Zen and the Art of Dissatisfaction – Part 37

Peacemaking as Rocket Science

This post explores the peculiar life of American aeronautical engineer‑turned‑Zen teacher Bernie Glassman (1939–2018). It follows his transition from designing the first crewed mission to Mars at McDonnell Douglas in Huntington Beach, California, to founding the Zen Center of Los Angeles and later the socially‑oriented Greyston Bakery in New York. It also examines the philosophical underpinnings of his “peace‑making” practice, the influence of teachers such as Maezumi Hakuyū, and the broader cultural reception of his ideas within contemporary Zen discourse.

One day in 1965, the American aeronautical engineer Bernie Glassman (1939–2018) sat silently in his garage and was startled by the disappearance of his own sense of self. Glassman’s task at the time was to plan the first crewed journey to Mars. He served as unit leader at the McDonnell Douglas plant in Huntington Beach, California, just south of Los Angeles. Glassman was born in Brooklyn, New York, into a family of Jewish refugees who had fled Eastern Europe. He became interested in Buddhism during the 1950s in New York.

Shaken by his terrifying experience, Glassman sought a teacher at a Zen‑Buddhist temple in the Little‑Tokyo neighbourhood of Los Angeles. There he met a young Japanese monk named Hakuyū Taizan Maezumi (1931–1995). Maezumi had been born at the Kirigayaji Temple in Tokyo, but moved to the United States for missionary work in 1956. His father, Baian Hakujun Kuroda, ordained him as a monk at the age of eleven. Glassman became Maezumi’s first disciple. Maezumi continued to study with his own Japanese teachers, whom he also invited to the United States to lead retreats. Consequently, Glassman was able to study under Maezumi’s teachers as well. Glassman was installed as a Zen teacher in 1974.

Bernie helped his teacher Maezumi build and develop his own Zen temple in Los Angeles’ Koreatown. This centre, founded in 1967, still operates today as the Zen Center of Los Angeles (ZCLA), temple name Buddha Essence Temple. Initially, Bernie was a strict and demanding instructor. The writer and Zen teacher Peter Matthiessen (1985, p. 125) recorded how Bernie experienced a sudden awakening during a retreat led by Japanese master Osaka Kuryu at ZCLA in May 1970. Bernie himself was frightened by the experience; afterwards he stood in the centre’s courtyard drying his tears. He described looking at a tree standing in the yard:

“I didn’t feel I was the tree, it went deeper than that. I felt the wind on me, I felt the birds on me, all separation was completely gone.”

Nevertheless, this experience did not as itself force him to act for the benefit of everyone else. He continued to work solely for his own Zen community, often neglecting the needs of his family and children through his prolonged absences due to his responsibilities as a full time aeronautical engineer and zen priest. One morning at the end of 1976, on a car pool ride to his work, Bernie realised that the world was full of hungry ghosts that needed feeding. They thirsted for fame, power, drugs, money, sex, etc. Bernie saw how these these ghosts were also aspects of himself. The insight was so obvious that Bernie wept and laughed simultaneously throughout his work day.

Bernie’s experience is important to the work he dedicated himself to. However, it can also be seen to exemplify a phenomenon that American Zen teacher Brad Warner (2013) calls “enlightenment porn”. In a sense the term is justified: if the core of any spiritual practice is a personal realisation of the true nature of one’s true self, then another person’s experience cannot tell you anything about your own. Narrating such experiences about one’s own awakening is also a taboo in many spiritual circles. This attitude of explainin heroic awakening stories entered Zen Buddhism via the American‑edited volume Three Pillars of Zen (1967) by Philip Kapleau. Zen master Dōgen describes his own awakening very tersely: “I dropped both body and mind. That’s it.”

One could defend Bernie by saying he is a product of his era and culture. He even recounts reading Kapleau’s book just before his second awakening. Bernie eventually left his job in Los Angeles and devoted himself fully to a career as a Zen teacher. In 1979, Bernie Glassman founded his own Zen community north of Riverdale, New York. Some years after establishing the community he sold a donated mansion and used the proceeds to acquire a dilapidated building in Yonkers, a short walk from his own home. They opened the Greyston Bakery in 1982. The bakery produced cheesecakes and brownies for restaurants and shops across New York.

Glassman believed that, rather than practising traditional Japanese Zen, the community should strive to deal with problems caused by addiction and violence—homelessness, unemployment and the AIDS epidemic. According to him, realisation does not arise solely from conventional forms such as temple décor, incense, ceremonies, scriptures or robes, but from personal insight and awakening. Although the methods Glassman developed may not look Japanese, he trusted that they would help Western people experience the core at the heart of Zen practice, which is the realisation and actualisation of oneness of life.

Glassman taught that the Buddhist ideal of the Bodhisattva, i.e., the peacemaker, is one of Buddhism’s most important teachings. The peacemaker has a personal glimpse of what oneness of life is, and what liberation from dissatisfaction might mean. They then cultivate this insight to the best of their ability. They also feel that their ultimate liberation depends on the liberation of all other forms of life (not only humans); therefore they will do everything they can to give every being the chance to free itself from dissatisfaction and delusion. This work, done for the benefit of all, cultivates the peacemaker’s own spiritual growth, which in turn enables them to continue acting on behalf of others.

This work is not done through preaching and trying to make eveyone see the same way they do. Actually it is quite the opposite. The peacemaker is a servant. The work is done through their own example, and through the practice of the Three Tenets of the Peacemakers. These are 1) Not-Knowing 2) Bearing Witness, and 3) Loving Action, which arises from Not-Knowing and Bearing Witness.

Glassman’s vision for the Greyston bakery was that it would employ anyone who applied, through a concept of open hiring. That means no interviews, no background checks, and no resumes are required to get a job. Recognising that employment is just the first step toward self-sufficiency, Greyston quickly expanded into several social and community services areas.

Workers needed many things to survive their jobs: a home, childcare and a clinic for those living with AIDS. All of this was provided collectively. Greyston helped its employees refurbish derelict houses, allowing them to obtain their own homes. The AIDS clinic “Issan House”, founded by Greyston, was one of the first AIDS clinics in the United States. Issan House is a 35-unit facility offering housing to 40–to–50 formerly homeless individuals annually. All residents are living with HIV/AIDS, and many also are struggling with mental health issues and substance abuse.

Greyston expanded rapidly, acquiring new premises and services. Today the Greyston bakery continues to operate on the same principles and supplies brownie pieces for Ben & Jerry’s ice‑cream. Their open hiring policy and the book describing it (Glassman & Fields, 1996) are studied in economics courses at Yale and Harvard. The foundation that runs alongside the bakery still occupies the former convent that Glassman purchased.

Bernie Glassman’s life illustrates how the rigor of aeronautical engineering can inform a disciplined Zen practice, and how that practice can be transformed into concrete social action. His model of “peacemaking” bridges personal awakening with systemic change, offering a template for modern spiritual social entrepreneurs who wish to address concrete issues such as homelessness, addiction and health crises without sacrificing the depth of their inner work.

Conclusion

Bernie Glassman’s journey—from designing interplanetary rockets at McDonnell Douglas to building the Zen Center of Los Angeles and establishing the socially innovative Greyston Bakery—demonstrates a rare synthesis of organisational skills, spiritual insight, and social entrepreneurship. By recognising the “hungry ghosts” within himself and society, he created institutions that feed both material and spiritual needs. His legacy challenges contemporary practitioners to move beyond isolated meditation and to embody the Buddhist ideal of a Bodhisattva: cultivating personal awakening while actively serving and saving all beings.


References

Glassman, B., & Fields, R. (1996). Instructions to the cook: A Zen master’s lessons in living a life that matters. Harmony.
Kapleau, P. (1967). The three pillars of Zen. New York: Anchor Books.
Matthiessen, P. (1987). Nine-headed dragon river: Zen journals 1969-1982. Shambhala Publications.
Warner, B. (2013). There is No God and He is Always with You: A Search for God in Odd Places. New World Library.

Zen and the Art of Dissatisfaction – Part 36

The Interconnected Nature of Reality

In this installment of Zen and the Art of Dissatisfaction, I explore how ancient philosophical and religious traditions illuminate the complex interplay between human perception, duality, and the experience of oneness. Drawing on insights from David Loy’s work Nonduality, Stephen Mitchell’s translations, and my own ethnographic research on the San people of the Kalahari, I will investigate the ways in which ordinary and spiritual realities intertwine and how cultural and economic structures shape our sense of dissatisfaction.

Photo by Mikko Ijäs

Philosopher David Loy observes in his book Nonduality (1988) how, in the Daodejing by the Chinese philosopher Laozi, composed approximately 2,500 years ago, the odd-numbered lines – such as 1, 3, 5, and 7 – describe an interconnected nonduality, an indefinable essence known as the Tao. This Tao is said to be the source of heaven and the world, a reality understood as spiritual unity. Experiences that reveal this Taoist nonduality emerge only when a person has no deliberate striving to attain it.

In contrast, the even-numbered lines – 2, 4, 6, and 8 – point to another perspective of the experience of this world, in which we perceive everything as a collection of separate, independent entities that nonetheless interact with one another. These two perspectives and experiences of reality form a web of interactions, ultimately constituting a single, unified whole. Loy argues that this view of the world, also referred to in Buddhism as samsara, is a dualistic world in which the experiencer and the external world are distinguished from each other. A dualistic world is characterised by distinctions and definitions between objects and concepts. It tends to categorise things into opposites – good and bad, right and wrong, evil and just, large and small, black and white, rich and poor, and so on. This perspective enables classifications, lists, and categories.

Language, Metaphor, and the Limits of Duality

Linguist and translator Stephen Mitchell notes (1991) agrees we instinctively interpret language through a dualistic lens. We take metaphors literally because language is itself a dualistic method. Linguistic systems rely on distinctions and categories, which makes it challenging to describe phenomena beyond their reach. Over time, the metaphors of original religious experience may vanish in literary traditions.

For this reason, some religious traditions emphasise the practitioner’s own trust in their personal experience over written knowledge. In such practices, experiential knowledge is transmitted from teacher to student. In esoteric religions, teachings are intended only for the initiated; nothing is revealed to outsiders, to prevent misinterpretation of metaphors.

In Zen Buddhism, the student must personally perceive the true nature of life. Even the teacher cannot grant it. The teacher can only gently guide the student toward their personal insight.

Insight and the Path of Practice

Such insight is not something that can be understood in a conventional sense. There is no book to read that mystically unlocks the gates of the mind so that we understand the astonishing world in which we live. Cognitively, we may grasp the concept, but experiencing it through personal insight is entirely different. This requires humility, dedication, faith, and effort.

The process requires that the individual examines their own understanding of self and the nature of reality. Upon the first glimpse of insight, the practitioner questions everything: mountains are no longer mountains, and waters are no longer waters. As the practice continues, the practitioner gradually realises the true nature of reality and appreciates that it has been present all along; it was simply unseen. Eventually, mountains are once again mountains, and waters are waters. This experience is often described as awakening, or even enlightenment.

This insight does not occur as a sudden, dramatic event where the practitioner is transported to another dimension. Spiritual practices aim for slow, often years- or decades-long cultivation, during which the practitioner gradually comes to a new understanding of reality, often imperceptibly. Occasionally, sudden flashes of insight occur that are difficult to articulate. Each tradition has its own means of framing these experiences so that they can be understood within a coherent context.

For instance, in Zen practice, a student may have sudden, surprising experiences, feeling as though the entire world is shifting or collapsing. The student may exclaim, “Here it is. I understand!” The teacher then reminds them: “It is wonderful that you had this experience, but this is not the end. Experiences come and go. We continue to practise understanding this reality.”

Mitchell also observes that similar insights are accessible in the original texts of Christianity. Even the Christian notion of the Kingdom of Heaven can be understood as a subtle state of being, living with ordinary joys and sorrows. After such realisation, life becomes simple and effortless, like the flight of birds across the sky or lilies growing eternally in the field – ever-present in the present moment.

Social Context, Dissatisfaction, and Economic Change

My doctoral research on the shamanistic cultures of the Kalahari led me to think that human dissatisfaction may arise from distorted perspectives. Axial age transformations between 800 BCE and 600 CE brought not only new religions but also profound economic changes. Previously, people relied on mutual aid and trust in everyday life. The introduction of money disrupted this trust. Slavery, armies, and money altered everything.

This transformation continues to affect us. Money, though in principle democratic and available to anyone, requires individuals to make extreme sacrifices of personal freedom to acquire it. Money disconnects people from social networks of trust – both in relation to others and in relation to their environment – because all resources are reduced to commodities defined by monetary value.

The San people of the Kalahari still live in an economy where everything is shared, and reliability holds meaningful social significance. Social cohesion is paramount in such societies. The trance dance practiced by the San is one method of reinforcing social cohesion. This religious practice aims to engage with the spiritual world so that spirits or ancestors can assist the community in times of hardship, such as illness. The trance dance exemplifies a form of spiritual practice intended to blur the distinctions and limitations of a dualistic world.

I do not claim that humanity has ever lived in a society where individuals constantly felt at one with the universe. Yet I believe that our contemporary market-driven worldview contains elements that disrupt this sense of unity and connection. This worldview – shaped by armies, oppression, and money, originating roughly 2,500 years ago – may prevent us from fully experiencing the beauty and interconnectedness of life. Perhaps it is the root of fundamental dissatisfaction.

Conclusion

The interplay between Taoist, Zen, and Christian insights, along with observations of human societies such as the Kalahari San, illustrates that the perception of duality is deeply ingrained in language, culture, and social structures. Spiritual practices cultivate a gradual awakening to the reality of interconnectedness, which cognitive understanding alone cannot achieve. Human dissatisfaction, whether induced by economic, social, or cultural frameworks, may ultimately reflect a misalignment between our conditioned perceptions and the underlying unity of existence. By exploring these perspectives, we gain a richer understanding of both the limitations of our worldview and the transformative potential of personal insight.


References

Loy, D. (1988). Nonduality: In Buddhism and Beyond. Wisdom Publications.

Mitchell, S. (1991). Tao Te Ching: A new English version. HarperCollins.