The connection of Zennism with tea is proverbial. We have already
remarked that the tea-ceremony was a development of the Zen ritual. The
name of Laotse, 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
Laotse, 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 Zennism 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 colour 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. Laotse himself, with his
quaint humour, 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. Laotse 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 Zennism, 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
Yangtse-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 Laotse and his followers
and in Kutsugen, the forerunner of the Yangtse-Kiang nature-poets, we
find an idealism quite inconsistent with the prosaic ethical notions of
their contemporary northern writers. Laotse lived five centuries before
the Christian Era.
The germ of Taoist speculation may be found long before the advent
of Laotse, 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
civilisation 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. Laotse and Soshi (Chuangtse) 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. Honour 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 honourable 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 Yangtse-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,
revelled 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
Laotse 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 Laotse 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 Laotse
illustrates by his favourite 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-defence, 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
neighbourhood; 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 Zennism we shall find that it emphasises
the teachings of Taoism. Zen is a name derived from the Sanscrit word
Dhyana, which signifies meditation. It claims that through consecrated
meditation may be attained supreme self-realisation. 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 Zennism 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 Yangtse-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 Laotse and the Taoist
Conversationalists. In the Tao-teking 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 Laotse have been written by Zen
scholars.
Zennism, 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, Zennism,
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 (Chaungtse), 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 incumbrance 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 coloured
paintings of the classic Buddhist School. Some of the Zen even became
iconoclastic as a result of their endeavor to recognise 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 organisation 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, Zennism made them practical.