The reason why Zen is so peculiar is that it has (to begin with) no doctrines that can be stated in words, nothing that it requires anybody to believe, it has no system of formulated philosophy. In fact, it doesn’t really have anything to say at all. What is remarkable about Zen is that it endeavors to convey its message—the realization which constitutes “awakening” in Buddhism—without the intermediary of words and ideas.
It’s very hard to convince people of this by talking about it, because all talk, all systems of ideas, are in relation to reality itself somewhat like a menu in relation to a dinner. And those who try to get comfort—to get wisdom out of books or by believing in various systems of ideas and philosophies—such people are really devouring the menu instead of eating the dinner. Now how, then, is one to divert people’s attention from the menu to the dinner itself? There is only one way, and that is to point directly at the dinner: to stop talking about it, to stop writing about it, and to point at it directly.
This indeed is a central point of Zen and of Buddhist understanding in general: that reality is beyond words, and that one must not confuse the world of things—as we think about them and talk about them and name them—with the world as it actually is.