Phillips, Larry. Zen and The Art of Poker

Introduction

Be the ball.

—From the movie Caddyshack

The exotic mysteries of the East—of Zen Buddhism—coupled with the nuts-and-bolts psychology of cardroom poker? Images of Japanese gardens, wafting incense, and robed monks sitting in silence in . . . Las Vegas poker rooms? Enigmatic and elusive Zen wedded to tells, river cards, and rebuys? Is such a strange overlap of the two cultures possible? And if so, where—and at what points—do these two high arts intersect?

To the Western layperson, the most familiar example of Zen may come from the movies, or sports: the marathon runner who “runs within himself”; the golfer, bowler, or basketball player who is “in the zone,” playing effortlessly, and so on. Such examples are, needless to say, superficial—hardly representative of Zen after a lifetime of training—but they do hint at a meaning.

A similar condition sometimes occurs in the game of poker. The great poker players, through a lifelong discipline at the game, eventually attain a kind of Zen state, one in which they are perfectly attuned to the rhythm of what is taking place in front of them.

Consider the following quote from poker writer Rex Jones:

All the great mystics of the world chose the middle path, the one between endless joy and endless suffering . . . The great-

Most poker players, by nature, would be unlikely to adopt Zen as a way of life, or as their primary philosophy. The notion of stillness, calmness, and patience, however, they do like—in a secondary way, as a tool—but not at the price of it being their primary lifestyle. Gamblers (and poker players), as a group, are generally celebrators, carousers, escapists, libertines, and libertarians; many of them operate with a half smile and a twinkle in their eye. The great majority love life too much to enter into any transaction in which denial, austerity, and self-effacement are major currency. (At the most advanced level, a certain monklike asceticism and dedication often do reign, however.)

Still, if there is some part of Zen that can help them, they are interested.

You may notice that some of the ideas in this book are similar to others. Their importance is great so they may be phrased in different ways and restated in slightly different forms and shadings. This, too, is Zen.

The points where Zen and poker touch or overlap (or even where Zen ideas begin to overlap with one another) are not always clear-cut. Like different sides or facets of a diamond, each idea represents a slight turn of the gem to the next facet, often bearing close relation to concepts that went before. There is, accordingly, some overlap and blurring that occurs, until the outlines of a larger picture emerges.

Any high-stakes poker game, especially among experienced players, is as much a ceremony as any Zen ritual. It is a carefully choreographed give-and-take of power, rhythm, parry, thrust, withdrawal, and retreat. Mastery and virtuosity appear. One of the central assumptions of Zen is that any activity can be raised to the level of perfection. Poker, as with other activities, fits this category. Let’s begin.

1

What Is Zen?

Zen means awakening—awareness; to be awake in the present— in the moment. It comes from the Sanskrit word dhyana (pronounced dee-yahna), meaning “meditation.” It is a tradition of Buddhism that originated in India, grew in China, and came to fulfillment in Japan—having been introduced into Japan by monks returning from China in the twelfth century.

Buddhism began 2,500 years ago with Gautauma, the Awakened One (Buddha) who, according to tradition, meditated under the bodhi tree at Gaya, in India, and achieved awakening. This awakening was of a simple nature—direct experience of reality, without thought or beliefs—and teachings based on this simplicity of viewpoint were passed down to a succession of disciples (called patriarchs) over the centuries. The twenty-eighth patriarch, Bodhidharma, carried the teachings to China.

We may have heard it said—perhaps jokingly—that someone is “at one with the universe.” (Woody Allen once remarked that he was “at two with the universe.”) The origin of this idea is that all things are connected. The only boundaries separating them are really in our own minds—the product of our beliefs and preconceived ideas. We look out at reality and endlessly label, categorize, and prejudge—

chopping it up into logical constructs, ideas, and formations, and it is because of this that the world appears to be separated and partitioned off. It is our loyalty to these beliefs that allows us to make fun of such a notion as being at one with the universe. But suppose for a moment that it was true? What if no partitions existed except the ones in our minds, the labels we have pinned on everything?

Rejecting such labels, Zen’s belief is in an undivided wholeness of things and their constantly changing fluidity. It believes that seeking comfort in such labels is really a source of disaffection. It repudiates the endless grasping, straining, and striving that most of us do in the name of these labels and beliefs. To the outsider, such an approach may have the appearance of calmness, but it is really something deeper—what Zen calls nongraspingness, a belief in their non-necessity.

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In Zen Buddhist tradition, many stories abound of youthful disciples applying to the master for entry into the monastery. In these parables, when the novice asks the master the secret of life, some mysterious, cryptic answer is always given—such as “the flower at midnight” or “three pounds of flax.”

The purpose of such comments is to force the inquirer to concentrate, to really think about the answer, and finally to shock him into the recognition that it is thinking itself that is the problem: the answer lies beyond conventional thought. Buddhism’s goal is to cut off the workings of the mind, to point out the flimsiness of these mental constructs we overlay onto all aspects of life. Seek reality directly is the suggestion, without words (direct pointing, Buddhism calls it).

As time goes on and we get older, we do get some inkling that the various labels we have put on the world are unhelpful, and they begin to fall away. With growing age and wisdom we let them go (in Western terms, we “mellow” as we grow older). Buddhism seeks to arrive at this realization sooner.

In light of this, the goal is not something that has to be sought; it is already within us. It is not something we look for or try to cre-

ate, but a realization—of something already existing. The answer lies right around us, within reach.

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Confucianism is a set of precepts, conventions, and rules for guidance in everyday life. It is focused on the golden mean. Zen has an aspect of this, too—a belief in the middle path, the ordinary way, neither being passive nor trying overly hard to dominate. It rejects these two extremes because it is in synch with, and moves with the world. It advocates a kind of harmony of balance.

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This book is a collection of Zen quotes that apply to the game of poker, with comments in between. It had its genesis when I noticed how many Zen quotes seemed to apply to the game. Zen philosopher Alan Watts once wrote that he didn’t think it was a good idea to import Zen to the West—the two societies and thought processes were too different—but that some ideas of Zen could certainly be used. That is my view with this book.

Does this book contain the wisdom of the East as applied to the game of poker? Yes. I really wanted to find something of value in the Zen doctrines for the poker player—not just a catchy title or a commercial hook for a book. I really wanted to conduct a search for substance, something usable that really did apply. This is the goal of the book.

My final destination (it turned out) was a single point that occurs, a psychological point of rhythm and instinct that is sometimes reached by the player—the “zone”—to try to get a fix on it and nail it down in words. As I discovered, however, it is elusive, and there are many roads that stream in from every direction that lead to this single point.

Lastly, I’d push for more interest in the process of the game than in the short-term goal of winning money in poker. The actual winning of money is not a tremendously difficult task, and

10 ZEN AND THE ART OF POKER

can put some money in your pocket. But understanding the process, if done well, articulated well, can draw back the curtain on the whole affair.

The Differences Between Zen and Poker

There are some major differences between the Zen and poker lifestyles. It is probably unrealistic to think that poker players are ever going to adopt the Zen lifestyle in any fundamental way.

Here is a short list of Zen tenets that conflict with poker:

•Zen believes in banishing the ego. Poker players generally believe in the ego.

•Zen takes a dim view of verbalizing and explaining (Zen sees knowledge as something that is passed from “heart to heart”); Zen wants to stop the course of the mind—and empirical consciousness. Poker requires a certain amount of empirical reasoning.

•Zen believes in holy study, wisdom, and austere spiritual practices; it wants to drive out the impure heart. Many poker players have a pure heart. Others have an impure heart.

•Zen rejects the temptations of the senses and worldly pleas- ures—what Buddha called “the brigands of the five senses.” Most poker players have partaken of, at one time or another, the brigands of the five senses.

•Zen embraces poverty. A belief in poverty is not the way for most successful poker players.

•Zen wants us to release self-will and desire. Most poker players are not very concerned with the dangers of self-will and desire.

•Zen tells us never to act selfishly and willfully. Poker players occasionally act selfishly and willfully.

•Zen believes that life is suffering. Poker players do not accept this—at least outwardly.

•Zen welcomes the void and believes in the “essence of fundamental emptiness.” Poker players do not believe in the essence of fundamental emptiness.

Philosophically, the poker player and the Zen proponent are quite far apart—at least on the surface. My poker instruction took place mainly on the riverboats of the Mississippi. The masters I studied under there are closer to characters out of Mark Twain or Jack London than Gautauma Buddha, but each in his own fashion has arrived at his version of the “middle way.” From the poker rooms of those riverboats the hills are visible on both sides of the Mississippi. Trains run alongside the river. On summer afternoons the sun gleams like diamonds on the river amid the buzz of speedboats and other activities. At night the moon shines on the water; at dawn the dark recedes and the sun comes up in the gradual grayness of half-light. In the distance the leaves change in autumn, and in winter the hills are in snow.

Inside the poker room, the dealer shuffles up, friends appear, players come and go, the game continues on endlessly. The individual player concentrates mightily, trying to discern the puzzle of the moment. The Buddhist might say the answer lies in the hills beyond.

2

Folding

You must learn to wait properly.

—Eugen Herrigel, Zen in the Art of Archery

This book is a calmative. Its theme is patience. But not patience of the usual kind—or even of the poker kind—but patience of the soul, and of the heart. While giving a respectful nod to the need for offensive play in the game of poker, this work’s general thrust with regard to the game is quieter and more tempered, as befits Zen. This is not to say that it preaches passivity or that aggressive play is not required, only that, like Zen itself, a more balanced, detached approach is adopted. This viewpoint has deep roots in conventional poker wisdom as well (prudence, caution, tightness of play, among others)—roots which in turn have their source in a more mundane truth: In poker, you’re going to be cold a lot more often that you’re going to be hot.

Put another way, simply measured in quantity of hours, the times when your cards are running hot are going to be outnumbered by the times when they are running cold, average, and bad. And since this is the case, patience becomes a necessity—and a virtue.

How is patience translated into poker terms? For the most part, the answer can be summed up in a single word: folding. And this makes poker—at least a great deal of the time—a game of