Christopher Hitchens and the Korean Tea-bowl

From the Archives

From an essay I wrote published in Stanford University archaeologist Patrick Hunt’s magazine Electrum: Why the Past Matters.

In the vast number of objects that come from other countries in the museums of the world, a percentage of those are masterpieces. Only a small fraction of these are designated as national treasures. The implication is that the nation’s government and people are putting resources behind the object’s protection, preservation, and study. 

In Japan, a National Treasure (国宝, kokuhō) is designated cultural property, as determined by the Agency for Cultural Affairs (a special body of the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology). These objects carry tremendous prestige, attracting large crowds to every viewing opportunity and subjects of countless books and documentaries.  

Of the eight teabowls registered as National Treasures in Japan, the Kizaemon is considered by tea practitioners to be greatest work of all. A masterpiece. 

It is Japan’s Mona Lisa. 

And yet, it was not made in Japan. 

I remember the day I first saw a copy of the Kizaemon during my tea ceremony lessons. Focused on the intricate rules I had yet to master, I hadn’t looked at the bowl until the end of the practice, during the ritual appreciation of the tea utensils. At this stage my teacher would walk us through the points, or “places to appreciate” of each utensil. 

I felt my head spinning. To call it a humble rice bowl would have been an understatement, for the teabowl was completely lopsided! Misshapen in the kiln, it stood up straight and steady enough, but the walls were warped. It had a lovely high foot, but numerous cracks and holes in the cheap glaze exposed the dark clay beneath. And to make matters worse, the bowl was ridged with ringed indentations from the potter’s wheel—there was nothing smooth or fine, no evidence of technical mastery. 

I was trying so hard to delight in all things Japanese. But this ugly bowl? 

The Kizaemon was first “discovered” by the Shogun’s army during an invasion of Korea, launched by the late 16^thcentury shogun Hideyoshi Toyotomi. It was probably just an old rice bowl in a peasant’s house. But the shogun’s soldiers had been given strict instructions: bring home anything of beauty you find in your plundering. And this bowl fit the bill perfectly. It’s rustic simplicity and humble appearance embodied that supreme principle of Japanese tea ceremony aesthetics, that of wabi-sabi, which usually means “an acceptance of beauty in something that is transient and imperfect”. 

And so, this bowl made its way back to Japan – changing hands for greater and greater sums of money until it became priceless – a “treasure of the nation.”

Years later, I would finally get to see the real bowl, in a big exhibition of National Treasure ceramics held at the Tokyo National Museum (see first image above). As I inched my way closer to it, the crowds became dense and a great hush descended. Some people were crying. As it came into view, I felt its tremendous charisma. I was gobsmacked.

And what a rags-to-riches story. 

There would never be a lawsuit over this heirloom since the bowl in Korea was worthless. But in Japan it had become a glittering superstar. 

Something similar can be seen in the great dragon jars of Borneo. Originally created in faraway lands—mostly in the kilns of Southern China but some in Vietnam or the Philippines, they were just humble jars for holding water or rice on boat trips—cheap, everyday objects to the Chinese. But when the Dayak “discovered” them, they went out of their minds, even attributing to them magical powers. During the White Rajah days, crimes were paid for in jars considered the most valuable things owned by the Dayak. 

The same thing happened in Japan during the 16^th century with bowls from China and Korea. They were technically superior to anything available in the country at the time, and the tea masters found their rustic simplicity deeply appealing. 

These are unique cases, however—since usually plundered objects are of supreme value in the country of origin, explaining why they were plundered in the first place, and why so much effort is spent securing their return.

For more: please see the entire essay here: Christopher Hitchens and the Korean Tea-bowl