Zen Buddhism (and Why I Should Probably Stop Reading The Bible On My Phone)

A few weeks ago I came across an Instagram Reel where a man was over-analyzing why Chinese teacups don't have handles, something about how the discomfort of holding hot porcelain connects you to the practice of mindfulness. Another creator responded by basically dismantling the theory. Turns out the handle-less design was just a design, it's quite often that the West has a fascination of over-reading mysticism into anything East Asian that it doesn't fully understand. I myself have been a victim of this. 

I think the second creator was right. But I also think there's a real question buried under the first creator's thoughts, and it's one worth taking seriously rather than mocking. Here in the West we tend to treat Asian philosophical traditions as bottomless wells of meaning while treating Asian technological and design advancements as merely functional, as if depth and utility can't come from the same civilization at the same time. So consider this my attempt to over-analyze carefully, in both directions, (and through my own experiences in Japan) rather than lazily in one. 

Why does a work of art draw more consideration than something as trivial as a mug, pencil, or dishrag? Why are certain actions in life placed as more important than others? This is the question of the field of "everyday aesthetics," an area of philosophy which focuses its attention on the study and appreciation of sensory, emotional, and artistic qualities in mundane, daily life. Although it is not exclusive to one culture, this area of thought is often associated with Japan, as Japanese philosophers have been working with these ideas within their own tradition for a long time. Yuriko Saito, a Japanese-American philosopher and professor at the Rhode Island School of Design, is a prominent figure here, describing everyday aesthetics as "any reactions we form toward the sensuous and/or design qualities of any object, phenomenon, or activity." 

I came to this question as a university student who (last year) finished a course on the subject. This caused me to think about how these concepts land in our actual modern lives. Mindfulness, presence, "the art of slowing down," these are terms that get thrown around in the digital landscape without much substance behind them. I, and many of my peers, experience mindfulness as something packaged and distributed by companies, rather than a concept attained through daily practice. But in reading The Book of Tea by Okakura Kakuzō (also known as Okakura Tenshin), I found a different perspective, one that might lead toward a more impactful answer. 

Tenshin argues that "Teaism," what he calls "a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence," is a kind of worship of the mindfulness that occurs during the drinking of tea. He writes that tea is more than a drink: "It is the only Asiatic ceremonial which commands universal esteem. The white man has scoffed at our religion and our morals, but has accepted the brown beverage without hesitation. The afternoon tea is now an important function in Western society." The tea ceremony, in other words, is an act that promotes mindfulness, simplicity, and the beauty of mundane life, across borders, regardless of whether the West understood or respected the rest of the philosophy that produced it. 

This all concluded, for me, in my own mindful action, because it was in reading itself that I found my answer. As I read these works, I realized that reading serves as a true appreciation of the everyday: books in themselves are everyday objects, created for normal people, that combine both Saito's tactile, sensuous experience and Tenshin's mindful concept of Teaism. Reading, specifically reading that brings the combination of joy and knowledge, could serve as a mirror of the guided tea ceremonies of Japan, a kind of "book ceremony": an act that helps us cross the threshold between living and mindful living. This is especially true for Christians, as reading the bible is an often ceremonial experience for us. As we enter our favorite reading nooks and open the word with a quiet reverence that places our soul in a position of praise and receiving. I’d argue that the way in which we read matters here, is it on a phone or is it the beautifully worn bible we’ve had for ages with years of highlights and notes. The content doesn’t change but like Virgil Abloh would once said “everything else around it does."