koan

A koan is a concept from Zen Buddhism. It refers to a paradoxical question, statement or story that’s designed to provoke deep contemplation and insight. I came across it when my mum put it down in a game of Words With Friends – I’m sure she knew that this is what it means, and wasn’t just putting down letters randomly trying to find a word (sorry, Mumsy).

A koan’s purpose is to transcend ordinary logic and encourage Buddhist practitioners to experience enlightenment, or ‘satori’. Koans challenge the analytical mind, requiring people to move beyond rational thought to grasp their deeper truth. They’re often used in meditation or as a teaching tool during a Zen student’s training under a master.

Koans aren’t meant to be solved logically as they don’t have straightforward answers. Instead, they encourage people to challenge their usual ways of thinking, look inward and confront their preconceptions. The process of working with a koan often involves talking to a teacher about one’s understanding of it, who’ll then give you more guidance or challenge your perspective.

If you’re feeling more confused than enlightened by all this, here’s a famous koan:

‘What is the sound of one hand clapping?’

This is designed to challenge conventional ideas of perception and duality, apparently. I’m clearly not destined to become a Buddhist as I just find this logistically confusing.

Etymology-wise, the word ‘koan’ originates from a Japanese term, 公案 (kōan), which itself comes from a Chinese term, 公案 (gōng’àn), meaning ‘public case’ or ‘official document’. I’m not sure anyone ever reached enlightenment through admin, so how did that association happen? Well, historically the term referred to legal precedents used by magistrates in ancient China. The Buddhists then adopted the term gōng’àn to signify an authoritative example or teaching from a Zen master – like a case study that illustrates profound spiritual principles.

I was going to end this blog by saying that there’s obviously something in this koan-malarkey, as Buddhism is the only major religion that’s never started a war. But, sadly, a bit of research shows that that’s not strictly true. Buddhism does however emphasise non-violence, compassion and mindfulness, all of which are things this world could do with a lot more of. So let’s just leave it there.

gung-ho

If you’re gung-ho about something, you’re extremely enthusiastic, possibly to the point of being stupid or annoying. But did you know it has its origins in China? Let’s get gung-ho about gung-ho. Sorry.

‘Gung-ho’ comes from the Chinese phrase ‘gōnghé’ meaning ‘work together’ which is short for ‘gōngyè hézuòshè’ (工業合作社), meaning, rather uninspiringly, ‘industrial cooperative’. The full phrase refers to the Chinese Industrial Cooperatives, organisations established in China during the Second Sino-Japanese War (1937–1945) to support the country’s war effort. They organised unemployed workers and refugees to work together to increase production. In the 1930s, a US Marine commander called Lieutenant Colonel Evans F Carlson spent some time in China observing these operations. He was so impressed by how enthusiastic the workers were, and how well they worked together, that he adopted the term ‘gung-ho’ as a motto for his Marine Raiders a few years later. From there, it spread throughout the US Marine Corps, where it was used as an expression of spirit (whatever that means), and then into American society as a whole. ‘Gung-ho’ was firmly cemented into English when it was used as the title of a 1943 war film about the 2nd Raider Battalion’s 1942 raid on Makin Island, which was led by Carlson.

‘Gung-ho’ is a great example of a foreign word being adopted into English with a completely different (by which I mean completely wrong) meaning. According to the linguist Albert Moe, in Chinese, ‘…this is neither a slogan nor a battle cry; it is only a name for an organization’.

ketchup

Think ketchup originated in America? Well, despite the fact that 97% of American households have a bottle of the red stuff in their kitchens, this condiment actually started life on much more exotic shores. The word ketchup comes from a Hokkien Chinese word, ‘kê-tsiap’, which was the name of a sauce made from fermented fish. (While any food with the word ‘fermented’ in it just doesn’t sound appetising, I think this was actually quite similar to soy sauce.)

So how did ketchup migrate? Well, it’s likely that British travellers brought ‘kê-tsiap’ home, before attempting to recreate it in their kitchens and anglicising it as ‘catchup’ (also ‘catsup’). The first written mention of ‘catchup’ is in ‘A New Dictionary of the Terms Ancient and Modern of the Canting Crew’, a dictionary of English slang first published in 1698. It has over 4,000 entries and, frankly, sounds awesome.

At some point ‘catchup’ mutated into ‘ketchup’. And the first published recipe for ketchup appeared in 1727, in ‘The Compleat Housewife’, an incredibly popular cookbook by Eliza Smith which went through a massive 18 editions. Ingredients in Smith’s recipe included anchovies, shallots, vinegar, ginger and nutmeg, and involved shaking the bottle once or twice a day for a week before using it. A second recipe for ‘ketchup in paste’ appeared in 1732, written by one Richard Bradley (who was the first professor of botany at Cambridge University, and also published the first recipe with pineapple in it – hopefully it wasn’t a pizza). This still wasn’t the ketchup we know today though – the main ingredient was red beans, and there definitely weren’t any tomatoes in there. Other versions followed, often containing mushrooms (apparently Jane Austen was a big fan of mushroom ketchup), unripe walnuts (YUM) and oysters. At this point ‘ketchup’ was really just another word for ‘sauce’.

Despite having been brought to England in the 1500s from South America, tomatoes weren’t popular as people actually thought they were poisonous (possibly due to the lead from lead pewter plates leaching into them). So it wasn’t until around 1812 that the first tomato ketchup recipe appeared. James Mease, a scientist from Philadelphia, gets the credit for this, although he loses points for calling tomatoes ‘love apples’ (due to their reputation for being an aphrodisiac – which seems somewhat at odds with the whole poison thing, but never mind), which doesn’t seem very scientific, and sounds gross. A little start-up by the name of Heinz then introduced their recipe in 1876, and the red sauce we know today was born. Today Heinz is the best-selling brand of ketchup in the United States, with more than 650 million bottles sold every year.

I still don’t like it though.

kowtow

If you kowtow to someone, it means you agree to do something a bit too easily, or in an obsequious way – AKA sucking up. It now has quite negative connotations, but in days gone by a kowtow was actually the ultimate way to show respect to a superior. It involved bowing or kneeling so low that your forehead was touching the floor (if I did this I wouldn’t be able to get back up again), or even lying fully prostrate on the ground. Apparently a kosher kowtow was three kneelings and nine knockings of your forehead on the floor – and if you can’t hear your skull hitting the ground then you ain’t doing it properly. Ouch.

Vietnamese graduates kowtowing to their teachers in 1897

The word ‘kowtow’ itself comes from Cantonese – it’s a combination of ‘kòu’ which means ‘to knock’ and ‘tóu’ which means ‘head’. In Sinospheric culture (which is a fancy-dancy term for countries in East and Southeast Asia that were historically influenced by China, like Japan and Korea), it was used to show respect for one’s parents and elders, superiors and religious big-wigs, all the way up to the Emperor of China himself. The Emperor wasn’t immune either – apparently he would do a kowtow (possibly not the right terminology) to the shrine of Confucius, and also to heaven (that was it though).

The kowtow caused an international incident in 1793 when Lord George (not Paul) Macartney*, the first British ambassador to China, refused to do a full kowtow to Emperor Qianlong (because, British). He went as far as removing his hat and bowing, but that was it. This pissed off the Chinese no end, especially as every other European ambassador had just got on and done it. The Brits agreed to do a kowtow only if the emperor would do the same to a portrait of King George III (yes, the mad one). Unsurprisingly that was a hard ‘no’. China then rejected every single one of Britain’s diplomatic and trade requests. All for the sake of a bow and not a kowtow. Also, MEN.

Macartney’s first meeting with Qianlong. Hope he sang the Frog Chorus

The term ‘kowtow’ arrived in English in the early 1800s, probably as a result of those failed trade negotiations. Within a few decades its meaning had changed to the ‘fawning’ verb we have today.

The kowtow tradition pretty much disappeared after the fall of the Qing dynasty in 1911–12. Nowadays in China it’s reserved for paying homage to ancestors at family burial grounds.

* Yes, it is spelled differently but I liked the Frog Chorus joke so I left it in.