The Birth of an Art

Aside from the religious routine, early Buddhist monasteries were much like the colonial forts of early America. They weren't just places of retreat and worship; they were also schools, hospitals, and even asylums for refuges and weary travelers. When the common people were in danger, or when they wished to trade, they often would come to the monasteries for sanctuary. This explains why the monks were often also warriors, establishing the different martial art traditions of China; and many of those schools, even after they split from the monasteries, carried on using tea as a way of passing on knowledge and inspiring inner peace. The people coming to the monasteries would no doubt have been exposed to tea all the time. The legendary Chan master Pai Chang was known to have included regulations about tea into the monastic code of those living in his monastery, for example. The Buddhist monks, and Taoist sages before them, had already been improving not only the methods of cultivation, but preparation and aesthetics of tea long before the time when these monasteries became such thoroughfares.

Though the Way of Tea had reached the cities to some extent even during the time of the Taoist sages, it would not be until the Tang Dynasty (618-907 ce) that tea would become a truly common beverage, appreciated by so many people throughout the Middle Kingdom. And for the most part it was through the calm welcome of the monastery that much of the public of China would have its first introduction to tea. The Tang Dynasty was the golden age of Chinese culture and art. The economy was flourishing through trade, and new forms of music, art, literature, and philosophy began to bloom as well. During that time, tea was being cultivated in more than 40 provinces, some of which would be sent to the emperors as the now-legendary “tribute teas”—a tradition continued throughout the successive dynasties as well. Even the art of tea itself didn’t begin in a mundane shop somewhere in the boisterous cities of ancient China. Tea art, at least initially, wasn’t an expression of the plebeian: Like all the previous aspects of this narrative, the art of tea was also born in a tradition of reverence, meditation, and as a way of celebrating life—the serene mountaintop monasteries with all their calmness, tranquility, and equanimity forming the basis of its principles. The Buddhist precept that admonishes monks not to eat any food after twelve noon, quickly made evening tea an important aspect of the day, fostering awareness during the evening and nighttime meditations, and many of the early tea scholars, poets, and “immortals” were also fond of carrying their tea sets to remote regions to enjoy moonlit sessions. Their poetry and painting revives these ancient nights for us, like the famous Su Dongpo who often wrote of tea (and wine) drinking on moonlit nights, with all the ambience of the river, temple bells chiming, and other poetic devices backing such sentiments. Another famous poem from the Tang Dynasty captures the same emotion, as translated by Ling Wang in his prolific work on tea, Tea and Chinese Culture, elegantly expressing the way tea changes everything from the mundane to the poetic:

A guest came to my home on a cold night.

Hastily I made tea in lieu of wine.

Atop the bamboo stove, water boiled in the kettle above the red f lame.

Looking through the window, the moon was made more beautiful

by plum trees in blossom.

The art of tea was, to such early scholars, poets, writers, and painters an attempt to capture some of the depth and serenity harmony brings, and the fervent need to convey such truth to others. As people came to the monasteries—including the upper classes and even royalty— the monks served them tea. They too would recognize its blessings, desiring tea for their own daily consumption. At that time, the story of the Leaf would really become one of farming, processing, trade, variation, etc., with shops opening up in the cities below. Though there was domestication of tea, perhaps dating back even to the Zhou Dynasty, a lot of the real innovation and experimentation would begin at this time. The processing techniques were refined and tea was compressed into cakes, which were then ground into powder before brewing, and the monks played a big part in the development of the complex process for brewing tea in this way. For most of the Tang Dynasty tea powder was boiled in a cauldron with other ingredients. The cakes were re-roasted and then ground to powder. When the water in the cauldron reached boiling, the tea and other ingredients were added. The monks encouraged the literati, artists, and even royalty to utilize the time that the cauldron was boiling for contemplation, seeking the answers to the nature of the universe in the slowly rising bubbles, and books from the period would also proscribe as much. Towards the end of this era, however, a scholar of great importance would teach the people to brew the tea without adding anything, in order to taste the natural essence of the leaves themselves, but more on him later. As the Tang scholars, artists, and poets found inspiration in tea, shifting away from alcohol which was expensive, and eventually outlawed do to the waste of grain, they began to seek truth in the way sages and “immortals” had before them. At this time the first effort was made to research and publish the Way of Tea. The Chinese, always so fond of making lists—of virtues, of bests and worsts, and even of benefits—made a list of the ten virtues of tea and it became common

knowledge:

1. Tea is beneficial to health, as the “Qi” clears all blockages and

cures ailments.

2. Tea helps refresh one after a night of drinking alcohol.

3. Tea, mixed with other things like nuts or even milk can provide

nourishment.

4. Tea can cool one off in the heat of summer.

5. Tea helps one slough off all fatigue and drowsiness, promoting

an awakened mindset.

6. Tea purifies the spirit, removes anxiety and nervousness and

brings ease and comfort, conducive to meditation.

7. Tea aids in the digestion of food.

8. Tea removes all toxins from the body, flushing out the blood

and urinary system.

9. Tea is conducive to longevity, promoting longer, healthier life.

10. Tea invigorates the body and inspires the mind to creativity.

Clearly, even the public of the age thought of tea as more than a mere beverage for refreshment. Tea was viewed throughout its artistic career also as a means to balance, holistic health, purity of mind—inspiring a museum of paintings, poetry, literature, ceramics, philosophy, as well as all of the unheard meditations. Eventually, tea drinking would spread beyond the palace and tea houses to the countryside, and we can hope that a few poems and meditations were to be had there as well. These early tea scholars were in some ways like the tea sages of long ago, in that they cared for every aspect of the tea ceremony. Books from this period list a “basket to place picked leaves in” as a necessary accoutrement to the tea ceremony, as they felt that the true master picked and processed the leaves himself. They gathered their own waters and traveled to the mountains in search of wild or cultivated tea plants, slept in Taoist or Buddhist temples or simple huts, devoting their lives to tea. They then picked, baked, ground, and boiled the tea they drank by themselves, often fresh. In the beginning of the Tang Dynasty, tea would also find its way to Tibet in the hands of the famed princess Wen Cheng who was sent there to marry king Songzan Gambo. She took caskets of tea with her and trade was very soon opened between the two nations. By the end of the Tang Dynasty, travelers to Tibet reported sharing tea with some of the nobility, expecting that it was something they knew nothing about, only to find that they were already experts and could recognize the region the tea came from. Very quickly, the Tibetans would come to revere tea in their own special way, as it provided them with valuable vitamins and minerals that are absent from their primarily meat-based diet. Today, they still make it mixed with milk or more commonly yak butter, boiled in a cauldron much like it was in the Tang age. The Tibetans developed deep respect and devotion for tea itself, and rather than drinking it to achieve oneness or improve meditation, it was viewed as a scared and holy substance in and of itself. The tea bowls and processing accoutrements in Tibet have always been made of the best silver and gold, inlaid with precious stones, and monasteries would keep cakes of aged tea on the alters as they believed that their energy would protect and enhance the temple. Lamas and even the Buddha statue itself are offered tea daily. Even to this day, Tibetans refer to tea as the “nectar of the gods.” In the Song Dynasty (960-1279 ce), tea art would truly prosper, growing with all the verve and creativity of a passion backed by the wealth of the ruling class. Very soon, a whole array of new teaware developed around the art of making powdered tea, expanding beyond the already full tea set of the Tang Dynasty, and each was sophisticated as emperors came and went; and many of these innovations, like the earlier ones, happened in the monastery. There were grinders, whisks, bowls, and other ceremonial instruments, for the first time incorporating the ideals of art and aesthetic expression into tea drinking. The tea cakes that had previously been simple rings with holes in the center for strings, began to be compressed with dragons, phoenix, and other art impressed into them. The tribute teas were wrapped in yellow silk and sealed with golden padlocks before making their way to court, where they were considered priceless. And the powder was no longer boiled, but whisked individually in each bowl. Great tea competitions started in the Song Dynasty, in which tea makers from all over would compete to see who could whisk the best cup of tea. Owing to the preference for light green teas, made from powder much like the Japanese matcha today, the people of this era began to move away from using the jade-blue celadon to brown or black pots, “rabbits fur (tian mu 天母),” named after the mountain in Zhejiang, which brought out the colors of the whisked tea. The tea houses became cultural meeting places, expanding in number during the Song dynasty, though not really flourishing until the later Ming and Qing ages. However, many scholars, poets and artists of the day found such competitions and the more boisterous tea houses vulgar, and were more interested in brewing tea in natural, quiet environs, inspiring the truer sense of Cha Tao. The later Song, and then Yuan Dynasty (1271-1368 ce), emperors advocated a return to simplicity in lifestyle, royal or common. They tried to be examples for their people, shying away from all the luxury of the earlier ages. The Yuan kings were Mongols and took to tea in its simplest form, usually with milk. The whole ceremony began to simplify and many of the accoutrements were made more crudely or not used at all. During the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644 ce), powdered teas were eventually banned by the emperor and replaced by whole-leaf teas. Political turmoil and paranoia in the capital forced the literati into seclusion, like ages before. The early Ming emperors even forbade the congregation of the intelligentsia, fearing revolution. The revitalization of the aestheticism of earlier ages, simplicity, and social seclusion were all conducive to the Way of Tea. Even the prince Zhu Quan himself retreated to a secluded monastery to be ordained. There he practiced drinking tea and wrote the book A Manual of Tea, in which he outlines the tea ceremony and the ways it can be used as a part of a spiritual life. Near the end of the Ming Dynasty the common masses would really start drinking tea; and as it shed its formality, the modern method of brewing tea leaves in clay pots was developed. Brewing with skill and mastery, with “gong fu,” became the ideal of tea preparation. New cups, pots, and utensils were developed to meet the demand of this new method of brewing, which was now focused on more intimate settings and hence the teaware grew smaller—especially in the southern parts of China. The art of teaware itself flourished in the Ming Dynasty, establishing the great tradition of collectors, tea scholars, historians, and artists making teaware—all of which continues on today. Like the earlier Tang era, the later Ming and even Qing dynasty saw a great diversity of artistic expression, including tea art, though for the most part all occurring in a more secular setting, without as much of the poetic and spiritual power of previous eras.

The Civil Service that had been established in the Song Dynasty saw more and more of the educated in government positions during the late Ming and Qing Dynasties. These scholars enjoyed the arts, and used their wealth to develop them; and so many of their conversations were had over tea, while the very poems they wrote, calligraphy they stroked, etc. were also often in homage to tea. As the Leaf continued its journey towards commodity, the tea house spread all across China, ref lecting the cultural differences of each province it was built within, often with art, storytelling, drama, singing, or even business taking precedence over the tea. The political turmoil of the Ming age would drive many of the true, spiritual sentiments of the tea ceremony underground. Tea became, in this age, a common beverage, a refreshment. Not that it hadn’t been mundane to some people before this time, but that such an expression of tea—as a social institution forming the basis of congregation and conversation at best, as mere refreshment in its basest form—became the mainstream. There were still tea sages here and there, as well as artists and scholars inspired like those of the previous ages, but there was also more trade, more business, and a bit less of these ideals—and this included the beginnings of Western dealings, and the exchange of tea culture that would result in all the politics, war, and economy that characterized much of tea’s story thereafter. The political problems eventually led to the Manchu northerners seizing the government again with the beginning of the Qing Dynasty. One might think of the development of tea art as passing through three stages of boiled, whisked, and steeped, representing the Tang, Song, and Ming Dynasties respectively. Kakuzo Okakura, in his classic introduction of Japanese tea culture to the West, The Book of Tea, labeled these three eras as the “Classic, Romantic, and Naturalistic,” and also noticed the decline of spiritual ideals, as well as poetic and aesthetic inspiration, over time, as tea shifted from an ambrosia drank beneath the moonlight of some mountain hermitage, to the boisterous tea competitions of the Song age, and then eventually as a pot of leaves steeping so casually beside various snacks in the noisy teahouses of the Ming and Qing Dynasties. The latter, then, would be the tea that was introduced to the West. Though there were also the occasional poet, artist, or otherwise spiritual inclined person, more apt to listen to the silent melody of transcendence humming beneath the surface of their liquor, who would—even on the other side of the world—express an understanding of the peace and tranquility, the Ultimate in tea. Besides those rare individuals, however, the Western perspective on tea would be as economy, refreshment, and social refinement, just as it was in China during the time the West was first introduced to tea.