Union—Man and the Universe in Traditional Chinese Gardens and Architecture
Union—Man and the Universe in Traditional Chinese Gardens and Architecture
By Ruijun Shen
Conceptual Origins
Ancient China was an agrarian nation. Agricultural production depends on the land, and crops depend on nourishment from the shifting weather to grow. Agrarian civilization cultivates keen observation of nature. The use of the movements of the sun, the moon and the stars, or the growth and conservation of plants as guides to agricultural activities is the way of survival in agrarian society. For this reason, ancient Chinese culture quite naturally drew connections between changes in nature and human behavior, and expected people to act according to the order of change in nature. Following nature’s lead and adapting to changing circumstances often lead to smooth outcomes, while working against nature can be a fruitless endeavor. Human activity is inextricably linked to changes in nature, and the two mutually influence each other. Thus, Chinese philosophy developed a worldview of unity between man and nature, sameness and reciprocity between man and nature. The ancient Chinese believed human activity could influence nature, and nature could influence humanity. The whole world is an organism of mutual constraint.
The Yi Commentaries says, “As the cold months end, the warm months arrive. As the warm months end, the cold months arrive.” The cyclical patterns of the seasons in nature gave rise to a worldview of repeating cycles and karmic chains. The common sayings go that all extremes will eventually be reversed, that droughts are followed by floods. Experience in agricultural production has revealed the wave patterns of changes in nature, and led us to actively seek better methods of adapting to these changes. Maintaining harmonious balance among all things is a way to ensure a good harvest, and so Chinese people came to uphold the doctrine of the mean. “All things are fostered together without harming one another; the courses of nature unfold without colliding into each other... This is what makes heaven and earth so great” (The Doctrine of the Mean, chapter 30). The Doctrine of the Mean describes a world that accepts the phenomena of diversity and coexistence between all things. Humanity, which is a product of heaven and earth, must respect the order of nature, learn from the openness and acceptance of nature as it nourishes all things, and actively seek to remedy contradictions to achieve the ideal outcome of harmonious coexistence with all things. As the Zuo Commentary states, “Harmony is like a stew. Water, fire, vinegar, meat sauce, salt and plums are used to cook the fish.” Many ingredients come together to produce a new flavor. “Harmony” allows for the existence of “difference,” but “sameness” is incompatible with “difference.” In order to attain “harmony,” the many “differences” that are brought together must be adjusted to appropriate proportions. This is the “mean.” The “mean” is perfect moderation. “Harmony” is the outcome of the “mean.” Confucianism advocates “benevolent love.” As you achieve yourself, you should help others. All things nourish each other in symbiosis. The mean also calls on people to do the appropriate thing at the appropriate place and appropriate time in order to achieve a state of perfection. This reasoning may seem abstract, but if we approach it from the rules that are followed in the planting of crops, it suddenly becomes clear.
Ancient Chinese thinkers did not see people as the work of a Creator. People, like all things, are forms produced by the coalescence of energy. As such, people and things all have the ability to transcend the barriers of form and to engage with and mutually act upon each other. The ancients called this energy “qi.” The Inner Cannon of the Yellow Emperor—Plain Questions states: “People are born of the qi of heaven and earth, and molded by the order of the seasons.” The Inner Cannon holds that qi is the origin of all things, and all things in the universe are composed of it. “That which is qi in the heavens becomes form on the earth. The interaction between form and qi gives embodiment to the myriad things.” Zhuangzi—Knowledge Ramblings in the North states: “People are born of the coalescence of qi. When it gathers, life is born. When it disperses, death... Hence the saying, ‘All under the sun is a single energy.’” Qi is the essence of existence for all people and things, and form is the result of the coalescence and resonance of qi. The thinkers of the Qin and Han period placed qi, yin and yang, and the five agents together under a single unified view of the cosmos. “Together, the qi of heaven and earth constitute a great cosmic union. Divided, they constitute the yin and yang. Quartered, they constitute the four seasons. Sundered, they constitute the five agents” (Dong Zhongshu, Luxuriant Dew of the Spring and Autumn Annals—The Mutual Generation of the Five Agents). The movements of qi broke down the primordial chaos and gave rise to yin and yang. Yin and yang represent properties of relationships between things, as well as the two opposite yet complimentary sides encompassed by a thing. In the Taiji Diagram, we see that there is yin in yang, and yang in yin. Yin and yang are constantly interchanging in an endless cycle. Yin and yang qi in different forms produce the five agents. The five agents, sometimes referred to as the five elements, are not specific materials, but instead the five most fundamental dynamics. Through the five agents, the ancients described the myriad things in the world, people included, according to the five properties of metal, wood, water, fire and earth, producing a series of correspondences across type, such as the growth properties of wood, which correspond to east (direction), spring (season), green (color), the liver (internal organ), sour (flavor) and anger (temperament), among others. The thinking behind ideas that like attracts like, and that the five agents generate and constrain each other, forms a network of mutual interaction and effects. Changes in the greater cosmos will influence the operations of the lesser cosmos inside of people. By adjusting activities and relationships with the outside world according to the principles of the operations of the universe, and maintaining unobstructed flow of qi and balance between yin and yang, people can ensure mental and physical well-being. From this we can see that in ancient Chinese culture, “man” is an indivisible part of the world which engages in exchange and communication with the world through resonance of energy or qi. In this way, thinking which unifies subject and object naturally grew quite developed in Chinese philosophy. Meanwhile, due to this recognition of qi, certain unseen energies, such as demeanor, vital energy, implication and emptiness have been subject to a great deal of attention, while concrete forms are not the most important. Such thinking is quite apparent in traditional Chinese aesthetic standards, and finds clear embodiment in the creative techniques of art, architecture and garden design.
Embodiment in Gardens and Architecture
In remote antiquity, palaces and royal retreats were filled with curios and strange beasts as places for the imperial family to play and hunt. These palace grounds were generally named gardens. After the Wei and Jin period, due to political upheaval, the thoughts of literati scholars were often drawn to reclusion. The literati projected their emotions onto the landscape, and began to take part in the creation of gardens, beginning the era of the private Chinese garden. “The form of the landscape is an ode to the Way” (Zong Bing, Preface on Landscape Painting). By rambling through the landscape, literati figures found insights into the ways of nature. These scholars take a metaphysical approach to nature, seeking enlightenment from its ways. The nature/gardens they create are also carriers for their insights into the universe. In the Tang dynasty, Bai Juyi advocated a “middling reclusion,” which was widely praised by literati figures. “Big reclusion is in the bustling cities, small reclusion is in the mountain forests. The mountain forests are too desolate, the bustling cities too clamorous. Middling reclusion would be better, seeking reclusion as an idle official” (Bai Juyi, Middling Reclusion). The landscape garden brings the natural landscape into the bustling city, fitting Mount Meru into a tiny mustard seed, giving rise to a series of techniques for seeing the great in the small. By placing rocks, building mountains, channeling water and planting flowers, the literati created encapsulated worlds so that they could take joy in nature, even when not in nature. The garden is nature, residence, carrier of emotions. Chinese gardens employ a unique set of techniques to place natural and artificial objects, practical and emotional needs, all together in a small space to create a world of both diversity and unity. In terms of layout (fig. 1), the rocks, plants and buildings in the garden work to block and conceal each other so that they constantly disappear and reemerge. One space is linked to another, and smaller spaces are enclosed in larger spaces. From a distance, they are parts of the larger scene, but up close, they each provide their own distinct delights. The scenes interact with each other and make each other whole, creating a spectacle of winding paths and unpredictable sights. In the linkage between spaces, shared properties of material and form are used to produce transitions. Stone steps connect indoor and outdoor space (fig. 2); a stone bridge uses a slight bow curve or turn to subtly link itself to the curved lines of the surrounding nature (fig. 3); or natural forms are used to carry out practical functions (fig. 4), bringing unity between the natural and artificial. Empty space is used to draw the external form of the building into the water’s surface to produce a sense of immersion (fig. 5). In the same way, hollow pattern designs on windows reveal glimpses of the scenery behind them, providing mental preparation for the shift in scenery (fig. 6). In terms of emotional experience, the Chinese garden combines the scenery with human emotions to create a mindscape. This process emphasizes the participation and experience of the person, referencing their state of mind against the scene to produce resonance between the spirit and nature. A simple setting like Fan Zhongyan's Great Friendship Garden (fig. 7) produces a naive wildness with just a single stone, a calligraphic inscription, a brook, and a stand of trees. A more complex arrangement, as in the Spring and Autumn Pavilions of Guandi Temple in Jiezhou (fig. 8), places pavilions, arches, statues and ancient trees together in a courtyard. From a distance, the ancient trees conceal the imposing figure of the main building, and the entire structure seems to be an integral part of the grove. When you enter through the arch and look up, you see that the ancient trees wrap around it to form a solemn atmosphere (fig. 9). When you look above, the main shrine towers before you majestically. The incense altar in front of the shrine provides for participation in the act of worship (fig. 10). Objects of different types have been laid out along the path of worship in appropriate positions and order, together creating a mental journey of pilgrimage. Even if the architectural order is broken, the power of emotional resonance is powerful enough to produce a moving experience. The Daxuexi Alley Mosque (fig. 11) is a house of worship with a rich living atmosphere. In order to make it easier for common worshipers to pray five times daily, the mosque allows them to park their motorcycles anywhere in the mosque garden. Due to practical needs, the pavilions and trees in the garden have not been rigorously protected or maintained. But when the prayers start, the sounds of chanting echo throughout the temple and its surroundings. When a person chants with their own voice, so that it resonates with those around it and echoes throughout the space, the sound penetrates right down to the soul. The visual penetration is secondary. The act of worship bestows this mosque with powerful energy. This energy comes from marshaling people's inner emotions to produce an aesthetic experience of union with the surrounding environment.
The bridge is a common element in gardens. Since the garden is a spiritual space, we are accustomed to bridges in gardens providing a soothing experience of bonding with nature. But when we look back over ancient bridges in real life, we can see that this line of thinking of union between subject and object, and of mutual generation between substance and emptiness, has always been a part of ancient Chinese bridge architecture. A bridge is a corridor that links two landmasses. In ancient China, aside from joining lands, bridges also served as emotional spaces combining ceremonial offerings, rites and the experience of nature. Let us take the Southern Song dynasty Anping Bridge (fig. 12) as an example. This is the world’s longest medieval bridge. The bridge stretches a total of 2,255 meters. The inability to see the other side gives a sense of a sacred connection to the heavens. The water pavilion on the bridge is dedicated to Monk Sengqie and the Guanyin Bodhisattva; symmetrical square and circular stone pagodas are placed in the water alongside the bridge (fig. 13), and the entry to the bridge features a white pagoda. These designs add a sense of solemnity for those who cross the bridge, integrating the practical function of the bridge with the emotional needs of the person, and projecting the human spirit into everyday life. The bridge railing is quite low, and can be leaned on for a rest. The bridge also has three small resting pavilions (fig. 14) which can be used for a short break or to admire the surrounding natural scenery. The open design of the railings draws the surrounding scenery into the bridge, fusing the two together. The design of the bridge body is not particularly striking, but it does feel friendly and intimate, drawing the attention of the passersby to the surrounding natural scenery. Looking at modern bridge designs, they tend to focus on highlighting the beauty and unique shape of the bridge itself. When the viewer’s attention is focused on the bridge, it is difficult to take in the surrounding environment. The modern bridge may be majestic, extravagant or spectacular, but in any case, it is an object of human appreciation. Its aesthetic experience is relatively fixed. It infects from without to within. The aesthetic experience that comes from Anping Bridge is that of the rise and fall of emotions during the crossing. These perceptions will shift with the changing seasons, time and state of the person. This is a resonance that spreads outward from within. The delight in Anping Bridge comes not just from the bridge itself, but also from its perfect integration with the surrounding environment. This total fusion with nature is more than just an aesthetic appeal. It is rooted in holistic thinking that takes into account the environment, material, function and emotional elements. The same reasoning is reflected in the solutions applied to practical problems. Luoyang Bridge (fig. 15), in Quanzhou, Fujian province, built in the Qingli era of the Northern Song dynasty, rests on piers built from stone beams interlocked in alternating formation. The piers are pointed at the ends to break the water currents and reduce the impact of waves on the piers. In order to solidify the foundation, the people invented the “oyster farm fortification method,” which entails cultivating oysters on the foundation to solidify the stones, drawing from symbiotic cooperation in nature to fortify the bridge. Visually, the oysters form a connection between the bridge and nature. The fusion of Luoyang Bridge with nature is not because of visual elements such as its color, shape or texture, but a result of functional needs. This is an aesthetic outcome of a symbiotic relationship. While gaining benefit from this relationship, people also saved energy.
From this we can see that when we create a space, if we can incorporate environmental or regional elements, as well as the generation of emotions, into the scope of our thinking, if we can accept the existence of “imperfection,” turning flaws into entryways for others so that together we can meet emotional and functional needs, then perhaps we can reach different outcomes. In the same way, if we view everything in the universe, including people, as the outcomes of the constant transformation of energy, the dimensions of our thinking and the standards of our judgments will accordingly change. Breaking down the boundaries between the tangible and intangible, and between subject and object to reach an outcome where “all things are fostered together without harming one another” is perhaps the contemporary inspiration we can draw from the idea of unity between man and nature.
