Walking Between Zen and Conservatism
There are moments in life when you encounter someone so different from yourself, yet feel an unexpected kinship. For me, one such figure is Kōbun Chino Otogawa, the Japanese Sōtō Zen priest who once guided my hero, Steve Jobs. On the surface, Kōbun and I couldn’t be more different. He was a poetic, often cryptic teacher of Zen. I am a conservative commentator, blunt and unafraid to confront culture head-on. Yet beneath that surface, I see threads that connect us.
For those unfamiliar, Kōbun Chino Otogawa was born in Japan in 1938 and later traveled West to share Zen practice in America and Europe. His teachings emphasised lived experience and presence rather than rigid ritual. He was known for sayings like, “You are perfect as you are, and you need a little improvement.” Paradoxical, yes—but profoundly true. His guidance touched many lives, including Steve Jobs’, shaping the way Jobs approached design, simplicity, and life itself. Tragically, Kōbun passed away in 2002 in Switzerland while attempting to save his daughter from drowning.
I am no Zen priest. I don’t sit cross-legged in temples or speak in riddles. My battlefield is cultural and political, and my weapon is words and conviction. Yet, like Kōbun, I recognise the power of reflection, the weight of words, and the pursuit of clarity. He sought simplicity through stillness; I seek truth through engagement and challenge. He spoke in quiet poetry; I speak in unapologetic commentary. Yet both approaches aim to awaken people to a reality beyond comfort and complacency.
Kōbun often said that the most important thing is to “find out what the most important thing is.” That resonates with me deeply. My work often revolves around cutting through distractions to focus on what truly matters: faith, family, tradition, and truth. Kōbun arrived at clarity through meditation; I arrive at it through debate, history, and conviction. Different paths, same summit.
I recall my college days, when I spent time meditating and sitting in Zen gatherings under one of the many trees on campus. It wasn’t about drugs, though some there experimented, but about learning, often discussing the Four Noble Truths, the foundation of Buddhist teaching. Zen comes from Mahayana Buddhism, but its lessons extend far beyond any label.
Kōbun’s life reminds me that wisdom doesn’t always shout; sometimes it whispers. While I may never walk his exact path, I see a shared mission: to awaken people from sleepwalking through life—whether through gentle paradox or sharp critique. In that sense, we are alike: both truth-seekers, both teachers, both unwilling to settle for the shallow version of reality the world promotes.
In the end, Kōbun Chino Otogawa and I are different expressions of the same desire: to awaken hearts and minds. His way was Zen; my way is conservative fire. But both paths strive to answer the same eternal question: what truly matters?
