The art of offering time

In tea ceremony, slowness is much appreciated. The host must have a perfect knowledge of what s/he is doing, use items with care and treat guests with respect. One may think that it is merely an choreographic aesthetic. But I think that what is at stake is related to a certain definition of « the virtuous man » that one can find all around the globe.

Gift as a virtue

a Zen monk from Sasama village

Wether these men are priests or warriors, wizards or beggars, many men from different culture share the ability to give without any fear of the futur.

Hence Saint-Martin whom, in the depht of the desperate freeze of winter, gives half of his coat to a hobo. In the same way, there is this buddhist tale of a Zen monk whom, as he meets a thief in his house, seeing that he is depressed by the rather minimalist decoration, offers him his robe and his food while sighting : « I wish I could give you the moon ».

Pierre Clastres teaches us that the same goes in some American indian tribes : the chief cannot refuse to give what people ask from him, even if he does not have it (yet). And this chief does not even take pride in this : it is nothing but the guarantee that he does not abuse his powers.

This saint, this monk and this chief, like all these men of virtue that I am talking about, have endorsed the social task of showing others a great trust in life, an indifference to danger — an indifference that soothes our own worries.

The violence of hastening

A philosophy teacher once said to me with a very Kantian boldness (that relied more on the style of this sourkraut eater than his thoughts) : « violence is to consider the other one as a mean and not as an end. » In that case, there is violence every time we act with haste, without warning or respect for people and things. Even if, in the end, we do it for the good, it always seem violent. It is not avoidable most of the time : the world is spinning fast.

To me, the way of tea allow me to offer to others and myself a moment when no violence is done on anyone. Every item, every person, every move is treated as an end in itself. Nothing is left behind, nothing is abandoned to chances. There is no part of the tatami that has not been brushed with care, every tea bowl is treated as if it was going to live for a thousand years. The slowness, eventually, shows that their is no worries in the heart of the host, no fear of tomorrow.

And that is how one offers to his/her guests (and to one’s self) a moment during which life can flow in quietness and comfort.

The tea man of the world

In ordinary life, tea people, of course, are no saints at all : the pride of the « master » and the boasting of the « owner of rare pieces » often gets to their head faster than the smell of tea. Many people practice Tea thinking that it provides them with a social status. They do not serve tea to their guests but to their bosses or a hypothetical spectator.

It is fair that our Tea world suffers from these sins. Maybe we all choose our religion based on the faults it can spot in us. Shinto shrines have understood that : their only idol is a mirror.

Bu these tea people, in a way, do violence on their guests and tools. They forget what is, to me, essential to any tea ceremony : the invitation to put on hold, for a few minutes, the necessary violence of the mundane life, the fear of tomorrow, the insecurity and hesitation that gets inside, every day and at every heart beat, the chest of men.