Alan Watts Explains Why True Zen Masters Have Nothing to Teach

Photo by Jelmer Assink on Unsplash

So, picture this: you’re walking down the street, juggling your thoughts like a bunch of flaming bowling pins, trying not to drop any.

Maybe you’re thinking about taxes, your ex, or whether it’s acceptable to eat cereal for dinner.

Then, out of nowhere, two old guys in robes cross your path. They nod at each other like they’re sharing a secret handshake of the universe, but no hands are shaken.

They just keep walking, not a word spoken, while you stand there with your flaming pins now officially on fire.

That’s the vibe Alan Watts is throwing down. Zen is like that quiet, slightly disheveled genius who never raises his hand in class, but when you peek at his notebook, it’s filled with answers you didn’t even know were questions.

Watts, the philosopher with a knack for turning cosmic truths into something you could almost put in your pocket, tells us why the best Zen masters are the ones who claim nothing.

Not because they’re humble, but because there’s really nothing to claim. It’s not a treasure chest they’re guarding—it’s just an empty box with your name already on it.

Dissecting the Watch-Selling Zen Master

Here’s the quote:

“And they say, when two Zen masters meet each other on the road, they need no introduction. When thieves meet, they recognize each other instantly. So they don’t say anything, don’t make any claims.

As a matter of fact, so far from making claims, all good Zen masters say they have not attained anything, they have nothing to teach, and that’s the truth.

Because anybody who tells you that he is some way of leading you to spiritual enlightenment is just like somebody who picks your pocket and sells you your own watch.

Of course, if you didn’t know you had a watch, that might be the only way of getting you to realize.”

Here’s the deal:

Alan Watts isn’t just poking at the idea of enlightenment; he’s tearing it apart like a mechanic pulling apart an engine just to show you that the problem was never under the hood.

He’s telling us straight: Zen masters aren’t in the business of being gurus. They’re not spiritual salesmen with a “Buy Two Mantras, Get One Free” deal.

A Zen master is like one of those old mirrors you find at a flea market. A little dusty, maybe cracked around the edges, but it does the job. You stand in front of it, and there you are. No filter, no frills—just you. That’s what they do. They reflect back what you already are, what you already know deep down.

The thieves in the analogy?

Oh, they’re everywhere. They’re the ones with the robes, the candles, the dramatic hand gestures. The ones who speak in riddles but always seem to have a “pay now” link at the end of the riddle.

They’re the ones saying, “I’ve found the way, and for a small fee, I’ll lead you to it.” They promise you the stars, but they’re just selling you a map to the backyard.

Watts is throwing the whole spiritual grift under the bus. He’s saying enlightenment isn’t a prize you can win, or a potion you can drink, or a handshake you can learn.

It’s not a secret treasure locked in a vault only they can open. No, it’s already ticking away in your pocket. Like a watch you forgot you had, it’s been keeping time this whole damn time.

And sure, maybe you needed someone to point it out to you.

Maybe you’re sitting there, patting your pockets, going, “Wait, I have a watch?” That’s fine.

But the key is this: they didn’t give you the watch. It was already yours. They didn’t reach into the ether and pull down some enlightenment just for you.

All they did was nod at your wrist and say, “Hey, buddy, check this out.”

The cosmic joke, as Watts sees it, is that people keep lining up for gurus, thinking they’re buying something rare and profound. But what they’re really doing is getting sold their own damn stuff.

It’s like someone sneaking into your house, swiping your toaster, and then convincing you to pay for toast.

A good Zen master doesn’t even want credit for pointing it out. They’re the anti-salesman. They’ll shrug and say, “I didn’t give you anything. I didn’t teach you anything. All I did was remind you what you already knew.”

And then they’ll probably walk off before you can thank them, leaving you standing there with your watch, ticking away, feeling both a little foolish and a little enlightened.

Zen for Bros and Kids: No-BS Explanation

Alright, bro. Imagine you’re at the gym, and this shredded dude walks up. He flexes, tells you he’s got the “ultimate secret” to gaining muscle.

He offers to sell you a special program for $99. Cool, right? Except when you try it, it’s just basic squats, bench presses, and deadlifts. Stuff you already knew.

That’s what Alan Watts is saying. These fake gurus act like they’re giving you magic gains, but they’re just selling you back what you already had.

A real Zen master is like your buddy who quietly spots you at the bench and says, “Bro, the secret is you just gotta lift.”

To a kid, I’d say it’s like learning to tie your shoes. Someone shows you how, but they didn’t invent shoelaces. They just pointed at your feet and said, “Hey, these work like this.”

Alan Watts Meets Friedrich Nietzsche

Let’s drag Friedrich Nietzsche into the room, the guy who stared into the abyss long enough for it to wink back.

Nietzsche wasn’t the kind to sugarcoat anything. He didn’t hand out comfort blankets or give you a pat on the back. Instead, he grabbed you by the collar, shook you hard, and said, “Life’s rough, kid. Now get up and live it anyway.”

But here’s the thing—Nietzsche had his own way of saying, “You already have the watch.”

He just dressed it up in existential grit and dramatic flourishes. In Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche drops the line:

“You must become who you are.”

What does that even mean? It’s a challenge. Nietzsche is saying, stop pretending, stop conforming, stop wearing all the masks you’ve piled on to fit into a world that doesn’t even know what to do with you.

Strip it all down. Beneath all the noise, all the fear, and all the nonsense—you’re already you. You just have to own it.

Now, imagine Nietzsche and Alan Watts meeting in some gritty, neon-lit gym.

They’re gym bros in another universe. Nietzsche, with his wild mustache and intensity that makes everyone in the room a little nervous, is spotting Watts, who’s probably cracking jokes between sets.

Nietzsche grunts through the strain, barking, “Become your true self!” Watts, leaning into the moment, just laughs and says, “Bro, you already are!”

Different vibes, same truth.

Watts is the laid-back guy who tells you to chill and trust that you’ve already got the answers. Nietzsche’s the intense coach yelling at you to dig deep and find them.

Watts is showing you the watch in your pocket; Nietzsche’s telling you to smash the pocket open if you have to, just so you finally realize it was there the whole damn time.

And that’s the beauty of it. They’re coming from opposite directions, but they meet in the middle. Watts is about discovering that the watch is ticking softly, right under your nose.

Nietzsche’s about tearing through every illusion and lie until you’re left standing there, raw and real, with the truth in your hands.

The watch and the barbell—symbols of the same thing.

The power’s already there, sitting in your pocket or waiting on the rack. The real work is in realizing it and lifting it.

Table: Watch-Selling vs. True Zen Masters

Fake GuruTrue Zen Master
Claims to have “the secret”Claims nothing at all
Sells enlightenment as a productPoints to what’s already yours
Creates dependence on their methodsEncourages independence and self-trust

The Dissenters: Philosophers Who’d Disagree

Not everyone’s on board with Watts’ watch analogy. Here are some thinkers who might call him out:

PhilosopherDisagreement
PlatoPlato would argue that enlightenment comes from transcending the material world through reason.
Immanuel KantKant might say that enlightenment requires rigorous moral and rational effort, not silent knowing.
Jean-Paul SartreSartre could claim that enlightenment is a struggle of existential choice, not passive recognition.

Conclusion: Finding Your Watch and Laughing at the Universe

At the end of the day—or the gym session—you realize Watts was right: the joke’s on us. Enlightenment isn’t something you can buy, borrow, or beg for. It’s been ticking in your pocket all along.

And when you finally pull that watch out and look at it, you don’t feel cheated. You just laugh. Because the Zen master isn’t trying to teach you anything—he’s just standing there, pointing at your wrist, saying, “Hey, don’t forget the time.”

Time to lift, bro.

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