Many misunderstandings about Dōgen and Sōtō Zen arise from taking a single phrase or practice in isolation and then generalizing it. A frequent example is the assumption that Sōtō Zen is nothing more than “just sitting,” a kind of blank, silent meditation in which thoughts are supposed to stop. In Dōgen’s own presentation, shikantaza is not an attempt to erase mental activity but a wholehearted, alert presence in which thoughts, feelings, and sensations are allowed to arise and pass without grasping. This “just sitting” is not passive or vague; it is the concrete expression of awakening itself, requiring careful attention to posture, breathing, and attitude. Far from being a form of spacing out, it is a disciplined, dynamic way of embodying Buddha‑nature in each moment.

Another persistent misconception is that Sōtō Zen discards kōans altogether, or that Dōgen abandoned them in favor of a purely quietistic path. While Sōtō does not typically use kōans as a graded curriculum in the same manner as Rinzai, Dōgen drew on kōan literature throughout his writings and sermons. In his hands, kōans function less as puzzles to be solved and more as living expressions of reality, illuminating the inseparability of practice and realization. Related to this is the tendency to cast Sōtō as the “gradual” school over against a supposedly “sudden” Rinzai approach. Dōgen’s teaching that practice and enlightenment are one does not deny awakening experiences; it reframes them, emphasizing that the work of practice continues endlessly, and that sitting itself is already the full manifestation of the path.

Dōgen is also sometimes portrayed as an anti‑intellectual mystic who rejected study and doctrine, or as a teacher whose writings are merely obscure poetry with little practical value. This overlooks the philosophical sophistication of texts such as the Shōbōgenzō, which engage deeply with earlier Buddhist thought while remaining rooted in lived practice. His language can indeed be demanding, but its aim is to point directly to experiential understanding rather than to encourage abstract speculation. At the same time, his corpus includes very concrete instructions on meditation, monastic conduct, and daily activities, revealing that rigorous form and careful guidance are integral to his vision. Taken together, these elements show a tradition that is neither world‑denying nor lax, but one in which silent sitting, ethical discipline, and everyday activity are all woven into a single fabric of practice‑enlightenment.