I’ve never been to Japan. I don’t know much about this far eastern island and my vague idea about it rests on a few common stereotypes. When I think of Japan this is what comes to my mind: sushi, snow pink cherry blossoms, earthquakes, the Samurai and geishas, mount Fuji ever meandering on the horizon, or the busy and full of game rooms Tokyo, like shown in Sofia Coppola’s iconic motion picture “Lost in Translation.”
Recently, my high school friend recommended I read and propose to the book club members a small inconspicuous book by a Japanese author who lived at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries. At first, I was a bit hesitant as to whether such an uncontemporary and a bit eccentric piece is a good choice for a book club taking place in a very different reality – that of the 21st century Western world. But, as I began immersing myself in the text I quickly sensed that it not only makes one imagine Japan, but it brings one closer to the sophisticated thoughts underpinning Japanese culture. Ideas that, to me, seem incredibly attractive and worth spreading in the Western world. Beliefs that, if known to the Westerners, could only make our Western culture richer or at least questioned in some of its aspects. We, Westerners, have so much to learn from the Far East! The book I refer to is called “The Book of Tea” written by Kakuzo Okakura (1862 – 1913) at the very beginning of the 20th century.
Okakura’s “The Book of Tea” is an e s s a y
However, before I delve into the book itself, I would like to emphasize its style. In fact, this little guide to Japanese culture speaks to me to a large extent due to the way it is written. “The Book of Tea” is an essay – a genre, that, like poetry, lies closest to my heart. Explaining the term essay isn’t all that simple, and I think I am still in the process of defining the word. It’s important to take into consideration that a literary essay is a form very different to what we write in school. In fact, I see it as something opposite to the highly structured and rule-based compositions made by students. In the literary world an essay is a rather short piece (a few, up to several dozen, pages long) that blends prose and poetry, therefore, its style can be referred to as “poetic prose.” Its value often lies in the way it is written – in a subtle, refined and intricate manner. Every word and sentence recalls a note in a musical score. Reading, or writing an essay, is like composing a melody in which each smallest tone plays a crucial part. Even though the piece isn’t long, it is rich and detailed. Reminiscent of some kind of a deeply condensed luxurious substance – a freshly squeezed juice, perfume, silk thread or an aromatic spice that, due to its substantiality, you can only use a little of. A good essay is like an exquisite dish. If eaten properly – slowly and with curiosity – the flavors of the treat are able to trigger memories and fresh associations, transfer us to faraway places and even give carnal pleasure. An essay is also a deeply informative text, but in no case scholarly or didactic. If so, knowledge or facts are brought forth in an unnoticeable and unobtrusive manner. I like to think of an essay as a medium expanding one’s horizons. It’s a sharp viewpoint from which one gets to admire wide and ceaseless vistas.
Teaism – let it be our cup of tea
And where does Kakuzo Okakura take us with his essay? Through “The Book of Tea” the author makes the reader ponder upon an inconspicuous, yet powerful cultural phenomenon called Teaism – the art of preparing and drinking tea. The art of consuming the “golden elixir” began in China, where tea comes from, but it has especially thrived and reached its highest potential in the 15th century Japan. What is important to stress is that Japanese Teaism wasn’t simply about the gradual improvement of the tea drinking process. It was something much more. Teaism is a branch stemming from Taoism – one of the main Chinese philosophical and religious systems. Therefore, to understand and appreciate the value of a tea ceremony, one ought to be aware of the ideals that stand behind this traditional Chinese religion. Let me therefore introduce you to its basic concepts.
Let’s refresh the Yin-Yang
All of us recognize the symbol of Taoism – the black and white yin-yang circle symbolizing this religion’s main assumptions. Tao’s followers are reminded that our world is a harmonious unity, where each element – even opposite to another – is crucial and with a specific role to act out. Day and night, for example, are two pivotal, yet opposing forces. Taoists hold a pantheistic view that each Particular is a reflection of the Universal; every smallest element of reality can be seen as a reflection of what is Great. Such belief bestows upon one the sense of the totality of our Universe. We do not, however, need to feel intimidated by this totality, but – as each one of us is a justified part of this world – we are able to discover immensity within ourselves. One of the ways to reach this revelation is through meditation.
The sinuous lines within the yin-yang symbol underline the constant change and movement that underpin our reality. One can only become a true Taoist if he or she accepts the fact that life is in constant flux and that the passage of time is a natural and fascinating process; time is not our enemy! Here we can also recall a Western saying by Heraclius: “No one ever steps in the same river twice.”
In order to master the art of living, as try to do the Taoists, one should above all acquire the skill of being in the present. The one who knows how to live in the “here and now,” can draw everything that is essential from life. Even though this seems like a simple prerequisite to becoming a Taoist, living “the now” is a hard lesson to learn, as it inevitably leads one to letting go of his or her life goals, ambitions, assumptions, views, and above all the ego. Again, the best way to learn being in the present is through meditation and careful breathing. Meditation being a whole art in itself.
In his essay Okakura concentrates on how Taoism has played a crucial role in shaping its followers’ sense of aesthetics. However, it’s not to say that Taoism imposes some kind of a specific sense of style, rather such aesthetics directly results from following the Taoist philosophy. So, if one truly acts in accordance with the Taoist school of thought, he or she naturally develops a particular kind of taste. This style is surely reflected in the Japanese tea-rooms and in the etiquette obeyed inside. The design of the tea-rooms and the conduct of ceremonies taking place within them have in turn shaped Japanese architecture and culture overall.
Even though Okakura doesn’t concentrate on describing Taoism per se, it is important to be aware of this religion’s characteristics to better understand his message. I have summarized the main ideas of Taoism to stress what Okakura says: that only true disciples of such beliefs hold proper foundations to become honest tea masters and tea consumers. A Japanese tea ceremony is therefore not a superficial pastime solely dedicated to ideal methods of tea consumption, but a practice stemming from ancient religious and philosophical beliefs.
Teaism – the art of life
In “The Book of Tea” Okakura doesn’t simply present us with the history of Teaism, although he does that, too. Rather, through introducing us to the phenomenon of Teaism, he takes us out into wider waters and brings closer to the idea of the art of living. This essay can be read as a guide to Japanese culture and values, but it also serves as a silent hint on how we can make our daily lives graceful, sacred almost, and how we can turn our path into a work of art. A tea ceremony in a tea room serves as a small reflection, or an example, of how life can become an artwork. We just have to take the tea ceremony allegorically, as a metaphor for beautiful life.
Inside a tea-house
Okakura not only describes how a proper tea-room looks like, but he also makes us understand its characteristic design and function. A tea-room is above all a house of peace and serenity, subtlety, simplicity and purity. A tea-master, taking care of such a space, has to make sure it acquires such qualities. Here, we ought to remember that a tea master is fore and foremost a devotee of Taoist beliefs.
One of the main assumptions of the design of a tea-house is its temporality. A simple wooden-bamboo structure isn’t meant to be inherited or left for posterity. According to the Taoist belief in the “present,” a tea-house exists to serve the “here and now.” According to the Taoists, the eternal cannot be found in matter, only in the spirit.
Not only it is ephemeral, but it is also unimpressive in appearance and modest, which mirrors the Taoistic strong belief in that the spirit masters over matter. A tea-house is also characteristic for its emptiness. The interior design is minimalistic to the core. There is “nothing” inside apart from a few utensils, a simple altar or a flower arrangement. Such appearance stems from the Taoist belief that in vacuum lay the truly essential and that vacuum is all-potent, because all-containing. It’s a paradox that we, Westerners, rarely acknowledge. Rather, we look for ways to fill in emptiness.
Okakura tells us also that a tea-house is a thoroughly clean place, where not even a dust particle comes unnoticed. Taoists see cleaning not as a set of painful household chores, but as an art that, if executed with feeling and care, can contribute to the cleansing of the soul and mind.
Last but not least, the author explains to the reader why tea-masters do not aim at symmetry in the décor of the structure. Taoism (meaning “path”) underlines the importance of the process rather than the final product. Therefore, it sees symmetry as something fixed, not dynamic, and preventing flow. Lack of symmetry enables also the tea-house guest to imagine the rest of the ornamentation, it leaves space for fancy and poetic impulse.
The ceremony of tea shows us how to be
Just like the design of a tea-room reflects Taoist ideals, so does the tea ceremony that takes place inside. (Here, again, let’s remember to entertain the idea of the tea ceremony as mirroring life in general.)
First and foremost, the ceremony of preparing and drinking tea serves the present moment. The mindfulness of the service underlines the “here and now.” The ambience of the tea-room and the carefulness of the ritual gradually move the guest into a Zen state of mind (Zen stemming from the Taoist tradition).
In a tea-room there are no visual destructions and it is quiet, as Taoists believe that words are but an encumbrance to thought.
A tea ceremony can be regarded as a mundane activity (at the end of the day, it’s about the preparation and consumption of tea), but, as I’ve mentioned above, for the Taoists, it is exactly the mundane that reflects the Universal; the mundane being the gate to the Greatest Mystery.
The aim of such a focused and bare service is also to reach the inner nature of things – the taste of tea, the sound of silence, our own state of the mind, spirit and body… For, we can only come to the true nature of being by eliminating any external obstacles. According to the Taoists, constant moving towards the inner nature of things can bring one closer to the Truth. A careful tea ceremony shows that every mundane activity has in fact the power to bring one closer to self-realization. In order to reach self-realization we do not need only to meditate (although that is advisable), but if going about our mundane duties in a concentrated way, not forgetting about regulated breathing, we can reach this desired state. We just have to learn how to be. For the art of life is the art of being.
Let it be…
This is exactly the lesson that I have taken from Okakura’s “The Book of Tea.” Since immersing myself in this iconic essay, I have begun to concentrate more on every moment, which makes me think less about the past or the future. I am also trying to accept each instance, remembering they are all unique and connected to different feelings, emotions, experiences… Sometimes I experience a moment of joy and bliss, but other times I can feel anxiety or loneliness. Our state of being is in constant flux, like the sky with its always changing scenery, from light and peaceful, to dark and stormy, ever beautiful.
