by Kakuzo Okakura
by Kakuzo Okakura
The connection of Zen with tea is proverbial. The tea-ceremony was a
development of the Zen ritual. The name of Lao Tzu, the founder of Taoism, is
also intimately associated with the
history of tea. It is written in the Chinese school manual concerning the origin
of habits and customs that the
ceremony of offering tea to a guest began with Kwanyin, a well-known disciple of
Lao Tzu, who first at the gate of
the Han Pass presented to the "Old Philosopher" a cup of the golden elixir. We
shall not stop to discuss the
authenticity of such tales, which are valuable, however, as confirming the early
use of the beverage by the Taoists.
Our interest in Taoism and Zen here lies mainly in those ideas regarding life
and art which are so embodied
in what we call Teaism.
It is to be regretted that as yet there appears to be no adequate presentation
of the Taoists and Zen doctrines
in any foreign language, though we have had several laudable attempts.
Translation is always a treason, and as a Ming author observes, can at its best
be only the reverse side of a
brocade,--all the threads are there, but not the subtlety of color or design.
But, after all, what great doctrine is
there which is easy to expound? The ancient sages never put their teachings in
systematic form. They spoke in
paradoxes, for they were afraid of uttering half-truths. They began by
talking like fools and ended by making
their hearers wise. Lao Tzu himself, with his quaint humor, says, "If people of
inferior intelligence hear of the Tao, they
laugh immensely. It would not be the Tao unless they laughed at it."
The Tao literally means a Path. It has been severally translated as the Way, the
Absolute, the Law, Nature, Supreme Reason, the Mode. These renderings are not
incorrect, for the use of the term by the Taoists differs according to the
subject-matter of the inquiry. Lao Tzu himself spoke of it thus: "There is a
thing which is all-containing, which was born before the existence of Heaven and
Earth. How silent! How solitary! It stands alone and changes not. It revolves
without danger to itself and is the mother of the universe. I do not know its
name and so call it the Path. With reluctance I call it the Infinite. Infinity
is the Fleeting, the Fleeting is the Vanishing, the Vanishing is the Reverting."
The Tao is in the Passage rather than the Path. It is the spirit of Cosmic
Change, - the eternal growth which returns upon itself to produce new forms. It
recoils upon itself like the dragon, the beloved symbol of the Taoists. It folds
and unfolds as do the clouds. The Tao might be spoken of as the Great
Transition. Subjectively it is the Mood of the Universe. Its Absolute is the
Relative.
It should be remembered in the first place that Taoism, like its legitimate
successor Zen, represents the individualistic
trend of the Southern Chinese mind in contra-distinction to the communism of
Northern China which expressed itself in
Confucianism. The Middle Kingdom is as vast as Europe and has a differentiation
of idiosyncrasies marked by the two great river systems which traverse it. The
Yangtze-Kiang and Hoang-Ho are respectively the Mediterranean and the Baltic.
Even to-day, in spite of centuries of unification, the Southern Celestial
differs in his thoughts and beliefs from his Northern brother as a member of the
Latin race differs from the Teuton. In ancient days, when communication was even
more difficult than at present, and especially during the feudal period, this
difference in thought was most pronounced. The art and poetry of the one
breathes an atmosphere entirely distinct from that of the other. In Lao Tzu and
his followers and in Kutsugen, the forerunner of the Yangtze-Kiang nature-poets,
we find an idealism quite inconsistent with the prosaic ethical notions of their
contemporary northern writers. Lao Tzu lived five centuries before the Christian
Era.
The germ of Taoist speculation may be found long before the advent of Lao Tzu,
surnamed the Long-Eared. The archaic
records of China, especially the Book of Changes, foreshadow his thought. But
the great respect paid to the laws and customs of that classic period of Chinese
civilization which culminated with the establishment of the Chow dynasty in the
sixteenth century B.C., kept the development of individualism in check for a
long while, so that it was not until after the disintegration of the Chow
dynasty and the establishment of innumerable independent kingdoms that it was
able to blossom forth in the luxuriance of free-thought. Lao Tzu and Soshi were
both Southerners and the greatest exponents of the New School. On the
other hand, Confucius with his numerous disciples aimed at retaining ancestral
conventions. Taoism cannot be understood without some knowledge of Confucianism
and vice versa.
We have said that the Taoist Absolute was the Relative. In ethics the Taoist
railed at the laws and the moral codes
of society, for to them right and wrong were but relative terms. Definition is
always limitation--the "fixed" and "unchangeless" are but terms expressive of a
stoppage of growth. Said Kuzugen,--"The Sages move the world."
Our standards of morality are begotten of the past needs of society, but is
society to remain always the same? The observance of communal traditions
involves a constant sacrifice of the individual to the state. Education, in
order to keep up the mighty delusion, encourages a species of ignorance. People
are not taught to be really virtuous, but to behave properly. We are wicked
because we are frightfully self-conscious. We nurse a conscience because we are
afraid to tell the truth to others; we take refuge in pride because we are
afraid to tell the truth to ourselves. How can one be serious with the world
when the world itself is so ridiculous! The spirit of barter is everywhere.
Honor and Chastity! Behold the complacent salesman retailing the Good and True.
One can even buy a so-called Religion, which is really but common morality
sanctified with flowers and music. Rob the Church of her accessories and what
remains behind? Yet the trusts thrive marvelously, for the prices are absurdly
cheap, --a prayer for a ticket to heaven, a diploma for an honorable
citizenship. Hide yourself under a bushel quickly, for if your real usefulness
were known to the world you would soon be
knocked down to the highest bidder by the public auctioneer. Why do men and
women like to advertise themselves so much? Is it not but an instinct derived
from the days of slavery?
The virility of the idea lies not less in its power of breaking through
contemporary thought than in its capacity for dominating subsequent movements.
Taoism was an active power during the Shin dynasty, that epoch of Chinese
unification from which we derive the name China. It would be interesting had we
time to note its influence on contemporary thinkers, the mathematicians, writers
on law and war, the mystics and alchemists and the later
nature-poets of the Yangtze-Kiang. We should not even ignore those speculators
on Reality who doubted whether a white
horse was real because he was white, or because he was solid, nor the
Conversationalists of the Six dynasties who, like the Zen philosophers, reveled
in discussions concerning the Pure and the Abstract. Above all we should pay
homage to Taoism for what it has done toward the formation of the Celestial
character, giving to it a certain capacity for reserve and refinement as "warm
as jade." Chinese history is full of instances in which the votaries of Taoism,
princes and hermits alike, followed with varied and interesting results the
teachings of their creed. The tale will not be without its quota of instruction
and amusement. It will be rich in anecdotes, allegories, and aphorisms. We would
fain be on speaking terms with the delightful emperor who never died because he
had never lived. We may ride the wind with Liehtse and find it absolutely quiet
because we ourselves are the wind, or dwell in mid-air with the Aged one of the
Hoang-Ho, who lived betwixt Heaven and Earth because he was subject to neither
the one nor the other. Even in that grotesque apology
for Taoism which we find in China at the present day, we can revel in a wealth
of imagery impossible to find in any other cult.
But the chief contribution of Taoism to Asiatic life has been in the realm of
aesthetics. Chinese historians have always spoken of Taoism as the "art of being
in the world," for it deals with the present--ourselves. It is in us that God
meets with Nature, and yesterday parts from to-morrow. The Present is the moving
Infinity, the legitimate sphere of the Relative. Relativity seeks Adjustment;
Adjustment is Art. The art of life lies in a constant readjustment to our
surroundings. Taoism accepts the mundane as it is and, unlike the Confucians or
the Buddhists, tries to find beauty in our world of woe and worry. The Sung
allegory of the Three Vinegar Tasters explains admirably the trend of the three
doctrines. Sakyamuni, Confucius, and Lao Tzu once stood before a jar of
vinegar--the emblem of life--and each dipped in his finger to taste the brew.
The matter-of-fact Confucius found it sour, the Buddha called it bitter, and Lao
Tzu pronounced it sweet.
The Taoists claimed that the comedy of life could be made more interesting if
everyone would preserve the unities. To keep the proportion of things and give
place to others without losing one's own position was the secret of success in
the mundane drama. We must know the whole play in order to properly act our
parts; the conception of totality must never be lost in that of the individual.
This Lao Tzu illustrates by his favorite metaphor of the Vacuum. He claimed that
only in vacuum lay the truly essential. The reality of a room, for instance, was
to be found in the vacant space enclosed by the roof and the walls, not in the
roof and walls themselves. The usefulness of a water pitcher dwelt in the
emptiness where water might be put, not in the form of the pitcher or the
material of which it was made. Vacuum is all potent because all containing. In
vacuum alone motion becomes possible. One who could make of himself a vacuum
into which others might freely enter would become master of all situations. The
whole can always dominate the part.
These Taoists' ideas have greatly influenced all our theories of action, even to
those of fencing and wrestling. Jiu-jitsu,
the Japanese art of self-defense, owes its name to a passage in the Tao-teking.
In jiu-jitsu one seeks to draw out and
exhaust the enemy's strength by non-resistance, vacuum, while conserving one's
own strength for victory in the final
struggle. In art the importance of the same principle is illustrated by the
value of suggestion. In leaving something
unsaid the beholder is given a chance to complete the idea and thus a great
masterpiece irresistibly rivets your attention
until you seem to become actually a part of it. A vacuum is there for you to
enter and fill up the full measure of your
aesthetic emotion.
He who had made himself master of the art of living was the Real man of the
Taoist. At birth he enters the realm of dreams only to awaken to reality at
death. He tempers his own brightness in order to merge himself into the
obscurity of
others. He is "reluctant, as one who crosses a stream in winter; hesitating as
one who fears the neighborhood;
respectful, like a guest; trembling, like ice that is about to melt; unassuming,
like a piece of wood not yet carved; vacant,
like a valley; formless, like troubled waters." To him the three jewels of life
were Pity, Economy, and Modesty.
If now we turn our attention to Zen we shall find that it emphasizes the
teachings of Taoism. Zen is a name derived from the Sanskrit word Dhyana, which
signifies meditation. It claims that through consecrated meditation may be
attained supreme self-realization. Meditation is one of the six ways through
which Buddhahood may be reached, and the Zen sectarians affirm that Sakyamuni
laid special stress on this method in his later teachings, handing down the
rules to
his chief disciple Kashiapa. According to their tradition Kashiapa, the first
Zen patriarch, imparted the secret to Ananda, who in turn passed it on to
successive patriarchs until it reached Bodhi-Dharma, the twenty-eighth.
Bodhi-Dharma came to Northern China in the early half of the sixth century and
was the first patriarch of Chinese Zen. There is much uncertainty about the
history of these patriarchs and their doctrines. In its philosophical aspect
early Zen seems to have affinity on
one hand to the Indian Negativism of Nagarjuna and on the other to the Gnan
philosophy formulated by Sancharacharya.
The first teaching of Zen as we know it at the present day must be attributed to
the sixth Chinese patriarch Yeno(637-713, founder of Southern Zen, so-called
from the fact of its predominance in Southern China. He is closely followed by
the great Baso (died 788) who made of Zen a living influence in Celestial life.
Hiakujo(719-814) the pupil of Baso, first instituted the Zen monastery and
established a ritual and regulations for its government. In the discussions of
the Zen school after the time of Baso we find the play of the Yangtze-Kiang mind
causing an accession of native modes of thought in contrast to the former Indian
idealism. Whatever sectarian pride may assert to the contrary one cannot help
being impressed by the similarity of Southern Zen to the teachings of Lao Tzu
and the Taoist Conversationalists. In the Tao te Ching we already find allusions
to the importance of self-concentration and the need of properly regulating the
breath--essential points in the practice of Zen meditation. Some of the best
commentaries on the Book of Lao Tzu have been written by Zen scholars.
Zen, like Taoism, is the worship of Relativity. One master defines Zen as the
art of feeling the polar star in the southern sky. Truth can be reached only
through the comprehension of opposites. Again, Zen, like Taoism, is a strong
advocate of individualism. Nothing is real except that which concerns the
working of our own minds. Yeno, the sixth patriarch, once saw two monks watching
the flag of a pagoda fluttering in the wind. One said "It is the wind that
moves," the other said "It is the flag that moves"; but Yeno explained to them
that the real movement was neither of the wind nor the flag, but of something
within their own minds. Hiakujo was walking in the forest with a disciple when a
hare scurried off at their approach. "Why does the hare fly from you?" asked
Hiakujo. "Because he is afraid of me," was the answer. "No," said the master,
"it is because you have murderous instinct." The dialogue recalls that of Soshi,
the Taoist. One day Soshi was walking on the bank of a river with a friend. "How
delightfully the fishes are enjoying themselves in the water!" exclaimed Soshi.
His friend spake to him thus: "You are not a fish; how do you know that the
fishes are enjoying
themselves?" "You are not myself," returned Soshi; "how do you know that I do
not know that the fishes are enjoying themselves?"
Zen was often opposed to the precepts of orthodox Buddhism even as Taoism was
opposed to Confucianism. To the
transcendental insight of the Zen, words were but an encumbrance to thought; the
whole sway of Buddhist scriptures
only commentaries on personal speculation. The followers of Zen aimed at direct
communion with the inner nature of things, regarding their outward accessories
only as impediments to a clear perception of Truth. It was this love of the
Abstract that led the Zen to prefer black and white sketches to the elaborately
colored paintings of the classic Buddhist School. Some of the Zen even became
iconoclastic as a result of their endeavor to recognize the Buddha in themselves
rather than through images and symbolism. We find Tankawosho breaking up a
wooden statue of Buddha on a wintry day to make a fire. "What sacrilege!" said
the horror-stricken bystander. "I wish to get the Shali out of the ashes,"
calmly rejoined the Zen. "But you certainly will not get Shali from this image!"
was the angry retort, to which Tanka replied, "If I do not, this is certainly
not a Buddha and I am committing no sacrilege." Then he turned to warm himself
over the kindling fire.
A special contribution of Zen to Eastern thought was its recognition of the
mundane as of equal importance with the
spiritual. It held that in the great relation of things there was no distinction
of small and great, an atom possessing equal
possibilities with the universe. The seeker for perfection must discover in his
own life the reflection of the inner light. The
organization of the Zen monastery was very significant of this point of view. To
every member, except the abbot, was assigned some special work in the caretaking
of the monastery, and curiously enough, to the novices was committed the lighter
duties, while to the most respected and advanced monks were given the more
irksome and menial tasks. Such services formed a part of the Zen discipline and
every least action must be done absolutely perfectly. Thus many a weighty
discussion ensued while weeding the garden, paring a turnip, or serving tea.
The whole ideal of Teaism is a result of this Zen conception of greatness in the
smallest incidents of life. Taoism furnished the basis for aesthetic ideals, Zen
made them practical.
Original text by Kakuzo Okakura. This text edited and revised © 2005-2007. Please note: all applicable material on this website is protected by law and may not be copied without express written permission.
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