The Book of Tea is a beautiful essay on the aestheticism of the Japanese tea ceremony and its deep roots in Japanese culture and faiths.
The long isolation of Japan from the rest of the world, so conducive to introspection, has been highly favourable to the development of Teaism. Our home and habits, costume and cuisine, porcelain, lacquer, painting—our very literature—all have been subject to its influence.
Scholar Kakuzō Okakura (1862 – 1913) wrote The Book of Tea in English to acquaint the West with the harmony, purity, and mystery of this century-honored ritual. As Okakura noticed, the West was eager to drink the drink but fell short of appreciating the philosophy that formed it.
Those who cannot feel the littleness of great things in themselves are apt to overlook the greatness of the little things in others. The average Westerner, in his sleek complacency, will see in the tea-ceremony but another instance of the thousand and one oddities which constitute the quaintness and childishness of the East to him.
Okakura draws out the deep humanity of Teaism and argues within it can be found many features that fortify our nature:
The Philosophy of Tea is not mere aestheticism in the ordinary acceptance of the term, for it expresses conjointly with ethics and religion our whole view about man and nature. It is hygiene, for it enforces cleanliness; it is economics, for it shows comfort in simplicity rather than in the complex and costly; it is moral geometry, inasmuch as it defines our sense of proportion to the universe.
It is Teasism’s connection to humanity, to nature, and to ourselves that allows us to slip into a balance, into serenity. It is, taken in deep reverence, empowering of pause and stillness.
With ceremony and ritual we grab time and wring it still.
There is no single recipe for making the perfect tea, as there are no rules for producing a Titian or a Sesson. Each preparation of the leaves has its individuality, its special affinity with water and heat, its hereditary memories to recall, its own method of telling a story. The truly beautiful must be always in it.
As a hopeless tea enthusiast, I find this abundant love for the individuality of tea, the personal selection, the lack of pomposity exactly appropriate.1
Blending history, anecdote, imaginative metaphors, and Kakuzo from the close relationship between tea and flowers, to the selection and development of tea-masters, to the variation of flavors and tastes.
“The quality that we call beauty,” wrote Japanese novelist Jun’ichiro Tanizaki, “must always grow from the realities of life.” Like Tanizaki’s appraisal of Japanese aesthetics, Okakura’s writing is steeped in exquisite, poetic metaphor.
Those of us who know not the secret of properly regulating our own existence on this tumultuous sea of foolish troubles we call life are constantly in a state of misery while vainly trying to appear happy and contented. We stagger in the attempt to keep our moral equilibrium, and we see forerunners of the tempest in every cloud… Yet there is joy and beauty in the roll of the billows as they sweep outward toward eternity. Why not enter into their spirit, or, like Liehtse, ride upon the hurricane itself?
Teaism isn’t about stepping outside life or habit, it is life and habit. It is a method of filling our minds and souls with beauty, rest, adoration, contemplation.
Like Nan Shepard, a Scottish writer who rhapsodized about “Two pine trees that stood out against the sky” while hiking in the Highlands, Kakuzo delivers us an eternity of peace and contentment should we “listen to the wind through the pines.”
Enjoy The Book of Tea alongside my own contemplation of poetry as an agent of peace, and perhaps settle yourself in front of the universe’s most salient conundrums: unknowable death, the limits of knowledge, and, most personally, who we really are.