I added the emphasized word because I read the whole post and saw that Zen koans had been stripped from the context that gives them meaning, reducing them to gibberish. The author referred to them as common teaching tools without appreciating the significance of whether they were part of a system of teaching or whether they stood alone. The author's initial error lay in leaving out the word stand-alone, so I put it back in. Leaving it out forces the second error, which is failing to realise the "koans are common stand-alone teaching tools" is false.
I've previously written a brief article which discussed how many 'nonsense' koans make perfect sense once you recognize the context of teachings and background information that Japanese Zen students would have had.
The "sound of one hand clapping" koan, for example, is a reference to a teaching to which students would have been exposed prior to the koan in which two methodologies / perspectives interacting were compared to two hands coming together to make a noise.
If viewing things through a binary, dualistic lens produces certain conclusions, what is the conclusion reached when examining the problem in a non-dualistic way instead? That's the question the koan asks.
In the traditions of Zen in which koans are common teaching tools, it is common to use a particular story as a novice's first koan. It's the story of Joshu's Dog.
What does this koan mean? How can we find out for ourselves?
It is important to remember certain things: Firstly, koans are not meant to be puzzles, riddles, or intellectual games. They are examples, illustrations of the state of mind that the student is expected to internalize. Secondly, they often appear paradoxical.
Thirdly, the purpose of Zen teaching isn't to acquire new conceptual baggage, but to eliminate it; not to generate Enlightenment, but to remove the false beliefs that preventing us from recognizing what we already possess. Shedding error is the point, not learning something new.
Take a look at Mumon's commentary for this koan:
I'll give you a hint: Joshu's reply isn't really an answer to the monk's question, it's a response induced by it. Joshu answers the question the monk didn't ask but should have - the question whose answer the monk is taking for granted in what he asks.
This morning I passed by a gym with a glass-walled front, and I saw within the building many people working at machines, moving weights back and forth. What was being accomplished? Superficially, nothing at all. Their actions would appear to be wasted; nothing was done with them. The real purpose, of course, was to exercise the body, to condition the muscles and strengthen the bones.
The point of the koan isn't to find the 'right answer', the point of the koan is to struggle with it, and by struggling, develop one's own understanding. Contradiction and apparent contradiction is a powerful tool for this purpose. Trying to understand, we usually perceive a contradiction and let the process terminate. But if we keep struggling with the problem, even though we cannot expect to achieve anything, we build within ourselves ever more complex models, ways of seeing. Eventually the complexity will be useful in dealing with other problems, ones with solutions we didn't see before.
One warning: the fact that a problem is used as a source of contradiction does not mean that it doesn't actually have an answer. Don't mistake the use for the reality.
Has a dog Buddha-nature?
This is the most serious question of all.
If you say yes or no,
You lose your own Buddha-nature.