʾānic phrase “the one who purifies [his self] succeeds and the one who corrupts it fails” (91:9–10), and saying that the Prophet Muḥammad was sent to refine the excellent qualities of character.23 Having received this clear guidance, what believers must do is obvious. Alluding to a Qurʾānic verse (42:20), al-Ghazālī stresses the need, first of all, to “desire (murīd) a harvest of the Hereafter, yearn for it, follow its paths and despise the comfort and pleasures of this world”.24

2.3. The Nature of Good Character

What is good character for al-Ghazālī, and would it really be possible to change one’s disposition provided that one aspires to open one’s heart to heaven? When asked about good character, the Prophet is reported to have replied by reciting a Qurʾānic verse: “Be tolerant and command what is right: pay no attention to foolish people” (7:199).25 The various qualities that al-Ghazālī discusses in the different parts of Book 22 can be divided into two categories: right attitudes towards God (e.g., fear of God, faith, piety), and honourable behaviour towards fellow humans or created beings in general (e.g., forgiveness, leniency, generosity, mercy and patience).26 A Qurʾānic verse is cited as a summary: “In God’s eyes, the most honoured of you are the ones most mindful of Him” (49:13).27 This may give an impression that the focus is on internal aspects, or mental attitudes; however, faith does not occur only in the mind. Al-Ghazālī repeatedly stresses the importance of good social behaviours, since if believers have true faith in God, their actions will be characterised by kindness and morality. Good character is therefore one of the most important items to be assessed at the Final Judgement, and al-Ghazālī claims that character can be improved if it is looked after properly.28 This sounds like a reassurance, but it is also a warning. Possessing good character is an achievable aim; it is therefore one’s own choice whether or not to strive for it, yet opting out will have eternal consequences in the Hereafter.

Al-Ghazālī rejects any suggestion that character cannot be improved. According to him, good character comes from a “natural and innate disposition”, “making a habit (iʿtiyād) of beautiful actions” and/or “observing and accompanying” those who perform them.29 While the inborn quality of character is outside of human control, he repeatedly emphasises the value of habituation, observing good people and exposing oneself to proper education, assuring us that the improvement of character is completely achievable—especially since even animals can be trained.30 Book 22 assigns great importance to constant “endeavour (mujāhada) and discipline (riyāḍa)” concerning the self. Those who wish to be generous or modest, for example, must act persistently with generosity, or imitate the behaviour of modest people by striving against the self, until these actions and qualities become delightful and part of their nature.31 The key is therefore determination (ʿazm) and persistence, as self-discipline is like training birds and animals such as horses, donkeys and camels.32 While the method of discipline varies according to the person and the circumstances, the basic rule is to refrain from taking pleasure in this-worldly matters which cannot be brought to the Hereafter. Inevitably, this is not something one can achieve overnight, and al-Ghazālī confirms that this is a form of Jihad that lasts until the moment of death.33

2.4. The Necessity of a Proper Guide and Constant Discipline

On the one hand, al-Ghazālī insists that one can embark on the spiritual path at any age; on the other, he highlights the importance of proper discipline for small children, since their pure, innocent hearts are like gems that can be shaped into any form according to the guidance of their parents.34 Yet an appropriate guide is necessary for adults too, because noticing the defects of the self is the first step in treating them, but the majority of people are ignorant of their own weaknesses.35 Al-Ghazālī lists four ways to find these hidden faults of the self: from a good shaykh (although it is rare to find such an insightful person), from a good friend (again difficult to find a true friend), from enemies who can see our defects much better than we can ourselves (although it is not easy to believe their words), and from being surrounded by people whose faults mirror our own (although this requires a high level of self-discipline—as high as the level of a prophet, like Jesus, who avoided the defects he saw in others).36 As can be seen, each path comes with its own difficulty, and al-Ghazālī recommends that readers stick to an intelligent shaykh with gnosis—if they can find one.37 It is crucial for anyone, not only children, to have a proper guide who can demonstrate to them the insignificance of this world, which will eventually disappear, as opposed to the permanence of the Hereafter.38

What is clear, though, is that such constant discipline is necessary because one’s enemy is one’s own self. Al-Ghazālī quotes a famous saying by the Prophet which describes physical combat as the lesser Jihad, and the struggle against the self (jihād al-nafs) as the greater Jihad.39 Al-Ghazālī also cites the Sufi preacher Yaḥyā b. Muʿādh al-Rāzī (d. 258/872) who advocates waging Jihad against one’s self with the sword of discipline (riyāḍa), since the self according to al-Rāzī is one of the three enemies of humankind—the other two being “this world” and “the devil”.40 The self, recognised as a foe, must be fought against. And there can be no let up in this battle, since the preference for this world is very powerful, as observed in Qurʾān 87:16–19, especially in the areas of eating, sex, speaking and anger.41 At the same time, however, it is also the self which makes humankind superior to animals, because once it is disciplined, the heart then has the capacity to acquire gnosis (maʿrifa) of the true nature of things and their creator God, and this feature is unique to the human self.42

2.5. An Intimate Link between Internal and External, and the Importance of Balance

The idea of Jihad against the self may give an impression that this battle occurs only internally. As discussed above, however, throughout the Iḥyāʾ and in Sufism in general, a close link between internal and external, heart and body, and personal and social is emphasised. According to al-Ghazālī, there is a marvellous relation between the heart and the limbs, or the self and the body, such that each constantly influences the other through their actions.43 If the self is good, so is the external/social behaviour, and this is why he lists the exemplary conduct of those who have good character; for example, keeping a cheerful facial expression, being close to people, and pleasing people without causing harm.44 Considering the direct effect of such conduct on society, al-Ghazālī seems to have believed that self-discipline should be a social project, and this must have been part of the motivation for compiling the Iḥyāʾ. And, as well as the social aspect of human beings, his work also recognises human physicality and its intimate connection with spirituality; therefore, both mind and body require good nutrition. By nature, according to al-Ghazālī, the heart inclines to “wisdom, gnosis and the love of God”, which are its food. If it wants something other than Divine love, this is a sign of disease, as when illness prevents us from eating and drinking even though this is necessary for life.45 It is important for the heart to be healthy and nourished, and the same care should also be given to the body, since “the religious path is based on lawful food”.46 Due to its significance, al-Ghazālī devoted whole books to eating (Book 11), as well as to the lawful and unlawful (Book 14) as part of the second quarter of the Iḥyāʾ on the norms of daily life. In order to discipline the self, no action should be performed heedlessly, and proper care should be given to day-to-day activities such as eating.

Considering all these warnings, and in view of the linkage he observes between mind and body, al-Ghazālī stresses the importance of balance, moderation and humility. While he emphasises the eternal consequences of having good or bad character, its quality cannot be assessed only through action. Generous people cannot always make large donations, due, for example, to poverty, while greedy people may act generously for the sake of their reputation or other self-interested motivations.47 In order for external conduct to be truly good, the heart needs to be good in the first place; however, action itself cannot be the decisive criterion to measure the condition of the heart. According to al-Ghazālī, character is “a state of the self” which prepares one for action, and is composed of four elements: the capacity for knowledge, which can turn into wisdom or stupidity; the capacity for anger, which can become courage or cowardice; the capacity for appetite, which can be controlled as moderation or turn into greed (if too much) or indifference (if too little); and finally, the capacity to keep a good balance between the first three, which can lead to justice (if balanced) or oppression (if disordered).48 Al-Ghazālī draws a parallel between character and the face. A face is beautiful not because only the eyes are beautiful, for the face is made up of different elements which are positioned in a certain way. Likewise, beautiful character is a composite of all four elements, such that they are in equilibrium and well proportioned.49 Quoting Qurʾānic verses (e.g., 25:67, 17:29, 7:31) and a saying of the Prophet, al-Ghazālī repeatedly emphasises the importance of keeping “the middle point (wasaṭ) between excess and negligence”, since extremity in any matter should be avoided.50

2.6. The Greater Jihad

In order to reach this state, the self needs to be disciplined. Through discipline, the self becomes humble, and then all aspects will be balanced and moderated. As a result, the self will be “content with all that God Most High has ordained”, and this is the highest degree of good character.51 Yet finding and remaining in this middle point is not easy: while al-Ghazālī claims this state is achievable, he also insists on the “extreme ambiguity” of the mean, which is “finer than hair and sharper than a sword”.52 This middle point is the straight path (al-ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm), which appears frequently in the Qurʾān as the way of righteousness. The difficulty of taking the straight path without deviation is why it is obligatory for every believer to pray using the verse “Guide us to the straight path” seventeen times a day, and to recite the opening chapter of the Qurʾān, which contains this verse, at each movement (rakʿa) during the prayer.53

The single most important act is therefore complete devotion of the heart to the remembrance (dhikr) of God, which can be achieved after using self-discipline to free the heart from remembering anything else. This process of “emptying” is necessary in order to achieve the original function of the heart, namely, the remembrance of God only.54 Al-Ghazālī concludes Book 22 by saying that “the highest degree of discipline is to find the heart with God Most High at all times”.55 Given the role of teachers, friends, enemies and exemplars in helping one to see the defects of one’s heart, the negation of love for this world does not necessarily mean that one should be a hermit. Although al-Ghazālī praises the state of seclusion (khalwa) and lists the difficulties one faces in living among ordinary people in the constant presence of the Divine,56 being a righteous person with commendable social behaviour and truly magnanimous conduct is also highly praised, and can also set an example for children and novices. The Iḥyāʾ itself is divided into two parts, bodily and internal actions, both of which are important due to their interdependency. Self-discipline is necessary in order to purify the heart and be mindful of the presence of God at all times and in all places. One should engage in this greater Jihad persistently and incessantly, aiming always for the straight but narrow path.

3. Dōgen’s View of the Self

3.1. Non-Self

These Sufi virtues find a strong echo in Japanese Zen, even though historically and doctrinally Islam and Buddhism do not appear to have much in common—Buddhism, for example, does not talk about the existence of the one and only God, nor does it maintain an equivalent theory of creation. This is not, however, a matter of whether Zen either accepts or denies such things, simply because the question of the origin of sentient beings is not a primary concern of Buddhism. Buddhist/Zen teachings are intended to guide beings to awaken the true knowledge of who they really are in their current form, and in this respect, it starts with the discussion of the self, or indeed non-self. The perception of non-self (anātman) is one of the three essential characteristics of the Buddhist principle, often described as the three marks of the dharma (trīṇi dharmamudrā; Jp. sanbōin 三法印).57 Let us first set the scene by looking briefly at this important concept, since the fundamental teachings of Zen and Dōgen are based on the basic tenets of Mahāyāna Buddhism (although we will later see how his reading is also creative).

The term anātman has been translated into English in many ways: as non-self, no-self, not-self, selflessness, absence of Self, non-ego, ego-lessness and so on. In Japanese it is usually translated as muga 無我, where mu means “nothing” and ga the “self” or “ego”. Although anātman and its Chinese translation include a prefix (an) or character (mu) which negates the following term, the self, this doctrine is in fact not about denial, but rather about embracing the interdependency and mutual causality that holds between all phenomena. Every entity, every transient phenomenon, is related, and Zen cosmology seeks to guide us to the full realisation of being part of this inseparable whole.58 The achievement of the state of śūnyatā (Jp. kū 空; nothingness, emptiness) entails moving beyond the false dichotomies with which perception constantly presents us, namely the appearance of oppositions between part and whole, subject and object, life and death, the self and others, and the self and non-self. Once full realisation of universal interconnectivity is achieved and the false dichotomous view has been transcended, attachments disappear and delusion can then become enlightenment through living fully moment by moment (Shōji Nakamura 2002, p. 20).

3.2. “Genjōkōan”

Yet the word “non-self” (muga) does not appear much in Dōgen’s writings. Rather than using this conventional terminology, he expresses his thought with the term jiko, “the self”, including when he speaks of learning or forgetting the self.59 The title of the fascicle “Genjōkōan” (lit. gen: manifestation, jō: becoming, kō: openness, an: inevitability, law), which includes Dōgen’s famous quote concerning the self, is not easy to translate, and has been rendered in various ways: for example, “Manifesting suchness” (Dōgen 2002, p. 39), “The realised universe” (Dōgen 2007–2008, vol. 1, p. 41), “Spontaneous realization of Zen enlightenment” (Steven Heine 2012b, p. 42) and “The presencing of truth” (Bret W. Davis 2020, p. 201). As Ishii argues, in light of the contents of the fascicle, the phrase genjōkōan seems to designate the truth in the temporary phenomena in front of us, where the whole is expressed through a part (a concrete manifestation) (Kiyozumi Ishii 2005, pp. 97–110, esp. pp. 101, 108). What is present is the truth, and everything is apparent, everything is living and moving: this means that all is temporary and this temporary phenomenon (and the temporariness of all phenomena) is the only truth (Genryū Kagamishima 1979, pp. 15–27). Zen teachings aim to awaken transcendental wisdom (prajñā, Jp. hannya 般若); and once this is achieved, one is able to see beyond phenomenal existence to the reality of things, and so become truly compassionate to all beings, including inanimate things. However, it is not an easy task to perceive the entire universe as a concrete experience, and one must be aware of the limitations of one’s awareness. What practitioners should do, therefore, is focus on a part in its immediate presence and in its absolute suchness, aiming at the full realisation of the whole in which it is reflected. There is no use in waiting, in the hope that the truth may someday appear, since everything is changing. The way of Buddha is not to miss any phenomenon that is in front of us now, but rather to make every act proper without delay. This leads to a form of practice that is not beyond the scope of human achievement, and yet may still lead to the eventual vanishing of division (such as the division between part and whole), as we will see below. “Genjōkōan” was written in 1233, for a lay disciple from the Kyūshū island, and despite its abstract outlook, this fascicle (and Shōbōgenzō in general) presents hands-on ways of everyday training.

3.3. The Authentic Self and Shinjindatsuraku

In this line of thought, the direction of approach is important. According to Dōgen, enlightenment occurs when the self is affirmed by all existences, not the other way around. The truly awakened person would not necessarily perceive themselves as Buddha, and such affirmation comes from others.60 Hence Dōgen’s famous saying: “To learn the way of Buddha is to learn the self. To learn the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be evidenced in all dharmas.61 To be evidenced in all dharmas is to shed the body and mind of the self, as well as the bodies and minds of others”.62 The “self” here does not mean that self whose presence is (apparently) separate from others, but the real self, which is free from this relative perspective. Dōgen teaches the importance of the illusory self coming into contact with the authentic self,63 and self-learning is accomplished in the form of self-forgetting. This happens when one fully realises the self in its absolute suchness (jikogenjō 自己現成), and all things in their immediate presence (henkaigenjō 徧界現成), and when one discerns the lack of any border between the self and others, which is actualised in an experience of the “shedding-off” of the body and mind (shinjindatsuraku 身心脱落).64 An important thing to note here is that the different sentences in Dōgen’s famous saying do not describe a stage or timeline: there is no gap of time between each state, and the self is truly recognised when it is forgotten. Enlightenment is therefore not a momentary experience. Dōgen states that it lasts ceaselessly and unassumingly in everyday life once the body and mind are cast off.65

One of the key expressions in Dōgen’s writing is shinjindatsuraku, which describes the breakthrough perception of body and mind having been shed, and is synonymous with awakening (satori 悟り). He experienced this insight, he tells us, in 1225, during his study under his teacher Rujing in China, when face-to-face transmission of the Buddha dharma was accomplished.66 According to Dōgen, rather than making frantic attempts to achieve enlightenment, the important thing is to “release and forget the body and mind, and throw oneself into the house of Buddha”, so that one’s conduct becomes proper, and if one continues to do so, one will live as a Buddha without physical or mental exhaustion.67 Dōgen talks not only about his own shinjindatsuraku, but also about that of others, even though it seems to be an entirely personal experience. This does not mean that this realisation can mystically affect others’ body and mind, but rather highlights the importance of non-duality in Dōgen’s teachings. Buddhism places an emphasis on benefitting all sentient beings, but Dōgen warns that one should not seek to be Buddha through putting others first, since “this mind is not in me or others … but once the mind is arisen (hosshin 発心), the earth becomes all gold when touched, and the ocean immediately becomes sweet dew when stirred”.68 By going beyond concerns with one’s own subjective accomplishments, one can reach the state of shinjindatsuraku for both the self and others.69 Therefore, the famous quotation mentioned above, concerning shedding “the body and mind of the self, as well as the bodies and minds of others”, does not mean that others themselves experience shinjindatsuraku, but rather that the subjective perception of others as others, or as the self as divided from others, is cast aside (cf. Jūkō Minamoto 1978, p. 113).

3.4. Non-Dualism

The self for Dōgen is therefore inseparable from what may appear to be different from it. The original, authentic self is prior to the division between self and other, and prior even to the birth of one’s parents.70 This whole or authentic self is beyond the separation of “I and you”, and once one awakens to such a self in its totality (zenjiko 全自己), every being and phenomenon in the cosmos can be perceived in its authentic form, not as an isolated entity.71 In “Genjōkōan”, Dōgen highlights the importance of not seeking the dharma outside the self, since the dharma is to be transmitted to the self only once attachment to the self or the dharma disappears.72 According to Dōgen, the “Buddha mind (busshin 仏心)” is and comprises all phenomena, “the mountains, oceans, lands, sun, moon and stars”, and the Buddha’s teaching resides in all things in the universe. The right transmission is therefore “from oneself to oneself”, as “the self is within the right transmission”.73 When one seeks Buddha or the dharma externally one remains trapped in illusion (mayoi 迷い), as all things and the self are originally one and inseparable. The important matter here is to go beyond the subject–object division (or any division), since it is just such separation that makes it impossible to examine the self that is trying to examine itself. It is as if one were looking at oneself in two mirrors held against each other—what can be seen is only myriad reflections, not the authentic self. In a similar vein, “to learn the self” does not mean that the self which is learning and the self which is being learned are separate. In order to experience the self in its immediate presence, the subject–object division, or the mirrors, must first be shattered.

It is clear, then, that according to Dōgen, any dichotomous view cannot be regarded as a way to enlightenment. Throughout his work he stressed non-dualism, arguing that all seemingly different and distinct phenomena—self and others, body and mind, life and death, cause and effect, and practice and realisation—are in fact one. Everything in oneself is enlightenment, and practice is not a means to achieve it, but is realisation itself (shushōittō). Therefore “realisation has no end”, and “practice has no beginning”.74 (Even though shushōittō contains the character “one”, as Sadakata argues, to achieve non-dualism is not only to go beyond two, but even beyond one, since if there is one, there is many/plural.75).

3.5. The Importance of Proper Action and the Buddha-Nature

Dōgen repeatedly highlights the importance of practice or action. Birds and fish, he says in “Genjōkōan”, are manifesting themselves in sky and water through their action: their existence and the world are one and the same, and when they leave the sky or water they die. Dōgen does not call for dramatic action or conspicuous practice. When birds and fish need to roam widely, they use a large area of sky or water, and they use a small area for small tasks.76 Appropriateness is essential. Seekers of Buddha-nature, like birds and fish, need not undertake big actions unnecessarily or seek to encompass a wider area than is needed. Appropriate action at a small scale is therefore given more importance than seeking an intellectual grasp of the whole picture.77 This approach may be applied to any Zen practice. Enlightenment may seem far off and difficult to reach, and the effect of any given practice (like zazen) may not be obvious, but Dōgen assures us that everyone’s zazen is as precious as that of the Buddha, and even a single moment of zazen for a single person brings merit to the universe.78 Living, including everyday tasks such as washing, cooking and eating, is practice.79 It is important to keep doing the right thing where one is, and to see that size is not important since everything, small or large, is connected and plays an irreplaceable role.

The significance of continuous correct conduct is highlighted throughout Shōbōgenzō. According to Dōgen, the earnest intention to attain enlightenment (hosshin), practice, awakening (bodai 菩提), and nirvana, all occur with no gaps, like an uninterrupted circular road.80 Unceasing practice in everyday life is therefore essential. At the end of “Genjōkōan”, Dōgen quotes an anecdote about Zen master Hōtetsu 宝徹 (Pao-ch’e): when he “was fanning himself, a monk came up and said, ‘The nature of the wind is constancy. There is no place it does not reach. Why use a fan?’” Upon this question, the master replied, “You only know the nature of the wind is constancy. You haven’t grasped the meaning of its reaching every place”.81 According to Dōgen, everything and everyone is the Buddha-nature (busshō 仏性); but without practice or action, this nature does not manifest. Like the wind, “the goldenness of the earth” and “the sweetness of a long river” are always present, but unless one reaches realisation, this true nature will not be revealed.82 Based on his understanding of a phrase in the Nirvana Sutra, Dōgen claims that the Buddha-nature is not potential, because “all beings are the Buddha-nature”.83 This interpretation highlights the nature of non-duality (the Buddha-nature is not potential nor is it the aim of practice), as well as the oneness of practice and realisation, and of realisation and the Buddha-nature.84 Constant practice is therefore intended not in order for one to become a Buddha, but for one to be and to continue to be one. Shōbōgenzō and his other writings such as Eiheishingi 永平清規 (“Eiheiji monastic rules”) thus set out detailed instructions on manners and everyday life for monks, so that they live as a Buddha.

3.6. Everydayness

Dōgen’s view of the self is characterised by non-dualism. No gap is recognised between the self and others/world, between part and whole, or body and mind. Full realisation of this state is expressed in various ways, including the aforementioned remark about learning/forgetting the self and shinjindatsuraku, which leads to the perception of the entire being in its authentic form and its relational context. While Dōgen discusses community life and rituals at the monastery in detail, introducing a new duality (such as private–communal) should be avoided in understanding such social institutions. Comprehensive guidelines on not only zazen, but also on washing, cooking and eating, are all intended to indicate the oneness of body and mind. According to Dōgen, once bodily conduct is corrected, the mind will follow this correct way as well (Dōgen (2003, p. 108, cf. p. 203 (Shōbōgenzō zuimonki))). In the wholly awakened state, one realises every entity in its fullest existence, and this is the emergence of prajñā, non-discriminating consciousness and knowledge.

This account may give the impression that the Zen experience is completely different from ordinary experience. Nevertheless, Zen is not concerned with transcendence. Entitled “Innate state (Honrai no menmoku)” 本来の面目, one of Dōgen’s well-known poems reads:

In the spring, cherry blossoms,

in the summer the cuckoo.

In autumn the moon,

and in winter the snow, clear, cold.85

The meaning of the poem seems obvious: it is about the beauty of the four seasons. But the point is that ultimately Zen seeks ordinariness and everydayness. The difference lies in the level of perception, which through the Zen way may be activated in order to realise the innate form in every being—as indicated in the title of the poem. The everyday is the Way.

4. Similar Yet Different: Comparing al-Ghazālī and Dōgen on Their Idea of the Self

4.1. Similarities: The Importance of Aspiration and Guidance, and the Internal–External Link

The examination of the view of the self in the writings of al-Ghazālī and Dōgen has revealed striking similarities as well as fundamental differences.86 As the first step of their respective journeys, both emphasise the importance of aspiration. With the right intention (niyya) in mind, one needs to “desire (murīd) a harvest of the Hereafter”, as seen in the section on al-Ghazālī. The term murīd (one who desires, aims, aspires, strives for) also denotes a Sufi novice, indicating the importance of aspiration. Similarly, according to Dōgen, the first step to the path of Buddha is to have the earnest intention to attain enlightenment (hosshin) through the investigation of one’s self.87 For this journey, both highlight the significance of obtaining proper guidance, and at the same time the difficulty of finding a good mentor. Al-Ghazālī discusses the rarity of meeting a respectable shaykh, and Dōgen confirms this when he talks about his practice under the Zen master Rujing in Song China, whom he finally met after more than a decade of study in Japan and China.88 These points appear to suggest that to embark on the path of Sufism/Buddha is indeed not an easy task. However, neither al-Ghazālī nor Dōgen are seeking to inquire into something extraordinary, but are rather concerned with the importance of examining something very close to us, namely, our self, in order to pursue this way. Their writings help the reader to understand the nature of the self, and guide us in our search for its pure or authentic state.

Another important similarity lies in the intimate link between the internal and the external, such as between mind and body, or the personal and the social. Both al-Ghazālī and Dōgen left extensive guides for eating, accepting that it is crucial for humans to take in nutritious food as we are both spiritual and physical entities. In a similar vein, one’s own private conduct is connected with social behaviour, and the investigation of the self is not a socially isolated activity. As expressed in one of numerous Ḥadīth quoted in his work, “You will not suffice people with your money; suffice them with a cheerful face and good character”, al-Ghazālī emphasises that disciplining the lower self and improving one’s character is not only important for the believer’s own spiritual development, but has strong social implications.89 Dōgen also discusses compassion towards others, seeing it as closely tied to proper personal behaviour. Hosshin for him means beginning by setting one’s intention that others should be enabled to cross from this shore to the next before one crosses oneself (jimitokudosendota 自未得度先度他).90 Once the self has been thrown into the house of Buddha, and practitioners follow the detailed guidelines for communal life, they will be able to put others first in a true sense. This compassion, as Kimura argues, is not “self-sacrificing but rather self-realizing”,91 and ultimately Zen aims to go beyond the dichotomous view of internal/external and self/others, as we will revisit below.

4.2. Differences: The Status of Nafs/Jiko and Worldviews

Everyday activity should be conducted with care, and there is no end to this continuous practice. Unending practice is necessary because, for al-Ghazālī, the self (nafs) is an enemy against which the greater Jihad is called. This battle is not easy, and al-Ghazālī encourages his readers to pray that God will guide them to the straight path. Disciplining the self and emptying the heart will help them find and keep to this modest middle way, being constantly mindful of God’s presence. In Dōgen’s work, however, the self (jiko) is not described as an enemy. Attachment to the self, or indeed to anything, is discouraged in Buddhism in general, but the perception of the self is not as negative as in Sufism. This difference is reflected in the different shape of the passage or journey set out in their respective writings. Al-Ghazālī’s “straight path” in Sufism is linear, and leads upwards through various stages from the beginnings to the goal of the constant presence of God.92 Dōgen’s way is circular, as in his discussion of the cycle hosshin–practice–awakening–nirvana, the aim of practice not being the attainment of Buddha-nature, and realisation being a ceaseless experience. Dōgen is a proponent of non-dualism, without any sense of hierarchy.93

This difference between the two thinkers as regards hierarchy reflects a fundamental difference in the cosmic order that is the basis of their understanding of the respective belief systems and their views of the self. In their writings, for instance, they both appeal to examples and narratives about animals and nature. According to al-Ghazālī, humans are superior to animals, the former, unlike the latter, having the capacity to attain gnosis. The lower status of animals and plants among the earthly creatures is clear in the Qurʾān, where they are seen as created as sustenance for human beings.94 Dōgen, on the other hand, shows no sense that one is superior to the other, as seen in his example of birds and fish from which practitioners should learn, unlike al-Ghazālī who equates animals with the lower self.95 As can be seen here, the ontological premise in each case is different. According to al-Ghazālī, God is the only perfect existence and absolute reality, and the full realisation of God eventually leads to the full annihilation of the lower self; whereas Dōgen’s world allows no such differentiation, and what is to be realised is the nonduality between part and whole, the self and others.

4.3. The Existence of the Absolute as al-Ghazālī’s Source for Morality

The question now arises whether the perception of the world changes from pre- to post-gnosis, as the full realisation of God by some Sufis also produces a realisation of non-duality which is supposed to be there all the time.96 Unlike Dōgen, al-Ghazālī does not give much description of the experience of closeness to God, and his personal attainment of direct experience (dhawq) has been questioned (Al-Ghazālī 1967, pp. 107–8; Carole Hillenbrand 2020, p. 72). What is clear, however, is that a strict observance of the Sharīʿa (revealed law) has paramount importance for al-Ghazālī. For him, the Sufi path is “not an alternative to … but a completion of it”, as seen in his fierce attack on some Sufis who felt it unnecessary to follow the Sharīʿa due to their presumed observance of the hidden, spiritual meaning of the Qurʾān and Ḥadīth (Carole Hillenbrand 2020, pp. 72 (quote), 70). Al-Ghazālī situates the “true” Sufism within the context of the Sharīʿa, and for him, adherence to both the outward and inward dimensions of faith is necessary to follow the “straight path”.

As such, al-Ghazālī’s view of the self is essentially Qurʾānic, with God being the Most High, and humans being superior to animals due to their potential to connect with the Highest. While such talk of hierarchy may sound negative to those committed to egalitarianism, in al-Ghazālī’s ethics it is essential to know one’s position in Creation. Different beings are created and given different roles to play. In this cosmology, recognition of the existence of the Absolute is the source of modesty and morality. Arrogance is condemned in the Iḥyāʾ and in Sufism/Islam in general; to discipline the lower self, Sufis have devised various spiritual and physical exercises, such as ascetic lifestyles, night vigils, remembrance of God, repentance and self-examination. Although the extent to which the control of the nafs directly causes a transcendental encounter with God has been a focus of argument (e.g., Hujwīrī (2000, pp. 200–7)), Sufi training is essentially designed to transform the nafs in order to prepare believers for existential proximity to the Absolute Reality. An important characteristic of the self in Sufism is therefore that it can, in principle, be overcome. The basic assumption in al-Ghazālī’s work is exactly this: despite its strength, the nafs can be disciplined. Consequently, constant efforts to control the self and improve character are necessary, and indeed crucial, and yet to engage in this work is nevertheless a choice that is given to humans. Al-Ghazālī warns the reader about the eternal consequences of the decision they take in this respect. In addition to its potential to confer a full understanding of humanity’s position in the Divinely ordered universe, morality also flows from how one responds to this choice, since it is a test from God.

4.4. The Interdependent World as the Basis for Dōgen’s Universal Compassion

As for Dōgen, his worldview is clearly seen in his description of the time when he understood the real Buddha dharma after spending a long time in zazen, and “shed body and mind, and cut off polluted knowledge and thought [which had been] jumbled up in the past”. At this moment he had full realisation of the Buddha work performed by every entity, including “land (doji 土地), plants and trees (sōmoku 草木), fences and walls (shōheki 牆壁), roof tiles and stones (garyaku 瓦礫)”.97 At the end of the fascicle on the busshō, where he claims that the entirety of beings is the Buddha-nature, Dōgen confirms that the Buddha-nature is fences and walls, roof tiles and stones (this fascicle was written in 1241, sixteen years after his breakthrough experience in China).98 Any difference between sentient and non-sentient beings, or among any phenomena and manifestations, is irrelevant in Dōgen’s understanding of the world, which contains no sense of hierarchy. The self is for him to be learned and forgotten in order to free us from the illusion of duality and realise the interdependent nature of all phenomena.

Zen aims to awaken transcendental wisdom (prajñā) that helps us to go beyond a relative perspective and to see the reality of things, including the self, and thus become truly compassionate with everything. Nothing is separate and any argument concerning lower or higher is irrelevant in such a universe. When there is no self, the object too no longer exists as an object, since the subject–object division vanishes. In this Zen consciousness, nothing is self-sufficient and self-existent; however, this does not mean that individual beings cease to exist. Dōgen does not deny the concrete existence of individuals, or concreteness in general, and rather argues for the limitless prospects for realisation once body and mind are cast aside. Nāgārjuna, the founder of the Madhyamaka school, to whom Dōgen refers from time to time, interprets śūnyatā as “a guiding, not a cognitive, notion”, which helps us recognise the nature of dependent origination or non-duality (Toby Avard Foshay 1994, p. 549). The experience of anātman and śūnyatā, both of which may sound semantically negative, opens the world limitlessly and makes us see reality as it is before it is delimited by words (cf. Toshihiko Izutsu 1977, p. 106).

4.5. To Discipline or to Forget; or to Focus on the Later or the Now

The two key phrases we have been considering—disciplining the nafs in al-Ghazālī’s work, and forgetting the jiko in Dōgen’s—seem to aim in a similar direction. Self-discipline or self-transformation is the means to annihilate the nafs, but is not an end in itself, and freeing oneself from the delusion of this world, whose insignificance al-Ghazālī emphasises, is important in order to gain experiential knowledge. According to Dōgen, on the other hand, learning and forgetting the self is not the means, as practice and enlightenment are the same, and ultimately the self does not need to be changed, since once its perception is cast away, the discussion of its very existence, let alone of its transformation, will be irrelevant. Universal compassion is then possible in such a state, which is not a focus in al-Ghazālī’s work. Dōgen’s transcendental wisdom (hannya) is to see beyond to the reality of phenomenal existence, while al-Ghazālī attempts to see beyond to the Divine reality.

Despite these differences, both authors highlight the importance of proper social conduct.99 For al-Ghazālī, the idea of humility and manners is inseparably linked to the full realisation of God’s oneness, uniqueness and perfection. Faced with this absolute existence, fundamentally distinct from His created beings, humans become truly modest. Dōgen, on the other hand, sees no essential difference between Buddhas and sentient beings, since all the Buddhas and patriarchs were originally ordinary people with “bad conduct, bad mind … and stupidity”, but decided to follow the Way and became awakened (Dōgen 2003, pp. 125–26 (Shōbōgenzō zuimonki)). No thing and no one is higher or lower; there is no sense of superiority. This worldview may look anti-climatic as the culmination of the journey compared to the ecstatic utterances (shaṭaḥāt) of some Sufis upon attainment of unification with the Divine. Al-Ghazālī, with his sober piety, may not have uttered such enthusiastic sayings, although he admits the necessity of “immediate experience (dhawq)” and the “mystical/ecstatic state (ḥāl)” in faith.100 But Dōgen’s realisation does not seem to come with this mystical side effect, since his emphasis is mundaneness where the truth resides.

The importance of good deeds in this world leads to the final point, concerning an eschatological difference. Based as it is on the Qurʾānic message of reward (paradise) and punishment (hell), al-Ghazālī’s work is full of warnings. It is necessary and beneficial for believers to discipline the self, since otherwise they will almost certainly fall into the eternal fire in the Hereafter. Dōgen, on the other hand, emphasises the importance of practice without desiring to be enlightened: we are not to do good things in the hope of getting a good result.101 According to Dōgen, cause and effect take place at the same time, and in line with his principle of the oneness of practice and realisation, the result is not something one will obtain in the future (as discussed above, forgetting the self is not the result of learning it).102 Dōgen does not talk up the effect of enlightenment as an escape from the suffering of samsara: rather than teaching the basic Buddhist doctrine of transmigration in the six realms, he encourages his reader not to think too much about this.103 Do not mind if you are reborn; it is more important to be awakened with a clearer sense of self, since no realm holds any fear for the authentic self. Dōgen’s focus is on the now and here, while al-Ghazālī’s task in the Iḥyāʾ is to remind the reader of the Hereafter and the consequence of one’s conduct in this life.

5. The Foundation of Their Thought: What Emerges from the Comparison

One essential remark can be made based on this comparative analysis. Both Sufism and Zen often appear in the context of the discussion of modern Western “spiritual but not religious” (SBNR) phenomena, since in Europe, as well as the United States, the two traditions are often considered to be spiritual rather than religious, or as alternatives to established, institutionalised religion. Our examination of the argument around the self, which may seem like a spiritual issue, by the two influential figures in the respective traditions, has challenged this perception in two ways. Firstly, both al-Ghazālī and Dōgen stress the importance of physical practice. Their work recognises an intimate connection between internal and external matters, and both left lengthy and detailed guidance on bodily and everyday conduct. Secondly, as can be seen in the comparative analysis, both authors (perhaps especially Dōgen) have been often compared with philosophers, which seems to stress the “philosophical” aspects of their thought.104 This article, however, has highlighted the deeply religious elements of their writings. Each author’s view of the self is based on his belief and worldview on their respective traditions.

Faith is indeed essential in the writings of both al-Ghazālī and Dōgen. The Iḥyāʾ contains several books on this matter, notably Book 35 on faith in Divine unity (tawḥīd) and trust in God (tawakkul). In Book 22 on the self, and in the Iḥyāʾ in general, al-Ghazālī draws on the Qurʾān and the Prophetic tradition, since believing in God and acknowledging prophethood forms the foundation of his understanding of the world order. According to al-Ghazālī, faith in prophets is “the acknowledgement of a state beyond reason” (Al-Ghazālī 1967, p. 124). In his autobiographical work, he compares two tools of comprehension, the senses and the intellect, and highlights the importance of intellectual knowledge, which is, he says, higher than the senses. Faith, however, is different. One needs to open another eye, which is even above intellect, in order to see the truth of the original nature, “the hidden (al-ghaib)”. Al-Ghazālī claims that faith is beyond study or theoretical understanding, and is to be attained through direct experience, or taste (dhawq), in a mystical state.105

Dōgen’s thought is also based on firm belief in the Buddhas, as can be seen in his not-dissimilar claim that “the sphere of Buddhas is indeed inconceivable, beyond the reach of the work of mind and intellect”. Only those with true faith (shōshin 正信) are therefore able to enter that sphere, while those with disbelief (fushin 不信) will find it difficult to accept the teaching.106 Quoting an old saying about the need to take one further step at the top of a hundred-foot pole, Dōgen highlights the importance, as well as the difficulty, of discarding everything, including livelihood and body and mind. While it is rational to hold tightly onto the pole once one reaches the top, one in fact needs to throw oneself into the Buddha dharma, i.e., to keep on going regardless of the possibility of falling (Dōgen 2003, pp. 205–6 (Shōbōgenzō zuimonki)). This requires a firm belief in the teaching which has been correctly transmitted via the Buddhist patriarchs, and this faith is beyond intellectual understanding.107

This article has focused on two influential texts, rather than analysing them against their respective historical circumstances, which is beyond the scope of the current study. What has emerged from this comparison are remarkable similarities despite the profound differences in worldviews. For example, the essential dichotomy in al-Ghazālī’s thought is now more apparent, while a shared belief in the need for faith, as well as in the limitations of the intellect, has also become prominent. In order to pursue the Sufi or Zen path, belief is indeed a key element. Without denying the “philosophical” depth of the Iḥyāʾ and Shōbōgenzō, reading them as religious texts seems essential if we are to understand the basis of the thought of al-Ghazālī and Dōgen.