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The Book of Tea
The Book of Tea
- by Jafar Abbas
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The Book of Tea, written by the very perceptive Japanese scholar and art critic Kakuzo
Okakura at the beginning of the last century, is one of the most delightful essay-volumes
in the English language.
In this book, Okakura wanted to explain the peculiar orientality of the Orient, and used
tea as his symbol. He first tells of its origin, early history, and diffusion, and then goes on
to talk at some length about the profound meaning and purpose of the tea-room and the
tea-ceremony.
There is a subtle charm in the taste of tea that makes it irresistible and capable of
idealization. It does not have the arrogance of wine, the self-consciousness of coffee, nor
the simpering innocence of cocoa.
As Okakura remarks: "Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among
the sordid facts of everyday existence. It is essentially a worship of the Imperfect, as it
is a tender attempt to accomplish something possible in this impossible thing we know as
life."
Tea is a work of art and needs a master hand to bring out its noblest qualities. There is no
single recipe for making the perfect tea, as there are no rules for producing a great piece
of art. Li Chi Lai, a Sung poet, has sadly remarked that there were three most deplorable
things in the world: the spoiling of fine youths through false education, the degradation of
fine paintings through vulgar admiration, and the utter waste of fine tea through
incompetent manipulation.
It is in the Japanese tea-ceremony that we see the culmination of tea-ideals. As Okakura
observes: "Tea with us became more than an idealization of the form of drinking; it is a
religion of the art of life. The beverage grew to be an excuse for the worship of purity and
refinement, a sacred function at which the host and the guest joined to produce for that
occasion the utmost beatitude of the mundane. The tea-room was an oasis in the dreary
waste of existence where the weary travellers could meet to drink from the common
spring of art appreciation. The ceremony was an improvised drama whose plot was
woven about the tea, the flowers, and the paintings. Not a colour to disturb the tone of the
room, not a sound to mar the rhythm of things, not a gesture to intrude on the harmony,
not a word to break the unity of surroundings, all movements to be performed simply and
naturally, -- such were the aims of the tea-ceremony. And strangely enough it was often
successful. A subtle philosophy lay behind it all. Teaism was Taoism in disguise."
And what is Taoism? "I do not know its name, and so call it the Path. One who knows
does not speak; one who speaks does not know," says Lao Tzu. Taoism is the "art of
being in the world." Taoism accepts the mundane as it is and tries to find beauty in our
world of woe and worry. Only in vacuum lies the truly essential. One who makes of
himself a vacuum, in which others might freely enter, becomes master of all situations.
He who tempers his own brightness in order to merge himself into the obscurity of others
is the real man. The student learns by daily increment. The Way is gained by daily loss.
Loss upon loss, until at last comes rest. "Block the openings; shut the doors; blunt the
sharpness; untangle the knots; soften the glare; let your wheels move only along old
ruts," such is the wisdom of the Path.
Meanwhile, let us have a sip of tea. The afternoon glow is brightening the bamboos, the
fountains are bubbling with delight, the soughing of the pines is heard in our kettle. Let
us dream of evanescence, and linger in the beautiful foolishness of things.
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