When China Became "china"

Porcelain, Memory, and the Soul of a Civilization

Why does the English word China also mean porcelain? No other country’s name became a material - let alone one synonymous with elegance, refinement, and fragility. But this one did. And its story is not just about trade. It’s about transformation.

Born from earth, refined by fire, admired by kings - porcelain became China’s silent ambassador. Not with armies. Not with conquest. But with clay.

This article is written by Yanlong Huo. Huo, born and raised in Beijing and currently residing in the Netherlands, is a seasoned business development leader, bridging European and Chinese enterprises along with passionate interests in culture, history, and philosophy.

I. Civilization in Clay

The journey began over a thousand years ago.

During the Tang dynasty (7th–10th century), Chinese artisans discovered how to turn humble kaolin clay (高岭土) into vessels light as mist and hard as jade. Celadon (青瓷) from the Yue kilns (越窖) and white porcelain from Xing kilns (邢窖) became prized exports via the Silk Road and maritime trade routes.

In the Song dynasty (10th–13th century), porcelain evolved from function to philosophy. A Ru ware (汝窖) bowl’s quiet glaze or a Ding plate’s modest rim reflected Confucian harmony, Daoist naturalism, and Buddhist stillness. Porcelain became less a vessel, more a worldview made tangible.

By the Yuan and Ming dynasties (13th–17th century), porcelain had gone global. Blue-and-white wares, fired in Jingdezhen using cobalt from Persia, flowed toward the Islamic world, East Africa, Southeast Asia, and eventually Europe. Emperors used porcelain as royal diplomacy; merchants traded it for horses, spices, and silver.

In the Qing dynasty (17th–20th century), the West called it simply china. Europeans believed it could detect poison and prolong life. It sometimes rivaled gold in value. Jesuit priests embedded in China copied its secrets, and European porcelain was born. But the name stuck.

To this day, we still call it china.

II. A Material That Moved Empires

Porcelain was not just a product. It was a phenomenon.

In the early 1400s, Admiral Zheng He (郑和) led China’s treasure fleets across the South Seas. On board: porcelain. Elegant cups and cobalt jars, packed not as cargo but as culture. Each piece whispered: "This is who we are."

By 1602, when a Dutch ship docked in Amsterdam with a shipment of porcelain, Europe fell into obsession. Nobles fought for it. Crowds gathered to glimpse it. For the first time, china entered the European imagination—aesthetic, exotic, essential.

Europe tried to replicate it. Alchemists failed. Chemists guessed. Potters experimented. But it took a Jesuit priest, Father François Xavier d’Entrecolles, stationed in Jingdezhen (景德镇), to crack the code. His letters detailing the use of kaolin and petuntse, the firing methods, and glazing secrets were smuggled back to Europe. Soon, Meissen in Germany produced the West's first true porcelain. Sèvres, Delft, and Staffordshire followed.

The East had created it. The West had copied it. But the name china never changed.

III. Porcelain as Cultural Mirror

While empires drew borders, porcelain traveled differently. It didn’t conquer - it connected.

From the kilns of Jingdezhen, through Quanzhou, into the hands of sultans, tsars, and kings, porcelain adapted. Chinese artisans incorporated Islamic patterns, European coats of arms, and Christian iconography. The forms changed. The soul remained.

Porcelain became a mirror:

• Reflecting China’s spirit in craftsmanship

• Revealing Europe’s longing in imitation

• Connecting civilizations where politics could not

We still find porcelain in our homes, museums, and rituals. But more than that, we find in it a quiet truth: Something soft and silent can carry deep meaning.

IV. A Personal Inheritance

Today, far from China, I still keep two small porcelain cups. They’re not from a famous kiln. They’re not in any catalogue. But they are among the most precious things I own.

They belonged to my grandmother. She wrote on each cup in her graceful - calligraphy characters I still trace with my fingertips. She’s no longer here. But her hands once held these cups. Her brush once danced across their surface.

Porcelain, in that sense, became something more than art. It became 传承 - legacy. A quiet inheritance.

Porcelain is often called fragile. But maybe that’s not quite right. It survives pressure. It endures fire. It doesn’t break easily - but when it does, it reveals what it’s carried.

In a world that scrolls, rushes, forgets - porcelain invites us to pause. To hold something with care. To see beauty in restraint. To understand that elegance is not in perfection, but in presence.

Final Thoughts: What We Carry

Across dynasties, porcelain reflected the values of Chinese culture. Across oceans, it became a global wonder. And across generations, it carries stories - quietly, steadily, often unnoticed.

My grandmother’s cups sit on a shelf here in the West. They’ve traveled farther than she ever imagined. But her spirit remains in them: In the glaze. In the curve. In the brushstrokes of her writing.

We often talk about legacy as something grand. But sometimes, legacy fits in the palm of your hand.

In an age of noise and speed, perhaps porcelain still reminds us: What endures is not always what shouts the loudest. It is what was shaped slowly. With care. By hands that remember.

June 18, 2025

Yanlong Huo

This article was originally published in Yanglong Huo’s substack on June 16, 2025

When China Became "china": Porcelain, Memory, and the Soul of a Civilization

Front picture credit : Unsplash Joan W, China vases workshop in Jingdezhen (景德镇), Jiangxi province (published October, 2023)

Article pictures credit : original publication