Between Wine and Tea: A Discussion Based on Master Taixu’s Use of Dual Imagery

Abstract

The imagery of wine and tea is important in classical and modern Chinese poetry, with an intricate relationship between the two especially evident in the work of Taixu 太虛 (1890–1947), a prominent poet–monk in 20th-century China. Taixu’s attitude toward wine—a drink that is deeply rooted in Chinese culture—evolves significantly over time, from initial approval to eventual condemnation due to its detrimental effects on both personal health and society. Nevertheless, it continues to feature prominently in his poetry. The same is true of tea, which Taixu often uses to evoke either Buddhist study or his own healthy lifestyle. This article explores this and other complex meanings in Taixu’s poems, such as his association of wine with knights and tea with hermits. It also discusses how he achieves a delicate balance between the two beverages, sometimes employing both types of imagery in a single poem—a literary innovation that helped to establish his reputation as a central figure in modern Chinese poetry.

1. Introduction

Taixu, a prominent monk and influential Buddhist leader, played a crucial role in the development of Chinese Buddhism in the first half of the 20th century. Taixu’s life, thoughts and achievements have been extensively studied.1 Yet, his talent as a poet is often overlooked.2 His deep connection with Chinese poetry can be traced back to his upbringing and education. Both his grandmother and his youngest uncle were accomplished poets, so Taixu received effective guidance in this genre throughout his formative years (TDQ: XXXI: 156–160).3 Thereafter, he continued to hone his poetic skills through collaborations with mentors, associates, disciples, and students,4 with his first poetry collection, Meian Shilu 昧盦詩錄 (The Poetry Collection of Meian; published 1916), serving as a testament to his burgeoning prowess (ibid., p. 197).5 He had written more than a thousand poems by the time of his death in 1947, with the vast majority of these subsequently collated in the volume 34, “Shicun 詩存” (Poetry Collection) of the Taixu dashi quanshu 太虛大師全書 (Collected Works of Master Taixu), a comprehensive anthology edited primarily by Yinshun 印順 (1906–2005),6 one of Taixu’s most distinguished disciples.

Taixu uses over 100 different types of imagery in his poetry. It includes both natural imagery, such as clouds and the moon,7 flowers and insects, and artificial imagery, such as lamps and candles,8 wine and tea. Taixu inherited and refined these classical poetry images, making them essential mediums for expressing his thoughts and emotions.

Wine and tea figure prominently throughout Chinese literature, especially from the Tang dynasty onwards.9 For instance, Taixu was just one of many 20th-century poets to incorporate both beverages within his works, although few, if any, of his contemporaries returned to these themes quite so often, with wine featuring in 16 of his poems and tea in no fewer than 28.

The connection between wine, tea, and Chinese religion runs deep, with both drinks mentioned repeatedly in Buddhist and Daoist scriptures as well as secular literature.10 However, whereas tea-drinking has never been a contentious issue for either monastics or laypeople,11 the appropriateness of wine consumption in monasteries has long been a matter of considerable debate.12 On the one hand, wine plays a significant role in a number of important monastic rituals, especially those involving senior monks and government officials (Benn 2015, p. 58). Indeed, it is so integral to these ceremonies that it cannot be replaced by some other beverage, such as tea (ibid., p. 47). On the other hand, the consumption of alcohol is explicitly proscribed in Chinese Buddhism (ibid., p. 55). Therefore, monastics face a significant dilemma: should they follow ritual practice or remain wholly faithful to the Buddhist precepts? This internal conflict manifests in the literary works of many monks. For instance, Taixu displays somewhat ambiguous attitudes toward both beverages in his poems, reflecting the complex interplay of cultural tradition, Buddhist discipline, and personal spirituality throughout the monastic community.

This paper adopts two distinct perspectives to explore the evolution of Taixu’s use of wine and tea imagery over the course of his literary career:

How does he portray wine? Does he himself consume wine? How does he portray tea? Does tea function as an alternative to wine in his poetry?

What are the symbolic meanings associated with his depictions of wine and tea in his poetry? Does he balance the two?

In addition, the paper compares Taixu’s wine and tea poetry with the works of ancient poets and 20th-century contemporaries to shed further light on the meanings conveyed by such imagery. Finally, it examines Taixu’s incorporation of elements borrowed from a number of illustrious predecessors within his own work.

2. Did Taixu Consume Wine, and Should He Have Done So?

Wine has a rich history in China dating back to the Xia 夏 dynasty, approximately 4000 years ago.13 In that era, a host of naturally fermented beverages—known generically as sweet wine (tianjiu 甜酒)—were made from a variety of fruits and grains. Moreover, early Buddhist scriptures such as the Mūlasarvâstivāda-vinaya-kārikā (Genben shuo yiqie youbu pinaiye song 根本說一切有部毗奈耶頌) indicate that wine was produced from similar raw ingredients around the same time in India:

諸麴等雜物，醞釀方得成；眾人共許者，是名為大酒。若以皮果花，汁等用成就；此名為雜酒，斯皆能醉人。

Various grain ingredients, including yeast, are combined for fermentation, resulting in matured wine. When approved by the whole community, this is known as grand wine. Alternatively, concoctions made with peel, fruit, flowers, and other ingredients are called mixed wine. All of these [beverages] can cause inebriation.14

Later, the same text forbids the consumption of either grand wine or mixed wine on the grounds that each has the potential to induce the offense (dezui 得罪) of drunkenness (T24, no. 1459, p. 643b5).

There were countless developments in Chinese winemaking over subsequent centuries, especially in relation to distillation.15 These advances contributed to a substantial increase in wine production from the late imperial era onwards:

The period from the late Qing dynasty (1644–1911) to the National Government period saw a transition of wine making in China … Since the establishment of the People’s Republic of China, grape and wine production in China has increased.16

China’s east coast—which was already the country’s principal economic and trading center—became the prime location for winemaking too, with Zhejiang 浙江, Taixu’s home province, emerging as a key player in the industry.17 Consequently, he was almost certainly familiar with the beverage from an early age. This reality—and the frequency with which wine appears in Taixu’s poems—begs the question whether he himself ever drank it. As we have seen, Buddhist disciplinary guidelines expressly prohibit the consumption of wine (or any other intoxicating beverage). Yet, if Taixu dutifully abstained from alcohol throughout his lifetime, why was wine such a recurring theme in his poetry?

One of Taixu’s prose works indicates that he knew of wine—and learned of its effects—when still a child:

憶餘總角時，春深日暮，玩弄既倦，間旋繞於鄉老之膝前，嘗聞其相談曰：昔有一士者，一樵者，一漁者；士者處城，樵者處山，漁者處江。一旦邂逅，以漁者之魚，烹以樵者之薪，傾士者所攜酒而共酌之，三杯落肚，萬慮忘懷！

Recalling a moment of leisure during my youth, as the late spring day transitioned into dusk and I grew tired of playing, I found myself idly strolling around the knees of the village elders. There, I overheard their conversation: “Once, there was a warrior dwelling in the city, a woodcutter in the mountains, and a fisherman by the river. By chance, their paths crossed, and with the fish caught by the fisherman, cooked over the wood gathered by the woodcutter, they poured the wine brought by the warrior, and together shared in the revelry. After three cups had been consumed, myriad concerns were forgotten.”18

This narrative is of interest primarily because the village elders (xianglao 鄉老)19 provide scant details of the meal, instead focusing on the positive effect of the wine, which causes all three of the protagonists to forget their worries and concerns. Taixu dates this episode to 1904—when he was still in zongjiao 總角 (hair knots)20—the very year he underwent full monastic ordination at the Tiantong Monastery 天童寺.21 Given the fondness with which he recounts this memory—and the fact that he presents no negative consequences of the three strangers’ revelry—we may infer that he held a generally favorable view of wine during his childhood. Thereafter, though, his attitude toward alcohol consumption shifted significantly, as is clear from one of his lectures:

飲酒的行為雖不侵害他人，但因飲酒易引起淫殺等惡行，所以酗酒滋事，是世人所熟知的。更以飲酒易成嗜好，使生理心理失卻健康，也應戒除，故有些國家用法律明文來禁止的。

While drinking wine may not directly harm others, its consumption is widely recognized for its potential to lead to immoral behavior, such as licentiousness and violence. Excessive drinking, known for causing disturbances, is a well-known societal issue. Furthermore, wine consumption fosters addictive tendencies, compromising physical and mental well-being, which underscores the need for restraint. Consequently, some countries employ explicit legal measures to prohibit drinking wine.22

Taixu delivered this lecture to an audience of monks and laypeople at the Yanqing Monastery 延慶寺,23 Ningbo, in February 1947, just a few months before his death. Throughout the speech, he repeatedly stresses that wine consumption should be prohibited, as it affords no benefits to individuals; indeed, it poses both physical and mental health risks and contributes to various societal problems. Consequently, Taixu advocates complete abstinence for monks and laypeople alike, although he places particular emphasis on strict discipline among the monastic community (TDQ: XVIII: 259). Hence, it is clear that he no longer construes wine consumption as a personal preference but rather regards it as a societal and especially a Buddhist issue. For instance, he stresses that abstaining from alcohol is one of the five precepts (wujie 五戒):

所謂五戒：一、不殺生而仁愛，二、不偷盜而義利，三、不邪淫而禮節，四、不妄語而誠信，五、不飲酒而調善身心。

The so-called five precepts are as follows: first, to refrain from killing and practice compassion; second, to abstain from stealing and uphold righteousness and integrity; third, to avoid sexual misconduct and observe propriety; fourth, to refrain from false speech and uphold sincerity; fifth, to abstain from drinking wine and maintain the balance of body and mind.24

While Taixu cites the easily accessible five precepts in this lecture (TDQ: XVIII: 247), in earlier works he supports his case for a ban on alcohol consumption with reference to a host of more arcane Buddhist scriptures, such as the Upāsaka-śīla-sūtra (Youpo saijie jing 優婆塞戒經) (T1, no. 1, p. 70c3–5),25 the Mahāprajñāpāramitā-śāstra (Da zhidu lun 大智度論) (T53, no. 2122, pp. 928c12–929a3),26 and the Fenbie shan’e baoying jing 分別善惡報應經 (Sutra on Distinguishing Good and Evil Karmic Retribution).27 In his opinion, the practice can easily lead to intoxication and subsequent errors, personal injury, or even family disintegration. Consequently, according to Taixu, it deserves its place within the five precepts, as prohibiting wine-drinking is like equipping people with armor that protects them against a host of potential dangers.28 Finally, he adds that the Buddhist disciplinary guidelines consider alcohol avoidance as both a behavioral commitment and a self-vow (zishi 自誓) to reduce the risk of future transgressions (TDQ: XVIII: 258).

Clearly, then, by the end of his life, Taixu was an opponent of alcohol consumption and a proponent of strict Buddhist discipline. However, this does not tell the whole story of his personal relationship with wine during his monastic career, as is evident from the following couplet:

憂來酌酒曾同醉，興到論文許共知。

In sorrow, [we] once shared wine and became intoxicated,

In joy, discussing literature, we mutually comprehend.29

Taixu wrote these lines after reconnecting with an old friend he affectionately terms laoai 老愛.30 Of course, there is nothing unusual about two friends sharing a glass of wine during a discussion about literature, but it is rather surprising that Taixu—an ordained monk—not only chose to record the event but also acknowledged that both of them were drunk.

That said, the consumption of wine is not entirely forbidden in Buddhism’s monastic guidelines. For instance, according to the Dharmaguptaka vinaya (Sifen lü 四分律), it may be used for medicinal purposes:

不犯者，若有如是如是病，餘藥治不差以酒為藥；若以酒塗瘡，一切無犯。

For those who have not committed an offense, if they suffer from specific illnesses, and other medications prove ineffective, wine may be used as a medicinal treatment. Similarly, applying wine to wounds does not constitute an offense.31

Furthermore, as Benn (2015, p. 43) points out, during the Tang dynasty, “alcohol had to be purchased specially, usually to greet the arrival of senior monks from elsewhere or to receive government officials.”32 This tradition of wine-drinking on ceremonial occasions might explain why Taixu had no compunction about sharing a drink with his old friend, who may well have been a senior monk himself. However, their consequent “intoxication” is another matter, as this is invariably categorized as an offense in the monastic disciplinary guidelines. On this occasion, Taixu may have used the term as a poetic device to stress the depth of his emotion during the reunion; however, similar descriptions throughout his work appear to confirm that he sometimes drank to excess. Moreover, this impression is seemingly corroborated in a preface written by Chen Songluo 陳誦洛 (1897–1965),33 another close friend:

猶憶三年前，與太虛把臂34越中,35縱酒高吟，每醉、予輒仰天而歌曰：“我醉自眠君自顛，路人往往指作仙，此輩何曾識此樂，識與不識俱可憐”。言已，相視而笑。

I still remember three years ago, when I linked arms with Taixu in Yuezhong. We indulged in wine and raised our voices in song. Whenever we became intoxicated, I would gaze up at the sky and sing, “I am drunk, and I fall asleep. You are drunk, and you tumble. Passersby often point at us as if we are immortals. These people have never known our joy. Whether they understand it or not, we pity them all.” With these words, we exchanged glances and laughed.36

From this, we may infer that it was not unusual for Taixu to end up giddily drunk when socializing with friends. He was seemingly able to set aside his monastic identity for the evening and thereby disregard Buddhism’s prohibition against wine. Instead, he would assume the role of a classical poet and immerse himself in China’s traditional wine culture.

No other poet–monk depicts wine-drinking in such a direct and detailed manner in their work. Although Xuyun 虛雲 (1840–1959), Yinguang 印光 (1862–1940), and Hongyi 弘一 (1880–1942) all discuss the ban on alcohol consumption at some length,37 none of them admits to breaking this rule. Rather, their use of wine imagery tends to be confined to descriptions of natural scenes, without any mention of the drink’s consumption.38 This is in marked contrast to the work of Su Manshu 蘇曼殊 (1884–1918), a friend and teacher of Taixu,39 who enjoyed wine and composed several poems on the subject. For instance, in the summer of 1914, he wrote:

年華風柳共飄瀟，酒醒天涯問六朝。

The years, like wind-blown willows, drift together,

Awakening from wine, [I] question the six dynasties in distant realms.40

However, Su Manshu was not a monk in the true sense of the word, as it seems he never received full ordination.41 As a result, Taixu stands alone among modern Chinese monastics as an exponent of wine poetry. In addition to discussing wine-drinking from the perspective of Buddhist discipline, he examines his own behavior in relation to alcohol consumption. This self-reflection enables him to employ wine imagery effectively in his poetry and express a variety of meanings through that imagery, as we shall see later.

3. Tea: Taixu’s Choice for a Healthy Life

Tea underwent a long development process in China. Although camellia leaves were harvested during the Warring States period 戰國 (475–221 BCE), these were not processed, so the tea had a very limited shelf life and had to be consumed locally (Benn 2015, p. 43). Half a millennium later, in the Tang dynasty, unfermented leaves were steamed, pounded, and molded into tea cakes (chabing 茶餅) (ibid., p. 8). It is important to note that the resulting drink was not tea as we know it today. Rather, it usually resembled soup due to the addition of various other ingredients, as described in the Cha jing 茶經 (Classic of Tea), the world’s first book on the subject, written by the renowned poet Lu Yu 陸羽 (733–804):42

或用蔥、薑、棗、橘皮、茱萸、薄荷之等，煮之百沸，或揚令滑，或煮去沫，斯溝渠間棄水耳，而習俗不已.

Sometimes onion, ginger, jujube fruit, citrus peel, dogwood berries or peppermint are boiled along with the tea. Such ingredients may be scattered across the top for a glossy effect, or boiled together and the froth drawn off. Drinks like this are no more than the swill of gutters and ditches; still, it is common practice to make tea that way.43

Similarly, the late Tang poet and literatus Pi Rixiu 皮日休 (838–883)44 explained:

稱茗飲者，必渾以烹之，與夫瀹蔬而啜者無異也。

Those who referred to tea as ming 茗 necessarily brewed it in a manner similar to cooking, like boiling vegetables and sipping the resulting soup.45

Lu Yu contrasted this concoction with the pure, clear beverage we know today, which he termed cha茶.

Both of these quite different drinks feature in poetic tea imagery (Benn 2015, p. 9), so poets must choose their words carefully to avoid confusion. For instance, in the following examples, Taixu brews cha in the first poem and ming in the second:

煮茶且向簷前坐，佛跡重興話五天。46

Brewing tea, I sit beneath the eaves,47

Discussing the revival of Buddha’s teachings in the five celestials.48

圍爐煮茗夜談清，身意安恬夢亦輕。

Gathering around the stove, brewing tea, engaging in evening conversations,

Body and mind at ease, dreams become weightless.49

In the first couplet, thirst-quenching, pure cha is the perfect accompaniment to a serene discussion of the Buddha’s teachings. By contrast, conversations with friends and family around a stove are more relaxed, informal affairs, as exemplified by Taixu’s ease and weightless dreams in the second extract. Such discussions frequently extend into the early hours of the morning, so the more substantial, filling ming is the obvious choice. Thus, Taixu’s use of cha or ming imagery in his poetry tends to depend on the specific circumstances he wishes to evoke.

After the Tang dynasty, the production of tea increased rapidly in China. First, during the Song 宋 dynasty, advances in processing techniques, such as pressing and rolling, led to a significant improvement in the quality of tea cakes. Subsequently, in the Yuan and Ming 明 (1368–1644) dynasties, loose green tea, which is still the most prevalent form of tea today, emerged due to the application of new fermentation techniques (Benn 2015, p. 9). It was in this era that tea-drinking became a commonplace activity throughout Chinese society. In addition, it became closely associated with a life of spiritual contemplation for Buddhists and secular literati alike (ibid., pp. 144, 197).

Tea processing was perfected during the Qing dynasty, and tea-drinking habits were very similar to those of today. Tea houses (chaguan 茶館)50 proliferated, inspiring a variety of tea-related art forms, such as tea songs, dances, operas, and stories.51 By Taixu’s time, tea-drinking was a highly popular leisure activity, as evidenced by the following extract from the Qing bai lei chao 清稗類鈔 (Classified Anthology of Qing Anecdotes), compiled by Xu Ke 徐珂 (1869–1928):52

茶肆飲啜，有盛以壺者，有盛以碗者。有坐而飲者，有臥而啜者。進入茶肆者，終日勤苦，偶於暇日一至茶肆，與二三知己瀹苟深談者有之，日夕流連，樂而忘返，不以廢時失業為可惜者亦有之。

In tea houses, consumption varies, some use teapots, others bowls. There are those who sit and drink, and those who recline and sip. Those who frequent tea houses, amidst their daily tasks, occasionally enjoy a break by visiting a tea house. Some engage in deep conversations with two or three close friends, while others linger from day to night, finding joy and forgetting to return, not considering it a waste of time or neglect of duties.53

This sort of relaxed, casual behavior marked a significant departure from traditional Chinese dining etiquette,54 and Taixu was one of many to embrace it:

預慶黃龍茶55當酒，晚情欣對菊花黃。

In anticipation, celebrating with Huanglong tea instead of wine,

In the evening ambience, joyfully facing the yellow chrysanthemums.56

Taixu wrote this poem after a reunion with friends on Jinyun Mountain 縉雲山57 during the Double Ninth Festival (Chongyang jie 重陽節)58 in 1943. As we saw earlier, he was not averse to drinking alcohol on such occasions, but here, significantly, he stresses that the group’s beverage of choice was tea, rather than wine.

For many years, tea was perceived as little more than an accompaniment to wine (Benn 2015, p. 10), but that changed with the discovery of Wang Fu 王敷’s Cha jiu lun 茶酒論 (A Debate between Tea and Wine)59 in Dunhuang around the turn of the 20th century.60 Far from portraying tea as some sort of subsidiary beverage, this Tang-era manuscript revealed the crucial, positive role it played in China’s medieval monasteries, in contrast to the entirely detrimental effects of wine:

我之茗草，萬木之心。或白如玉，或似黃金。名僧大德，幽隱禪林。飲之語話，能去昏沉。供養彌勒，奉獻觀音。千劫萬劫，諸佛相欽。酒能破家散宅，廣作邪淫。打卻三盞後，令人只是罪深。

My name is ming, the heart of ten thousand plants. Some are white like jade, others resemble yellow gold. Renowned monks and elder monks reside in the groves of monasteries. When consumed while discussing, I can eliminate dullness and fatigue. I am offered to Maitreya and dedicated to Guanyin (Avalokiteśvara). The various Buddhas are pleased with me over the course of a thousand or even ten thousand kalpas. Wine can destroy families and break up homes, leading to depravity and licentiousness. After three cups, people fall into deep sin.61

Clearly, then, medieval Buddhists believed that tea enhanced their physical health, as they drank it to combat fatigue. Moreover, the tea plant is beautiful—“like jade” or “yellow gold”—so the resulting beverage is an appropriate gift for divine Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. Specifically, Wang Fu (in the guise of tea itself) mentions Maitreya and Guanyin, both of whom had sizeable devotional cults during the Tang dynasty (Benn 2015, p. 49). Meanwhile, he casts wine in an entirely negative light, characterizing it as the source of a variety of transgressions and wrongdoings. Therefore, tea had three distinct advantages over wine: it was physically beneficial; it enjoyed the approval of important deities; and it did not lead monastics down the path of immorality.

Around the same time as Wang Fu was composing Cha jiu lun, the poet Lu Tong 盧仝 (795–835)62 enumerated more of the physical and mental health benefits of tea-drinking, based on his own experience:

一碗喉吻潤，兩碗破孤悶。三碗搜枯腸，唯有文字五千卷。四碗發輕汗，平生不平事，盡向毛孔散。五碗肌骨清，六碗通仙靈。七碗吃不得，唯覺兩腋習習清風生。

One bowl moistens the throat, two bowls dispel loneliness and melancholy. Three bowls clear the withered intestines, finding nothing there but five thousand scrolls of writing.63 Four bowls generate a light sweat, life’s injustices dissipate through every pore. Five bowls clarify the flesh and bones, six bowls make the spirit ethereal. Unable to consume seven bowls, one only feels a gentle breeze beneath the armpits.64

Hence, tea-drinking not only improves physical health by quenching the drinker’s thirst, causing him to sweat, and clearing his bowels but also banishes his negative emotions and leaves him feeling relaxed, as if he were immortal. Moreover, it provides the inspiration authors need to compose their literary works. Therefore, Lu Tong establishes a direct link between tea consumption and the creative process, presenting it as a supremely healthy habit for himself and his fellow literati.

Although Taixu is not quite as effusive in his praise of tea, the beverage still played an important role in his life. For him, tea-making was an intricate process that sometimes began with picking the leaves himself:

荒寒洗盡世繁華，自掘松根自摘茶，一掏流泉清可煮，把將茆蓋臥煙霞。

In desolation and cold, washing away the world’s prosperity,

Digging beneath the pine roots, picking tea on my own.

A scoop, fetching pure spring water for brewing,

Lying under a thatched cover in the mist and rosy clouds.65

As this extract demonstrates, in addition to selecting the right leaves, Taixu clearly understood the importance of brewing them in clean, clear water. Indeed, he returns to this theme in two further poems:

汲得山中竹引泉，烹茶飲罷倚松眠。

Drawing water from the bamboo-tube spring in the mountains,66

Brewing tea, drinking, then reclining against the pine, [I] doze.67

境勝渾忘俗，泉清可煮茶。

In the serene and superior environment, [I] forget worldly concerns;

Clear springs, suitable for brewing tea.68

Therefore, irrespective of whether the water is sourced from the high mountains via bamboo tubes or directly from a clear spring, it must be pure if Taixu is to brew the high-quality tea that helps him relax, doze, and forget his worries. By contrast, the brewing process itself seems far less important, as Taixu never feels the need to explain what it entails.

Having brewed the tea, Taixu is finally able to savor it:

消受一杯茶味永，飄然曳杖市梢回。

Accepting a cup of tea’s enduring taste,

Drifting leisurely, I stroll back from the ground’s edge.69

閑消受茶清香靜，幾度徘徊。

Leisurely accepting tea’s pure fragrance, tranquil,

Wandered several times.70

In both of these couplets, Taixu uses the phrase shou 受 (accept) to denote the act of tasting the tea for the first time. After meticulously picking the right leaves, finding a source of pure water, and brewing the tea, he consumes the fragrant end product serenely, regardless of whether it fully meets his expectations.

Tea represents Taixu’s tranquility and is a constant feature of his daily life, so it is hardly surprising that he often references it in his work. For instance, he draws an analogy between studying the Buddha Dharma and drinking tea in the introduction to a lecture he presented to Buddhists at the Minglun Hall 明倫堂 in August 1923:71

佛法非一時中所能盡述，故今講佛法，亦無從講起。然諸君欲知佛法之妙亦不難，譬如飲茶入口，即知其味，不飲則終不能知也。

The Buddha Dharma is not something that can be fully expounded within a limited time; therefore, when lecturing on the Buddha Dharma today, there is no specific starting point. However, it is not difficult for all of you to understand the wonders of the Buddha Dharma. It is like sipping tea; once it enters the mouth, you immediately know its taste. Without drinking, one will never truly understand.72

According to Taixu, both the Buddha Dharma and tea are extraordinary, esoteric subjects whose inner mysteries can be fully comprehended only through personal exploration. Therefore, the process of sipping tea is akin to tasting the flavors of the Dharma (fawei 法味). As discussed earlier, tea-drinking was a widely practiced leisure activity in early 20th-century China, so all of those in attendance would have been familiar with the beverage. Moreover, Taixu considered it an effective means of maintaining a healthy lifestyle. Hence, we can trace his formulation of this clear, concise analogy not only to his personal fondness for tea but also to his awareness of prevailing social trends and innate understanding of what would resonate with his audience.

That said, some of the attendees may not have approved. Whereas Taixu was convinced that tea-drinking was a wholesome pastime—and therefore an appropriate subject to discuss alongside the Buddha Dharma—others were less enthusiastic. For instance, according to the Qing bai lei chao, excessive tea consumption can harm the nervous system and lead to insomnia. Moreover, it may cause dizziness—known as tea inebriation (chazui 茶醉)—if consumed on an empty stomach, similar to the effect of drinking alcohol (K. Xu 1984, p. 6307). However, if Taixu was aware of these concerns, he chose to ignore them and continued to characterize tea as a pure, healthy option in both his prose and his poetry.

4. The Meanings of Wine and Tea Imagery in Taixu’s Poetry

Taixu frequently employs wine and tea imagery when discussing both internal emotions and external factors—such as Buddhist discipline and monastic living conditions—in his poetry. This imagery has a number of symbolic meanings that are closely related to the poet’s personality. Here, it should be noted that wine and tea do not appear in isolation in Taixu’s work; rather, their meanings often intersect, offering a complex reflection of the poet’s personal philosophy. Similar intersections are explored in Xiaochuang youji 小窗幽记 (Records beside a Small Window), a collection of essays composed by Chen Jiru 陳繼儒 (1558–1639)73 during the Ming dynasty:

熱腸如沸，茶不勝酒，幽韻如雲，酒不勝茶，茶類隱、酒類俠。酒固道廣，茶亦德素。

The passion burns as if it is boiling, tea cannot surpass wine; the subtlety is as profound as clouds, wine cannot surpass tea. Tea represents the hermit’s qualities, and wine represents the knight’s characteristics. While wine indeed embraces a broad path, tea possesses virtuous simplicity.74

Both wine and tea can convey a wide variety of meanings. For instance, wine generates passion, enormous energy, and excitement, all of which are considered knightly qualities. In contrast, tea promotes the typically hermitic attributes of serenity, subtlety, and carefreeness. Taixu exhibits a keen interest in both of these groups of characteristics. On the one hand, he admires knights who engage in battles, expressing appreciation for their strength and unwavering determination (buqu bunao 不屈不撓) (TDQ: XIII: 148). On the other, he acknowledges that hermits are transcendent and mentally fulfilled (yongrong zide 雍容自得) (TDQ: XXXII: 142). Moreover, he frequently uses both types of imagery in a single poem, reflecting his desire to achieve some sort of harmony between the two seemingly diametrically opposed personalities they represent. However, before focusing on this aspect of Taixu’s work, it is important to explore the various aspects of wine and tea imagery in greater depth.

During events such as the La Festival (Lajie 蠟節),75 solemn worship of the gods of agriculture is frequently followed by singing and excessive drinking (Gong 2022, p. 15). In such moments, the revelers may be described as succumbing to zuikuang 醉狂 (drunken madness)—a character trait that is often associated with knights in classical Chinese literature.

醉者攻擊外物與外在秩序，他所追求的是自我的徹底釋放與投射。醉狂導向“亂”，它表徵著的是醉者與內外秩序的對立。

A person who is intoxicated attacks external objects and the external order; he seeks complete liberation and self-projection. Drunken madness is the result of intoxication, symbolizing the conflict between an intoxicated individual and both the internal mind and the external order.76

Li Bai 李白 (701–762),77 whom Taixu acknowledges as one of the leading exponents of wine poetry,78 is adept at conveying the essence of zuikuang—and the conflict it represents—as the following couplet demonstrates:

長風萬裏送秋雁，對此可以酣高樓。

Gazing at geese flying thousands of miles on the autumn wind,

Let us drink our fill in this high pavilion.79

In this poem, which Li Bai wrote during a feast to bid farewell to his uncle, Li Yun 李雲,80 watching wild geese in the clear autumn sky prompts the poet to drink heartily and thus assume the persona of a heroic knight who has the courage to overcome the sorrow of parting. To him, in that moment, the only thing that matters is continuing to drink without restraint, with no concern for society’s mores and expectations.

Over 1200 years later, Taixu attended a New Year’s Eve feast. Again, the wine flowed freely, and Taixu was compelled to record the event in a poem that borrows some of Li Bai’s imagery to similar effect:

酒氣跋鯨浪，琴聲落雁沙。

The wine breath breaks through the waves like a leaping whale,

The sound of the zither falls like geese landing on the beach.81

Although monastic disciplinary guidelines explicitly prohibit wine-drinking, even on festive occasions, Taixu subtly acknowledges that he himself was intoxicated that night. In his inebriated state, the wine appears like waves raised by a whale, while the zither sounds like geese landing on a beach. Hence, drinking alcohol seems to enhance Taixu’s sensory perception, which in turn enables him to record what he witnessed in vivid poetic imagery. In traditional Chinese culture, both whales and geese are symbols of freedom and unrestrained spirit—two more aspects of zuikuang.82 Therefore, by drinking wine, Taixu becomes a daring knight–poet who transcends (monastic) discipline and order.

After the liberation of zuikuang, knights may transition into zuiwo 醉臥 (drunken rest), a form of self-reconciliation:

醉酒時安靜、內斂，並趨向與現實對立的醉鄉。醉臥打碎限制生命的種種界限，打通並實現天地萬物一體。

[A person] who is intoxicated becomes tranquil and introverted, entering an intoxicated land that is the opposite of reality. Resting after intoxication allows one to overcome the many barriers imposed on one’s life and achieve a holistic unity with the universe.83

This intoxicated land (zuixiang 醉鄉) is a dream-like state. After falling asleep to enter it, the knight turns inward, seeking freedom and unity, and thereby achieves reconciliation with himself and others (Gong 2022, p. 16). Wang Ji 王績 (585–644),84 a poet who was active in the early years of the Tang dynasty, introduced the notion of zuixiang, which he characterized as a peaceful, serene haven where all worries are forgotten.85 Therefore, the concept is similar to the Western idea of heaven (xitian 西天) (Gong 2022, p. 17). Knights in a state of zuikuang are too busy battling against the established order to attain inner tranquility or achieve self-reconciliation. However, zuiwo enables them to do both by granting them access to zuixiang. Taixu illustrates this point in a poem he composed in 1914:

萬古愁腸一杯酒，醉中吟苦不成詩。

In the endless epochs, a cup of wine stirs the sorrows of my heart,

Yet, amid intoxication, the bitter verses remain unsung.86

Taixu wrote this poem shortly before beginning his seclusion on Putuo Mountain. He had recently experienced a series of setbacks, including the death of one of his most beloved masters, Jing’an 敬安 (1852–1912).87 His grief was so profound that he briefly considered abandoning his monastic career, but he managed to negotiate a path through this turbulent period by writing poetry and drinking wine (TDQ: XXXI: 188–189). Yet, in the depths of his loss and despair, he did not seek the wild excess of zuikuang but rather drank just enough to ease into zuiwo and enter zuixiang. Once in the intoxicated land, he found solace and managed to forget his worries and pain, like an exhausted knight after a battle.

Much of Taixu’s zuiwo poetry can be traced back to the work of Tao Qian 陶潛 (365–427),88 the first Chinese poetic idyllist. During his seclusion, Taixu read many of Tao Qian’s works and consciously imitated his poetic style (TDQ: XXXI: 193). Tao Qian drank wine every evening (wu xi buyin 無夕不飲) (Yuan 2003, p. 235), often becoming intoxicated, but remained sufficiently vigilant to avoid descending into zuikuang (Gong 2022, p. 16). Instead, he fell into the deep sleep of zuiwo, which in turn enabled him to compose the wine poetry that would inspire Taixu some 1500 years later.

Of course, even though poets can attain inner reconciliation in zuixiang, it should be remembered that this is not an actual place but rather a form of psychological anesthesia:

醉者內斂，安眠而不興奮，體段柔弱，雖可全身遠害，但卻失去了應有的血性。

An intoxicated person is reserved, sleeping peacefully without excitement, and in a weak physical condition. It may protect the body from immediate harm, but it lacks essential vigor.89

Taixu’s rejection of zuikuang in favor of zuiwo is strongly reflected in his poetry, where the focus shifts from external conflict to a state of inner calm. Rather than using whales and geese to symbolize his wine-induced, knightly boldness and recklessness, he starts to fill his poems with images that are more in keeping with the serenity of a hermit: that is, he transitions from wine imagery to tea imagery.

There has been a strong association between seclusion (yinju 隱居) and tea-drinking in Chinese literature for well over a thousand years. For example, the renowned Tang poet Liu Yuxi 劉禹錫 (772–842)90 composed the following couplet after passing by a remote monastery:

客至茶煙起，禽歸講席收。

When guests arrive, tea steam rises.

Birds return, lecture mats are removed.91

Here, the rising tea steam and the absence of lecture mats indicate a tranquil, carefree atmosphere. Liu Yuxi provides no further details, so we do not know if the temple master and his guests subsequently entered into a discussion of the Buddha Dharma or simply engaged in a casual conversation about daily life, but there is no doubt that all those present were able to relax in this secluded place.

In a similar manner, Taixu uses tea steam to evoke a sense of ease and calm:

春風春雨訪伊人，半榻茶煙洗客塵；直到形骸忘盡後，清談一室豁天真。

Spring breeze and spring rain visit the beloved,

Half a couch, tea steam, cleansing travel dust;

Until body and form are forgotten,

Pure talk in the room with open-minded innocence.92

Once again, as in Liu Yuxi’s verse, guests arrive at a master’s abode, tea steam rises, and casual conversation ensues. The two poems’ identical imagery reflect the joy their authors witnessed—and, in Taixu’s case, personally experienced—in a secluded location. However, Taixu goes further than his famous predecessor by revealing that the ensuing conversation revolved around the Buddhist Dharma, as indicated by the phrases “pure talk” (qingtan 清談) and “innocence” (tianzhen 天真). Therefore, in addition to relishing the serenity provided by his physical seclusion, he attains spiritual transcendence through philosophical discussion.

The tea imagery in Taixu’s poetry often carries another, deeper meaning by evoking the concept of fa er rushi 法爾如是 (Dharma is thus). Taixu explained this notion, which is integral to Chan Buddhism, in a 1930 lecture:93

佛學用“法爾如是”的道理(法就是諸法，統指一切事物)去解決人生宇宙究竟問題。法爾如是，就是說：諸法性相原來如此，還他如此。

Buddhist philosophy employs the principle of fa er rushi to address the ultimate questions of life and the universe. The term fa (Dharma) refers to all phenomena, encompassing everything. Fa er rushi essentially means that the inherent nature of all phenomena is just as it is and ultimately returns to its original state.94

Taixu conveys the essence of fa er rushi with reference to Zhaozhou cha 趙州茶 (Zhaozhou Tea), a popular Chan Buddhist gong’an 公案 dating from the Tang dynasty:95

趙州和尚見僧必問，到與未到。只曰吃茶去。院主問故。和尚呼院主，院主應之。亦曰吃茶去。

The Chan master Zhaozhou always asked the monks, “Have you been to [this place] or not?” [Regardless of how the monks responded,] he always said, “Go and drink tea.” When the abbot asked him why he did this, Zhaozhou simply said the abbot’s name. When the abbot responded [that he was listening], Zhaozhou once again stated, “Go and drink tea.”96

When Master Zhaozhou 趙州 (778–897)97 mentions “this place,” he is not referring to his monastic residence but rather to the enlightened state that he and other monks can attain through Chan meditation. Regardless of whether his fellow monks have achieved enlightenment or are still seeking it, Zhaozhou tells them to “Go and drink tea.” This highly influential gong’an reflects the Chan notion of “being the same, whether enlightened or not” (wu liao hai tong wei wu shi 悟了還同未悟時), which relates to the search for the essence of all phenomena.

Taixu employs Zhaozhou cha in his poetry to express his hope of returning to a state of fa er rushi:

妙喜泉水清，趙州茶味苦，試問嘗過人，能否將舌鼓?98

Miaoxi spring water is clear,99

Zhaozhou tea is bitter in flavor.

Ask anyone who has tasted it,

Will they shake their tongues?100

While Taixu considers tea bitter, he also appreciates its sweetness. Consequently, describing its flavor is challenging for him, so instead he focuses on the serenity the essence of tea provides. According to him, phenomena like the taste of tea are unimportant; he simply chooses to enjoy them peacefully, like a hermit.

Taixu’s internal transformation from knight to hermit demonstrates that zuiwo can serve as a bridge between the meanings of wine and tea imagery. However, this is not to say that zuiwo imagery and tea imagery have the same meaning. Many Chinese poets, including Taixu, use zuiwo to evoke self-absorption (ziwo xiaomo 自我消磨), decadence, and obscurity (tuimi zihui 頹靡自晦) (Gong 2022, p. 11). Tea imagery is much more positive in comparison, as it often signifies seeking and attaining transcendence in seclusion or exploring the essence of all phenomena through Chan Buddhism. Additionally, tea reflects the poet’s attainment of harmony with the outside world, which stands in marked contrast to the wine-induced conflict of zuikuang.

5. Wine and Tea: Striking a Balance between the Two Types of Imagery

Wine imagery, which is controversial in Buddhist literature, and tea imagery, which evokes health and serenity, are brought together in Taixu’s poetry, as he is adept at utilizing both to create poems that are “not limited by fixed patterns to suit requirements” (buju guchang yi shiying suoyi不拘故常以適應所宜) (TDQ: XXXI: 201). When the two types of imagery coexist within the same poetic space, striking a balance between them becomes essential.

As a general rule, Taixu skillfully parallels wine imagery and tea imagery in two closely juxtaposed couplets, as in the following example:

三杯白酒忘身世，一卷黃庭養性靈。秋月滿軒吟菊頌，春風半席檢茶經。

Three cups of white wine, forgetful of worldly affairs,

One scroll of Huangting jing nourishes the spirit.

Autumn moon fills the pavilion, chanting a chrysanthemum hymn,

Spring breeze inspects Cha jing in the middle of a half-filled seat.101

In this poem, Taixu first consumes wine, which enables him to enter the restful state of zuiwo and forget the worries of the mundane world. Then he meditates in a pavilion surrounded by chrysanthemums, a poetic and beautiful setting for his seclusion. He studies two scriptures—the Huangting jing 黃庭經 (Yellow Court Scripture)102 and the Cha jing—that are significant texts in Daoism and Chinese tea culture. The former is a foundational text in Daoist inner cultivation and medical principles, while the latter focuses on nature-oriented self-discipline and cultivation. In addition, they emphasize the importance of recuperation and a peaceful mind, both of which are strongly associated with tea-drinking in Taixu’s poetry.

Taixu’s interest in wine and tea imagery attracted the attention of many famous literati. For example, the renowned reporter Zhang Bingdu 張冰獨 (1915–1987)103 interviewed Taixu on Yueya Mountain 月牙山 in Guilin 桂林, Guangxi Province 廣西省—an area renowned for its stunning landscape—shortly before the latter’s death in 1947. His account of their meeting contains the following poetic passage:

半船明月，一席清風，酒浮標白，茶熟爐紅。

Half a boat bathed in moonlight, a seat embraced by a gentle breeze, wine ripples in the white cups, tea matures over the red stove.104

This evocative description is taken from an ancient stone carving entitled “Returning Home after Fishing” (Diao ba guilai tu 釣罷歸來圖).105 There is no direct connection between the carving and Taixu, so it seems Zhang Bingdu chose to include it simply because he associated his interviewee so closely with wine and tea imagery.

As this ancient text demonstrates, Taixu was far from the first author to employ both types of imagery in his work. Indeed, literati have been attempting to strike a balance between the two beverages in their poems—and their lives—since the Tang dynasty (Benn 2015, p. 20). One notable example is Bai Juyi 白居易 (772–846),106 whom Taixu regarded as a significant poet (TDQ: II: 168). Although Bai Juyi never combined the two types of imagery in a single poem, he frequently used one or the other, as the following examples demonstrate:

绿蚁新醅酒，红泥小火炉。

[My] new wine emits a green glow,

My red clay stove flames up.107

食罷一覺睡，起來兩甌茶。

After the meal, [I] rest and sleep,

Awakening to two cups of tea.108

Whether it is wine brewing on the stove or the tea that he drinks after a nap, these beverages are clearly important elements in Bai Juyi’s daily life. Similarly, in addition to his wine poetry (see above), Bai Juyi’s predecessor Li Bai wrote the following verse after savoring a cup of tea:

朝坐有餘興, 長吟播諸天。

Sitting in the morning with lingering joy,

Long recitation, spreading across the heavens.109

Other renowned poets of the mid-Tang dynasty, such as Wei Yingwu 韋應物 (737–791)110 and Du Mu 杜牧 (803–852),111 likewise utilized both wine and tea imagery in their work.112

Several centuries later, the most famous poet of the Song dynasty, Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101),113 admitted to drinking himself into a stupor to ease his anxiety:

不如眼前一醉,是非憂樂兩都忘。

Better to have immediate intoxication,

Forget both right and wrong, joy and sorrow.114

However, his beverage of choice at the end of the day was more likely to be a soothing cup of tea:

但願一甌常及, 睡足日高起。

I always hope to have a cup,

Sleep enough and rise with the sun.115

The wine and tea imagery of other Song poets, including Huang Tingjian 黄庭坚 (1045–1105)116 and Lu You 陸遊 (1125–1210),117 is equally evocative, providing valuable insights into their daily lives.118

While all of these men are important figures in the history of Chinese literature, it is worth noting that Jiaoran 皎然 (730–799),119 whom Taixu regards as the most outstanding poet–monk of the Tang dynasty (TDQ: XXXII: 414), rarely uses wine imagery in his work, and on one occasion explicitly states that he does not drink it himself.120 Similarly, few, if any, of Taixu’s monastic contemporaries shared his enthusiasm for the subject. The sole exception was the aforementioned Su Manshu, although it should be remembered that he was not a fully ordained monk. Moreover, in addition to his weakness for alcohol, he was the son of a tea merchant and consequently something of a connoisseur of that beverage too,121 drinking it frequently both alone and with friends. Therefore, it is unsurprising that tea also features prominently in his work, appearing in no fewer than thirty poems.122 However, Su Manshu never thought to combine wine and tea imagery in a single poem. Rather, it was Taixu who took that innovative step, and in so doing set himself apart from all other poet—monks, both ancient and modern.

6. Conclusions

The intricate interweaving of wine and tea imagery in Taixu’s poetry reflects the poet’s complex personal relationships with the two beverages.

After a long evolutionary process, wine achieved unprecedented popularity in China during Taixu’s lifetime. As a result, he had many opportunities to interact with it. He seemed to form his first—positive—impression of wine after hearing a group of elders discuss its beneficial effects. However, following his ordination in 1904, he consistently proclaimed his strong opposition to the consumption of alcohol on the grounds that it was not only detrimental to physical and mental health but also harmful to society—a point he reinforced during lectures with reference to a short list of simple Buddhist protocols known as the five precepts that were easily understood by monastics and laypeople alike. Yet, assuming his poetic accounts of wine-drinking can be taken at face value, he did not always follow the fifth protocol himself. In addition to being somewhat hypocritical, such behavior contravenes strict monastic disciplinary guidelines that permit the consumption of wine in certain circumstances but explicitly prohibit intoxication. Of course, it is possible that Taixu decided to incorporate wine-drinking in his poetry for artistic effect, but that does not explain why he presents himself as intoxicated, or indeed why he—alone among modern Chinese poet–monks—uses wine imagery so freely.

With regard to tea, Taixu is careful to distinguish between soup-like ming and clear, pure cha, referencing one or the other depending on the message he wants to convey. The latter beverage became an integral part of daily life in China in the first half of the 20th century, with many people, including Taixu, choosing to drink it as a more wholesome alternative to wine during festivals. Consequently, in his poetry, tea-drinking symbolizes his own pursuit of a healthy lifestyle, while preparation of the beverage—including careful selection of the leaves and clear water followed by patient brewing—represents meticulous study of the Buddha Dharma.

Therefore, whereas Taixu uses wine imagery to evoke the traditional knightly attributes of recklessness and freedom, his tea imagery symbolizes the laudable characteristics of devout hermits. Specifically, he employs the concept of drunken madness—zuikuang—to represent his own and others’ conflicts with order and discipline. This chaotic state stands in marked contrast to the subsequent drunken rest of zuiwo, which allows entry into the intoxicated land—zuixiang—a peaceful realm where all worldly concerns are forgotten. Similar tranquility may be attained through hermitic seclusion from the outside world, which Taixu evokes through descriptions of tea steam rising during discussions between masters and their guests in monasteries. However, it should be noted that zuiwo and seclusion are not wholly synonymous: whereas the former is characterized by ongoing self-absorption and self-reflection, the latter leads to carefree ease and relaxation. Taixu also uses Zhaozhou cha to convey the essence of the important Chan Buddhist concept of fa er rushi, which stresses that everything ultimately returns to its original state.

Finally, Taixu is unique in presenting both wine and tea imagery in close proximity to one another within a single poem. In this respect, he differs from renowned ancient poets such as Bai Juyi and Su Shi as well as his own teacher and contemporary Su Manshu—all of whom produced wine poetry and tea poetry, but never a combination of the two. This significant innovation helped to bring Taixu to the attention of the wider literary world, with the result that he became modern China’s most influential exponent of wine and tea poetry.