Love of Nature and Its Influence on Chinese Landscape Painting
A Careful and intelligent survey of Chinese and Japanese pictures, especially of landscape subjects, brings out some sterling qualities foreign to Occidental works on like themes.
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“Love of Nature and Its Influence on Chinese Landscape Painting” from Three Essays on Oriental Painting by Sei-Ichi Taki, 1910.
A Careful and intelligent survey of Chinese and Japanese pictures, especially of landscape subjects, brings out some sterling qualities foreign to Occidental works on like themes. So closely alike are the landscape works of these two Eastern nations, that they may be safely regarded as belonging to the same genus and type. However, it should not be forgotten that Japanese landscape painters have largely followed the style of their Chinese masters, and that at least in this particular subject, if not in others, the art of the Middle Kingdom seems a little in advance of our own. The object of the present thesis is to point out such excellences as are peculiar to Chinese landscape painting, and to deal in a very general way with their historic evolution.
What may be considered the strongest point in Chinese landscape painting lies in the breadth and magnitude of the motives, whatever the character of the scene rendered may be.
A painting may contain numerous accessory scenes treated in exhaustive details, yet if in its general tone it be devoid of sublimity and of the "far-off effect," it cannot rise above the level of insipidly prosaic productions. To celestial landscape artists this idea has been a law of the Medes not to be infringed in any circumstances. Then, too, the landscape works of that country are inexpressively rich in calm and reposeful effect, which are regarded as containing the quintessence of the spirit of this particular branch of painting. Then, again, Chinese painters of landscape subjects have exhausted their wits more in representing aerial phenomena than in the effort to copy objects exactly as they are in nature. In short, impressionism has always been the soul and spirit of Chinese landscape art, and in this respect it is possessed of a merit decidedly unapproachable. Above all other points does Chinese landscape art excel in depicting mountains and hills, especially distant ones, with their contours rendered with marked accuracy, and also in that of trees and of the ever-varying aspects of haze and clouds. Only in the delineation of water, which is too often done in a tamely conventional way, do Chinese landscape works compare rather unfavourably with those of the West.
It will naturally be asked how and why these qualities came to be developed in Chinese landscape painting. This question answers itself when one considers how deeply the Chinese have been prone to love of nature, both in their native instincts and in their historic relations. The profound love of nature in the celestial heart has nothing casual about it, but is the result of well-directed training for long generations.
For an intelligent study of this subject attention must be paid to the topographical features, so distinct in their character, of the Northern and Southern parts of that empire. The characteristic aspects of nature have insensibly told on the lives and tastes of the people in the different localities. In the Northern districts, say, in the vicinity of the river Huang-ho, the scenery is one of commanding majesty. On the contrary, the Southern territory along the river Yang-tzu-kiang is proverbial for its graceful and picturesque views. Moreover, the people of the North have from ages past been of a sturdy and rigorous character, and have always followed occupations serious and utilitarian. To these people nature is not only an object of reverential awe, but of worship; so that in the matter of loving and appreciating its beauties they may not equal their fellow-countrymen in the South. At the same time the literature and philosophy of the Northern inhabitants are not lacking in the expression of deep appreciation of the aesthetic elements of natural objects and phenomena. For example, ancient poems in the Shih-ching, chiefly composed by the Northern Chinese, are exquisite in the delineation of natural objects. Confucianism is likewise typical of the learning of the Northern territory, and we see in the Lun-yu more than one passage inculcating love of nature. But, generally speaking, the conception of nature held by the Northerners is somewhat more abstract and formal than that of the Southerners. In fact, down to the middle of the Chou dynasty the culture of the Northern region ruled the hearts and minds of the Chinese people in general.
Subsequently, about the fifth century B.C., the civilisation of the Southern localities began to assert its influence. Unlike the people of North China, those of the South are of a freer and more imaginative disposition, and keenly sensitive to the objective beauties of nature, which traits found telling expression in the works of Lao-tzu and of Chuan-tzu, as well as in the poetic compositions produced in the province of Ch'u in the latter part of the Chou dynasty. Especially the last-mentioned literary productions, though not in all cases directly dedicated to nature, indirectly borrowed inspiration therefrom. All the excellent lyrics then produced were based on the romantic mountain and river scenery of the South. It is not too much to say that the philosophy of Lao-tzu and that of Chuan-tzu, along with the literature produced in Ch'u, are representative mirrors which most faithfully reflect the deeply-rooted taste of the Chinese for nature. The naturalistic principles so strongly grounded and so ably advocated have, as a consequence, left a lasting impression and influence upon Chinese civilisation and culture.
Later, in the time of the Han and of the Wei dynasties, and through that of the so-called Six dynasties, the popular taste for nature became more than ever intensified. For instance, in the Han period the celebrated literate, Ssu-ma-hsiang-ju, added ineff"aceable lustre to the literature of his age by his immortal songs of nature, with rhymes after the style once in vogue in the province of Ch'u. Likewise the Emperor Kuangwu-ti won no mean literary distinction by his ''Song of the Autumnal Wind." Again, in the Wei dynasty, the Emperor Wu-ti distinguished himself in the realm of letters, having brought out numerous powerful verses essentially on natural subjects. In tracing the literary history covering the three long periods of the Han, the Wei, and the Six dynasties, we discover in all one potent factor which fostered the development of the taste for nature—I mean the prevalence of the Sen-jutsu or mystic art for becoming the Sen—mountain dwellers with perpetual life.
The Sen-jutsu has been known in the Middle Kingdom from time immemorial, but the earliest record of it made in history was at the close of the Chou dynasty, when the country was in constant strain of fierce rivalry among the princes who ruled the many different principalities. In the time of the Emperor Shih-huang-ti of the Ch'in, the mysterious arts more than ever claimed the attention of the people. On one occasion a certain professional follower of the Sen-jutsu, firmly convinced of the existence of an island inhabited by the Sen, was overcome by the desire of exploring it. So with the consent of the reigning Emperor he set out on an expedition in company with many youths and maidens in search of his coveted Elysian land. His adventurous voyage happily proved a success, for in due course the enraptured crew came in sight of an island, where they presently landed. The island in question turned out to be no other than Japan.
Later in the Han dynasty the Emperor Kuang-wu-ti was addicted to the Sen-jutsu to such an extent that he extended the most liberal patronage to distinguished professionals in the arts, for whom he even caused sumptuous palaces to be built.
After all, what is the Sen-jutsu about which the Celestials have made so much ado ? As its etymology suggests, the Sen means residents of the mountains, who are sometimes called winged deities, blessed with everlasting life and youth. There is no royal road to this semi-divine life, which is only attained by passing the prescribed course, which is as follows. First of all the candidate must bid adieu to worldly fame and riches, and foster a spirit absolutely tranquil and passionless. Then, instead of living on cooked food, he must derive his nourishment solely from "fruits and dew." There is another way to become a Sen, and this by taking pills, especially prepared from gold. On account of this the followers of the Sen-jutsu studied a mode of making gold, akin to the alchemy of the West. The preparation of these mysterious pills was not merely a mechanical process; in fact, many elaborate and secret rules were prescribed, some of which, of course, remain unknown and unknowable to the uninitiated. It is, however, under-stood that the precious pills should not, or could not, be made amidst the dust and smoke of a crowded city, but that they should be prepared in a mountain of sacred tradition.
Furthermore, while engaged in this work, one should abandon all worldly affairs, devoting one's heart and soul to it. Should an outsider happen to know of the sacred undertaking, whether from hearsay or from actual observation, all would be ruined, and the hapless candidate would forfeit the chance of securing immortal youth. In case the devotee encountered a demon preventing his passage he could ward it off by means of charms or with a metal mirror.
It may easily be seen how the practice of the Sen-jutsu fostered the development of the taste for nature among the Chinese. Then, again, there is coincidence between the principles of the Sen-jutsu and the philosophy of Lao-tzu and of Chuan-tzu, in that they all advocate the necessity of maintaining an absolutely peaceful mind, and of rising above sordid desires for wealth or fame. Though each originated and developed independently, the doctrines of the Sen-jutsu and of the two philosophers above-mentioned finally amalgamated into one and became an ethico-religious system under the name of Taoism. It is certain that Taoism contained some Buddhistic elements, and that it was brought to perfection at the hands of K'ou Ch'ien-chih of the Wei dynasty. Taoism was in full swing from the Six dynasties to that of T’ang.
Subsequently in the Wu and Chin periods there arose another class of lovers of nature, known as Ch'ing-'tan-chia (the Company of Lofty Talkers), who, in abandonment of earthly concerns, led a secluded life and spent their days in discussing scholarly topics. In the companies of such scholarly recluses were Wang Yen and Lo Kuang. Later there came the traditional "Seven Wise Men in the Bamboo Grove," so called because they always chose this favourite resort for their scholastic symposiums. The apostles of this class chiefly fathomed the philosophy of Lao-tzu and Chuan-tzu, and sometimes also that of the Yi-ching. Apart from the world they passed a life of unbridled freedom; when at home they would converse on scholarly subjects, and when tired of this they would loiter in the forests or mountains to feast on the luxuries of nature. They also mastered the hygienic rules of the Sen, but sometimes gave themselves up to Bacchanalian revels. At all events, this class of people led rather an extravagant life in their way. While their examples left no impressive influence on Chinese learning in general, yet we cannot deny that these "lofty speakers of the mountains" exerted on the literature and art, as well as on the social manners of the time, an influence that fostered a regard for nature on account of its highly imaginative suggestions.
Lastly, there was prevalent in China a kind of hermit life led by political discontents of virtuous character. The mode of life adopted by this particular class of people was designated by the special appellation of Yin-i, or estrangement from the world. This peculiar product of Chinese fancy has, as in the other similar instances, a close bearing upon the promotion of the love of nature. A glance at Chinese history shows how often that country has been subjected to a change in the ruling dynasties. It is not to be expected that every one would welcome a new government; naturally those cherishing high principles would rather relinquish the world than submit themselves to the yoke of despotism. This course of action was considered the noblest that a man could take in such circumstances. Without question the extreme instance of the ever-famous Po-i and Hsu-ch'i powerfully added to the influence in later ages of the kind of hermit's life we are considering.
According to history, when the Yin dynasty was overthrown by the King Wu-wan, the first of the rulers in the line of the succeeding Chou dynasty, the two distinguished personages above-mentioned, unwilling to live under the new government, retired to Mount Shou-yang, where they starved themselves to death. Their conduct is sometimes regarded as overzealous and uncalled-for; nevertheless they have been held up as models of virtue. The subsequent ages have seen cohorts of high-souled people following the above example, though not with the same severity. There were times when Kings and Princes accorded the highest regard to this class of recluses. Since the Latter-Han dynasty, the custom of retiring to the mountains has had great influence upon literature, especially poetry, which has consequently become extremely naturalistic in tone and spirit. The Chin dynasty produced a mighty poet and recluse in the person of T'ao Yliang-ming, whose name became a household word on account of his Kuei-chu-lai, which he composed at the time when he resigned his government post. In this prose-poetical composition he dwelt on the charms of nature in contrast to the distractions of worldly life. Anyone who has studied Chinese literature to any extent cannot but recognise the love of nature and the noble spirit of the unworldly career.
We should not leave unmentioned one more strong factor which promoted in no small degree the taste for nature among the Chinese; we refer to the Mahayana Buddhism.
Among its many sub-sects, that of San-lun, which found its way to China in the Chin dynasty, cherished tenets strongly savouring of naturalistic principles. So that in spite of the severe conflict, in interest if not in principle, existing between Buddhism and Taoism, they often found common followers.
Love of nature itself, which in the case of China is of such ancient origin and of such long historic evolution, had reached its highest mark in the latter part of the third century and at the beginning of the fourth. The effect of this historic movement has been distinctly visible, especially in literature and art. Painting, which in the days of the Six dynasties had taken its first step in the path of phenomenal progress, keenly felt the naturalistic tendency of the age, with the result that landscape art first received its benefit and, in consequence, made earliest though imperfect growth.
Taki, Sei-Ichi. Three Essays on Oriental Painting. Bernard Quaritch, 1910.
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