Tea and the age of Taoist thought

During the Zhou Dynasty (c 1122-256 bce) and the overlapping Warring States Period (c 500-221 bce) Chinese society itself was in great turmoil. Political instability, feudalism, and a lack of enforced laws created a dangerous environment. Throughout the Middle Kingdom, it was common for aristocrats, scholars, poets, and those otherwise spiritually inclined to go forth from the “World of Dust,” retreating to the mountains and forests where they were safe and secluded. The asceticism of the shamans from long before had become a part of mainstream life. By this time, Taoism was also already established throughout China, with some of its most famous texts dating to this era. Taoist beliefs included the worship of Nature and ancestor spirits, the principal of living in harmony with the universe, and enlightenment through simplicity and balanced action without the interference of the ego. In tune with the times, Taoist philosophy also promoted renunciation and simple living in seclusion from sensual temptations. They believed that an unadorned, unspoken life in the forest brought man in harmony with himself and the world. There was no ethical sermon goading them to the mountains, but an inner and unsaid poetic force. As the great Taoist poet Li Po said when repeatedly questioned by a visitor from the city why he lived alone on the mountain:

“Oh why do I dwell among these green mountains?

A laugh is my answer. My heart is serene.

See the peach-petals float on the face of the waters!

Ah, here is a world where no mortals are seen!”

—Translated by John Blofeld

In many places, these ancient mendicant sages were called “cloud walkers,” because the fogs and mists that surrounded their mountain hermitages were often even lower than the places they dwelled, and the heavenly analogy—perhaps dreamed up by those lowly mortals in the World below gazing up into those silvery veils—is enough to make any wayfarer, of today or long ago, shed a tear of angst for a scene vivid enough to adorn some wizened, old silk scroll in a

Chinese museum.

And the cloud walkers had also discovered the medicinal, meditative properties of the Leaf. Like the earlier shamans, these naturalists were also versed in herbal medicine, and had found that tea cleared the mind and sharpened concentration, making the transmission between teacher and student swifter. Through their weathered hands, tea became a Way of welcoming fellow travelers, disseminating wisdom, and an aid to transcendental meditation. In their simple, rustic huts or caves they would discuss the meaning of life and Tao over steaming bowls of tea leaves floating in water. They found that their heightened meditations and sharpened minds made the conduction of wisdom as smooth as the liquor itself; and from math to history, meditation to martial arts, the tradition of master and student sharing tea has survived even into modern times. Tea to these ancient Taoist monks was also a part of the Way that they communicated with the universe. They gathered their water from mountain springs, boiled it in handmade kettles and drank from simple bowls. There was no art to their tea, only spirit. While there were sages that left the city on quests for enlightenment and wisdom, others had agendas: often searching for the secrets of longevity and immortality, just as Western mystics and alchemists of the time were doing. There are so many stories in China and India of spiritualists living to a great age through meditation, herbs, yoga, or even kung fu. Even today, believe it or not, some are said to be in the hundreds of years old. For centuries Taoism was called the “art of the cultivation of longevity,” and those that succeeded “immortals.” They were believed to have miraculous powers and were respected and feared by people, as tales abound of their powers, one of which was the

ability to create the “elixir of life” that granted its drinker immortality. And it was these stories that would capture the interest of the early kings and feudal barons. In fact, many of the scholars that went out to research the Tao, medicine and/or meditation, did so for these lords. Just as many Western explorers would later venture into the wilderness seeking the fabled fountain of youth, so too did these early scholars travel deep into the mountains in search of the Wiseman that had made their homes there. In fact, several well-known emperors and nobleman died ingesting poison thought to be the “golden pill” of immortality. Though, many of the more worldly sages that attempted such alchemy only made poison, the experimentation with herbs did result in a greater understanding of true healing arts. And as one such herb, tea became a part of the many legends and myths that these scholars would return to the city carrying in their travel-worn bags. Beyond just the sages seeking a life on the mountains, treasure-hunters also sought out the rare cliff-top tea trees, whose ambrosia was said to miraculously heal even deathly ailments and brew Heaven down into a draught. Perhaps the worldly nobles and the scholars they sent into the forest misunderstood what the great mystics meant when they said that tea was an ingredient in the “elixir of immortality.” Maybe this metaphoric speaking was more paradox and rhetorical foolishness that was meant to convey deeper meaning to the initiated. After all, what was the “elixir of life” but the recipe through which these sages attained enlightenment, “immortality”—a return to the “Source,” the Tao. And the “recipe” consisted of simple living, meditation, diet, and, of course, tea drinking. As so often happens, the wisdom of such teachers, afraid to speak literally for fear of such misinterpretation from the moment they open their mouths, is ironically misinterpreted; and such was the outcome despite their attempts to winnow out those not willing or able to hear them. Some would come to think of their analogy of an “elixir” as a literal drink that would grant worldly power and long life—bodily, physical “immortality”—when in fact it was but a prescription for enlightenment, and through that a oneness with the universe. It meant immortality through a returning to the Tao, for the Tao is endless and one who was in communion with it would therefore never perish.

However, this was not achieved by mixing material ingredients together in the way such treasure hunters misconstrued, but in the sense of living in harmony with Nature, and the metaphoric “ingredients” in such a life: In essence a death of the ego that such materialistic people from the cities below would be incapable of grasping. Lao Tzu says that “he who dies perishes not, but enjoys true longevity.” In fact, there are also some other ancient Taoist texts that continue this metaphor with treatises on “internal alchemy.” Perhaps the “philosopher’s stone” was a similarly misread tale—a tale of spiritual transcendence, and the method of achieving it, twisted and rewritten by greedy hearts that thought only in terms of earthly power.